{"product_id":"the-pilgrims-progress-and-grace-abounding-to-the-chief-of-sinners-isbn-9780375725685","title":"The Pilgrim's Progress and Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners","description":"Now available together in a single volume, these two classics were written by seventeenth-century England’s most famous prisoner of conscience, Baptist John Bunyan (1628-1688). Imprisoned for twelve years for his preaching, he wrote first a dramatic allegory of Christian life and followed it with the compelling story of his own conversion. Both have been beloved by generations of spiritual seekers and still speak powerfully to modern readers.\u003ci\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003ePilgrim’s Progress\u003c\/b\u003e recounts the perilous journey of Christian from the City of Destruction to the Celestial City, and in its second part, follows the journey of his wife, Christiana.\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eGrace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners\u003c\/b\u003e is Bunyan’s fervent memoir of his own spiritual regeneration. Both works are enduring masterpieces of English prose, uniting the simple power of Biblical language with the vivid bluntness of untutored speech.John Bunyan (1628—88), originally a tinker by trade, spent many years imprisoned for unlicensed preaching, becoming a hero to the Baptist sect.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eW. Clark Gilpin is the former dean of the University of Chicago Divinity School.The Author's Apology for His Book\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen at the first I took my pen in hand\u003cbr\u003eThus for to write, I did not understand\u003cbr\u003eThat I at all should make a little book\u003cbr\u003eIn such a mode; nay, I had undertook\u003cbr\u003eTo make another; which, when almost done,\u003cbr\u003eBefore I was aware, I this begun.\u003cbr\u003eAnd thus it was: I, writing of the way\u003cbr\u003eAnd race of saints, in this our gospel day,\u003cbr\u003eFell suddenly into an allegory\u003cbr\u003eAbout their journey, and the way to glory,\u003cbr\u003eIn more than twenty things which I set down.\u003cbr\u003eThis done, I twenty more had in my crown;\u003cbr\u003eAnd they again began to multiply,\u003cbr\u003eLike sparks that from the coals of fire do fly.\u003cbr\u003eNay, then, thought I, if that you breed so fast,\u003cbr\u003eI'll put you by yourselves, lest you at last\u003cbr\u003eShould prove ad infinitum, and eat out\u003cbr\u003eThe book that I already am about.\u003cbr\u003eWell, so I did; but yet I did not think\u003cbr\u003eTo show to all the world my pen and ink\u003cbr\u003eIn such a mode; I only thought to make\u003cbr\u003eI knew not what; nor did I undertake\u003cbr\u003eThereby to please my neighbour: no, not I;\u003cbr\u003eI did it my own self to gratify.\u003cbr\u003eNeither did I but vacant seasons spend\u003cbr\u003eIn this my scribble; nor did I intend\u003cbr\u003eBut to divert myself in doing this\u003cbr\u003eFrom worser thoughts which make me do amiss.\u003cbr\u003eThus I set pen to paper with delight,\u003cbr\u003eAnd quickly had my thoughts in black and white.\u003cbr\u003eFor, having now my method by the end,\u003cbr\u003eStill as I pulled, it came; and so I penned\u003cbr\u003eIt down: until it came at last to be,\u003cbr\u003eFor length and breadth, the bigness which you see.\u003cbr\u003eWell, when I had thus put mine ends together,\u003cbr\u003eI showed them others, that I might see whether\u003cbr\u003eThey would condemn them, or them justify:\u003cbr\u003eAnd some said, Let them live; some, Let them die;\u003cbr\u003eSome said, John, print it; others said, Not so;\u003cbr\u003eSome said it might do good; others said, No.\u003cbr\u003eNow was I in a strait, and did not see\u003cbr\u003eWhich was the best thing to be done by me:\u003cbr\u003eAt last I thought, Since you are thus divided,\u003cbr\u003eI print it will, and so the case decided.\u003cbr\u003eFor, thought I, some, I see, would have it done,\u003cbr\u003eThough others in that channel do not run:\u003cbr\u003eTo prove, then, who advised for the best,\u003cbr\u003eThus I thought fit to put it to the test.\u003cbr\u003eI further thought, if now I did deny\u003cbr\u003eThose that would have it, thus to gratify;\u003cbr\u003eI did not know but hinder them I might\u003cbr\u003eOf that which would to them be great delight.\u003cbr\u003eFor those which were not for its coming forth,\u003cbr\u003eI said to them, Offend you I am loath,\u003cbr\u003eYet, since your brethren pleasèd with it be,\u003cbr\u003eForbear to judge till you do further see.\u003cbr\u003eIf that thou wilt not read, let it alone;\u003cbr\u003eSome love the meat, some love to pick the bone.\u003cbr\u003eYea, that I might them better palliate,\u003cbr\u003eI did too with them thus expostulate:\u003cbr\u003eMay I not write in such a style as this?\u003cbr\u003eIn such a method, too, and yet not miss\u003cbr\u003eMy end, thy good? Why may it not be done?\u003cbr\u003eDark clouds bring waters, when the bright bring none.\u003cbr\u003eYea, dark or bright, if they their silver drops\u003cbr\u003eCause to descend, the earth, by yielding crops,\u003cbr\u003eGives praise to both, and carpeth not at either,\u003cbr\u003eBut treasures up the fruit they yield together;\u003cbr\u003eYea, so commixes both, that in her fruit\u003cbr\u003eNone can distinguish this from that: they suit\u003cbr\u003eHer well when hungry; but, if she be full,\u003cbr\u003eShe spews out both, and makes their blessings null.\u003cbr\u003eYou see the ways the fisherman doth take\u003cbr\u003eTo catch the fish; what engines doth he make!\u003cbr\u003eBehold! how he engageth all his wits;\u003cbr\u003eAlso his snares, lines, angles, hooks, and nets;\u003cbr\u003eYet fish there be, that neither hook, nor line,\u003cbr\u003eNor snare, nor net, nor engine can make thine:\u003cbr\u003eThey must be groped for, and be tickled too,\u003cbr\u003eOr they will not be catch'd, whate'er you do.\u003cbr\u003eHow doth the fowler seek to catch his game\u003cbr\u003eBy diverse means! all which one cannot name:\u003cbr\u003eHis guns, his nets, his lime-twigs, light, and bell;\u003cbr\u003eHe creeps, he goes, he stands; yea, who can tell\u003cbr\u003eOf all his postures? Yet there's none of these\u003cbr\u003eWill make him master of what fowls he please.\u003cbr\u003eYea, he must pipe and whistle to catch this;\u003cbr\u003eYet, if he does so, that bird he will miss.\u003cbr\u003eIf that a pearl may in a toad's head dwell,1\u003cbr\u003eAnd may be found too in an oyster-shell;\u003cbr\u003eIf things that promise nothing do contain\u003cbr\u003eWhat better is than gold; who will disdain,\u003cbr\u003eThat have an inkling of it, there to look\u003cbr\u003eThat they may find it? Now, my little book\u003cbr\u003e(Though void of all these paintings that may make\u003cbr\u003eIt with this or the other man to take)\u003cbr\u003eIs not without those things that do excel\u003cbr\u003eWhat do in brave but empty notions dwell.\u003cbr\u003e\"Well, yet I am not fully satisfied,\u003cbr\u003eThat this your book will stand, when soundly tried.\"\u003cbr\u003eWhy, what's the matter? \"It is dark.\" What though?\u003cbr\u003e\"But it is feignèd.\" What of that? I trow\u003cbr\u003eSome men, by feignèd words, as dark as mine,\u003cbr\u003eMake truth to spangle and its rays to shine.\u003cbr\u003e\"But they want solidness.\" Speak, man, thy mind.\u003cbr\u003e\"They drown the weak; metaphors make us blind.\"\u003cbr\u003eSolidity, indeed, becomes the pen\u003cbr\u003eOf him that writeth things divine to men;\u003cbr\u003eBut must I needs want solidness, because\u003cbr\u003eBy metaphors I speak? Were not God's laws,\u003cbr\u003eHis gospel laws, in olden times held forth\u003cbr\u003eBy types, shadows, and metaphors? Yet loath\u003cbr\u003eWill any sober man be to find fault\u003cbr\u003eWith them, lest he be found for to assault\u003cbr\u003eThe highest wisdom. No, he rather stoops,\u003cbr\u003eAnd seeks to find out what by pins and loops,\u003cbr\u003eBy calves and sheep, by heifers and by rams,\u003cbr\u003eBy birds and herbs, and by the blood of lambs,\u003cbr\u003eGod speaketh to him; and happy is he\u003cbr\u003eThat finds the light and grace that in them be.\u003cbr\u003eBe not too forward, therefore, to conclude\u003cbr\u003eThat I want solidness, that I am rude;\u003cbr\u003eAll things solid in show not solid be;\u003cbr\u003eAll things in parables despise not we,\u003cbr\u003eLest things most hurtful lightly we receive,\u003cbr\u003eAnd things that good are, of our souls bereave.\u003cbr\u003eMy dark and cloudy words, they do but hold\u003cbr\u003eThe truth, as cabinets enclose the gold.\u003cbr\u003eThe prophets usèd much by metaphors\u003cbr\u003eTo set forth truth; yea, who so considers\u003cbr\u003eChrist, his apostles too, shall plainly see,\u003cbr\u003eThat truths to this day in such mantles be.\u003cbr\u003eAm I afraid to say that holy writ,\u003cbr\u003eWhich for its style and phrase puts down all wit\u003cbr\u003eIs everywhere so full of all these things\u003cbr\u003e(Dark figures, allegories), yet there springs\u003cbr\u003eFrom that same book that lustre, and those rays\u003cbr\u003eOf light, that turns our darkest nights to days?\u003cbr\u003eCome, let my carper to his life now look,\u003cbr\u003eAnd find there darker lines than in my book\u003cbr\u003eHe findeth any; yea, and let him know,\u003cbr\u003eThat in his best things there are worse lines too.\u003cbr\u003eMay we but stand before impartial men,\u003cbr\u003eTo his poor one I dare adventure ten,\u003cbr\u003eThat they will take my meaning in these lines\u003cbr\u003eFar better than his lies in silver shrines.\u003cbr\u003eCome, truth, although in swaddling clouts, I find,\u003cbr\u003eInforms the judgement, rectifies the mind;\u003cbr\u003ePleases the understanding, makes the will\u003cbr\u003eSubmit; the memory too it doth fill\u003cbr\u003eWith what doth our imaginations please;\u003cbr\u003eLikewise it tends our troubles to appease.\u003cbr\u003eSound words, I know, Timothy is to use,\u003cbr\u003eAnd old wives' fables he is to refuse;\u003cbr\u003eBut yet grave Paul him nowhere did forbid\u003cbr\u003eThe use of parables; in which lay hid\u003cbr\u003eThat gold, those pearls, and precious stones that were\u003cbr\u003eWorth digging for, and that with greatest care.\u003cbr\u003eLet me add one word more. O man of God,\u003cbr\u003eArt thou offended? Dost thou wish I had\u003cbr\u003ePut forth my matter in another dress?\u003cbr\u003eOr that I had in things been more express?\u003cbr\u003eThree things let me propound; then I submit\u003cbr\u003eTo those that are my betters, as is fit.\u003cbr\u003e1. I find not that I am denied the use\u003cbr\u003eOf this method, so I no abuse\u003cbr\u003ePut on the words, things, readers; or be rude\u003cbr\u003eIn handling figure or similitude,\u003cbr\u003eIn appreciation; but, all that I may,\u003cbr\u003eSeek the advance of truth this or that way:\u003cbr\u003eDenied, did I say? Nay, I have leave\u003cbr\u003e(Example too, and that from them that have\u003cbr\u003eGod better pleased, by their words or ways,\u003cbr\u003eThan any man that breatheth now-a-days)\u003cbr\u003eThus to express my mind, thus to declare\u003cbr\u003eThings unto thee that excellentest are.\u003cbr\u003e2. I find that men (as high as trees) will write\u003cbr\u003eDialogue-wise; yet no man doth them slight\u003cbr\u003eFor writing so: indeed, if they abuse\u003cbr\u003eTruth, cursèd be they, and the craft they use\u003cbr\u003eTo that intent; but yet let truth be free\u003cbr\u003eTo make her sallies upon thee and me,\u003cbr\u003eWhich way it pleases God; for who knows how,\u003cbr\u003eBetter than he that taught us first to plough,\u003cbr\u003eTo guide our mind and pens for his design?\u003cbr\u003eAnd he makes base things usher in divine.\u003cbr\u003e3. I find that holy writ in many places\u003cbr\u003eHath semblance with this method, where the cases\u003cbr\u003eDo call for one thing, to set forth another;\u003cbr\u003eUse it I may, then, and yet nothing smother\u003cbr\u003eTruth's golden beams: nay, by this method may\u003cbr\u003eMake it cast forth its rays as light as day.\u003cbr\u003eAnd now before I do put up my pen,\u003cbr\u003eI'll show the profit of my book, and then\u003cbr\u003eCommit both thee and it unto that hand\u003cbr\u003eThat pulls the strong down, and makes weak ones stand.\u003cbr\u003eThis book it chalketh out before thine eyes\u003cbr\u003eThe man that seeks the everlasting prize;\u003cbr\u003eIt shows you whence he comes, whither he goes;\u003cbr\u003eWhat he leaves undone, also what he does;\u003cbr\u003eIt also shows you how he runs and runs,\u003cbr\u003eTill he unto the gate of glory comes.\u003cbr\u003eIt shows, too, who set out for life amain,\u003cbr\u003eAs if the lasting crown they would obtain;\u003cbr\u003eHere also you may see the reason why\u003cbr\u003eThey lose their labour, and like fools do die.\u003cbr\u003eThis book will make a traveller of thee,\u003cbr\u003eIf by its counsel thou wilt rulèd be;\u003cbr\u003eIt will direct thee to the Holy Land,\u003cbr\u003eIf thou wilt its directions understand:\u003cbr\u003eYea, it will make the slothful active be;\u003cbr\u003eThe blind also delightful things to see.\u003cbr\u003eArt thou for something rare and profitable?\u003cbr\u003eWouldst thou see a truth within a fable?\u003cbr\u003eArt thou forgetful? Wouldst thou remember\u003cbr\u003eFrom New Year's day to the last of December?\u003cbr\u003eThen read my fancies; they will stick like burrs,\u003cbr\u003eAnd may be, to the helpless, comforters.\u003cbr\u003eThis book is writ in such a dialect\u003cbr\u003eAs may the minds of listless men affect:\u003cbr\u003eIt seems a novelty, and yet contains\u003cbr\u003eNothing but sound and honest gospel strains.\u003cbr\u003eWouldst thou divert thyself from melancholy?\u003cbr\u003eWouldst thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly?\u003cbr\u003eWouldst thou read riddles, and their explanation?\u003cbr\u003eOr else be drownèd in thy contemplation?\u003cbr\u003eDost thou love picking meat? Or wouldst thou see\u003cbr\u003eA man i' the clouds, and hear him speak to thee?\u003cbr\u003eWouldst thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep?\u003cbr\u003eOr wouldst thou in a moment laugh and weep?\u003cbr\u003eWouldst thou lose thyself and catch no harm,\u003cbr\u003eAnd find thyself again without a charm?\u003cbr\u003eWouldst read thyself, and read thou knowst not what,\u003cbr\u003eAnd yet know whether thou art blest or not,\u003cbr\u003eBy reading the same lines? Or, then come hither,\u003cbr\u003eAnd lay my book, thy head, and heart together.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJohn Bunyan","brand":"Vintage","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46299949138149,"sku":"NP9780375725685","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780375725685.jpg?v=1767740963","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-pilgrims-progress-and-grace-abounding-to-the-chief-of-sinners-isbn-9780375725685","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}