In my house there is a well of extraordinary depth which reminds me of something better than the boasted deep experience of certain censorious professors of religion, who teach that to feel sin within is the main thing, but to be delivered from it of small consequence. When this well was commenced, the owner of the place resolved to have water, cost what it might. The well-sinkers dug through mud, and clay, and stone, but found no water; here was the deep experience of the corruptionist, all earth and no living spring, filth revealed but not removed, the leper discovered but not healed. another hundred feet of hard digging deep in the dark, but no water – still deeper experience. Then a third hundred feet, and still dirt, but no crystal – the very finest grade of your deeply experimental professor, who ridicules the joys of faith, as being of the flesh and presumptuous. Still on, on, on went the workers, till one day, leaving their tools to go for dinner, upon their return they found that he water was rising fast, and their tools were drowned. Be this last my experience – to go so deep as to reach the springs of everlasting love, and find all my poor doings and efforts totally submerged, because the blessed fountains of grace have broken in upon me, covering all the mire, and rock, and earth of my poor, naturally evil heart.
C. H. Spurgeon, ‘Feathers for Arrows’.