First-day was
a happy one. In the morning rain and a cough kept
me at home. I read the crucifixion and resurrection
in different Evangelists, and cannot tell how meltingly
sweet it was. Surely I did love Jesus then because
He had first loved me. Sundry sweet refreshing
brooks have flowed by my wayside, and some dry lonely
paths I have trodden, (since,) but think He who is
alone the foundation and corner-stone, immovable
and undeceiving, has become more precious. Oh, how
shall I be enough careful to trust him alone? I have
got on a little with Gibbon's Rise and Fall, and have
begun Neander on the Emperors, finished one volume
of Goethe with L., and begun Milton with M., and
English history with R.
_9th Mo. 2d_. The week tolerably satisfactory; but
how truly may we say, "A day in thy courts is better
than a thousand"! This evening's unexpected, unsought,
unasked, free, gratuitous mercy has made the
last two hours worth more than some whole days of
this week. Oh, how kind is He who knows how to
win back and attract to Himself by imparting ineffable
desires after what is good, even to a heart that has
grown dry and dead and worldly! I have thought
that some measure of our growth in grace may be found
in the degree in which our carnal natural reluctance
to receive Christ back into our vessel, come how He
may, is diminished.
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