And if our voice on earth be strange
To notes of praise and prayer,
That voice it is not death's to change,
Would make but discord there.
_8th Mo. 10th_. Strange vacillations of feeling; at
one time on the point of trusting the Lord for
eternity, at another, cannot trust him even for time.
At one time would cast my whole soul on him; at
another, will bear the weight of every straw myself,
till I become quite overloaded with them. Oh,
what a spectacle of folly, and weakness, and sin!
A soul immortal spending all her powers, wasting
her strength in strenuous idleness!
_8th Mo. 16th_. Very busy making things tidy,
and resolved, almost religiously, to keep them so.
I think I would not, for any consideration, die with
all my things in disorder. Disorder must be the
result of a disordered mind, and not only so, it
reacts on the mind and makes it worse in turn.
_8th Mo. 18th_. People do not say enough of the
need of _consistency_, when they speak of trusting in
Providence instead of arms. It was consistent in
William Penn, but it would not have been consistent
in his contemporaries, who took the Indians'
land for nought. Providence is not to be made a
protector of injustice, of which arms are the fitting
shield. Oh that consistency, earnestness of character,
were more valued!
_8th Mo.
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