There is comfort to the Christian,
immovable comfort, in having his affections, his
_patriotism_, in heaven. My own heart, I ardently
hope, is not a totally devastated land. There is a
rudiment still there which God looketh upon, and
perhaps, though I know it not, his eyes and his
heart are there perpetually. It is not meant to
remain a rudiment: oh, no; as "sin hath reigned,
even unto death, _so_ grace should yet reign, even to
eternal life."
_9th Mo. 27th_. Perplexed about Irish knitting,
because it is slave-grown cotton. It does not seem
consistent to buy it; and yet I don't know what to
recommend.
_9th Mo. 30th_. Another month is at an end. Oh
that I knew whereabouts I stand in the race! "'Tis
a point I long to know." Sometimes I have joy of
heart, and then I tremble lest it be not rightly
founded; sometimes tenderness of heart, and then
I fear it is only natural feeling; sometimes fervent
desires after good, and then I fear lest they are only
the result of fear of punishment; sometimes trust in
the merits of Jesus, and can look to Him as a sacrifice
for sin; then I fear lest it is only as an escape
from danger, not deliverance from present corruption;
sometimes wish to fulfil actively my duties, then
these same duties have stolen away my heart.
Pages:
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120