_4th Mo. 30th. Bristol_. Yesterday was a memorable day to me; the evening meeting found me very sad and burdened; when I thought I was made sensible of something like an offer from One who is infinite in power and love, to take this burden away, to bear it Himself, and to do in me His own will.
There seemed something like a covenant set before me, that all this should be done for me on condition of my acquiescence with and subjection to that supreme will, that I should refuse neither to suffer His own work within me nor to do His manifested will. It may be that I stamp too highly what was most gently and calmly spread before my heart. It may be that the relief, the peaceful calm, which followed my endeavor to unite with this precious proposal, was a mistaken thing; but I believe not.
Strikingly in unison with all this was the evangelical and practical sermon of S. Treffry which followed, and my feelings in returning home and sitting down alone for a few minutes to seek a confirmation, were like a seal to all that I had heard in meeting. This morning I am far from rich or lively, but seem bound neither to doubt nor to complain; but only and constantly to endeavor to submit every thought of my heart to my dear Saviour's will; and thus, after many a tossing, I have been enabled to say,
"I rest my soul on Jesus,-- This weary soul of mine."
There may I ever be, O Lord.
_5th Mo. 13th. First-day evening_. Oh that here I might once more set up my Ebenezer, and say, "Hitherto Thou hast helped me, O Lord." "My Father's arms, and not my own, were those that held me fast." Ah! my own hold in the last fortnight has often relaxed, though many a heart-tendering evidence have I had that "He is faithful that hath promised." Yesterday morning when I awoke, dead as ever in myself, some sweet whisper of goodness at hand saluted my ear, and, oh, it was but a sound of the abundance of heavenly rain that soon made my heart overflow.
_8th Mo. 4th_. Letter to ----
* * * At our Monthly Meeting, only a few words from ----, advising young ones to be patient and submissive.
And surely we may well be thankful to learn so wholesome a lesson, seeing how many sorrows we have often brought upon ourselves by the contrary disposition, and how faithful is the promise that "the meek He will guide in judgment and teach His way."
How contemptible, as well as sinful, that rebellious spirit sometimes appears (when we honestly weigh it) that wants to make in its own special favor exceptions to the wise management of our kind and gracious heavenly Father! Oh, why should we prolong our woes by such perversity, when we feel at times as if it would be our highest joy to be what He would have us to be, and our very meat and drink to do His will?
_8th Mo. 13th_. This evening we had a precious meeting indeed. A solemn silence, in which much had been felt, was followed by a fervent prayer from ----. Truly my heart's response was, "Let thine own work praise thee." Do I write too much if I record the blessing of ability to crave for myself this evening an increased knowledge of and obedience to the Shepherd's voice, and that no disguise of Satan may ever impose on me for this?
_9th Mo. 7th_. Letter to M.B.
* * * I often wonder at the attractions so many find in merely following the multitude in their recreations.
* * * Do we not sometimes find, if our honest wish is to refresh ourselves for duty, and not to escape from it, that even our rest and recreation is owned by a blessing to which one would not for all the world be strangers? How kind was He who had welcomed back his faithful twelve from their labors for others, when He said, "Come ye _yourselves_ apart into a desert place, and rest a while; for there were many coming and going, and they had no leisure so much as to eat." But even then they were to learn no selfish indolence, and rest was quickly laid aside to share their morsels with thousands. If we were always His companions, did "all our hopes of happiness stay calmly at His side," how would our sitting down to rest and rising up to toil be alike blessed! And then, when the scene is changed, and sorrow and care become our portion, the same who was our joy in prosperity will be our refuge in adversity; and "because thou hast made the Lord thy habitation, there shall no evil befall thee."
I write my wishes for us both; may it be thus with thee and me, and when it is well with thee, think of one who longs sometimes to know these things for herself.
But how well it is that our safety is in other hands than ours! how often, had it depended even on our continued desire for that which is good, had all been over with us!
"Thy parents' arms, and not thy own, Were those that held thee fast."
_11th Mo. 4th_. "Hunted with thoughts," as J.
Crook so truly describes it, "up and down like a partridge on the mountains," often feeling in meeting as if nothing could be compared with the joy of _resting_ in Jesus, a rest to which I am still much a stranger; no more able to command the mob of unquiet thoughts than to hush the winds. At other times, as this evening in my chamber, a sort of strained anguish of soul, wherein my desire has been that my eyes might he ever toward the Lord, that He, in His own time, may pluck my feet out of the net. The mental pain I have passed through makes _some_ escape seem most desirable. If to lay down the body were all I needed to escape, and I were fit for it, how willingly would I accept such an invitation!
But I dare not ask it, nor any other thing, but only that He who alone can, may make me in His own time what He would have me to be; and this evening I have been thinking that the painful feelings I suffered might be the means appointed for freeing me from the bondage of the worldly mind, and from those tormenting, hurrying thoughts. Oh, be it so; whether by means utterly incomprehensible to me, or not, be the needful work done. I trust the comprehension is not needed; and that the simplicity and submission which _are_ needed may be granted me; and that still [if] my enemies be expelled, as I hope they will be by "His own arm," (as dear J.T.
said,) their presence will not be laid to my charge.
Alas, that I am so often guilty of dallying with them! What wonder that the wilderness is so long and tortuous, when I reckon the molten calves, the murmurings, the fleshly desires?
_1st Mo. 17th_, 1850. Letter to M.B.
* * * Canst thou feel any sympathy or compassion for one who pleads guilty to the folly of a flurried mind, "wasting its strength in strenuous idleness," and that, too, with open eyes, seeing its own weakness and despising it? One of the worst things such a folly includes is that it allows no leisure to the mind; whereas, I believe well-ordered minds, however much care may be placed upon them, can throw this aside, when not necessarily engaged, and repose in the true dignity of self-command. This is, I believe, some people's natural gift; but it surely ought, by supernatural means, to be within every one's reach if only the government were on the shoulders of the "Prince of Peace." Oh, how much that means! What "delectable mountains!"
What "green pastures!" What "still waters!" What "gardens enclosed!" What "south lands," and "springs of water," are pictured in that _beau-ideal_ "on earth as it is in heaven"! Well my second page has spoken of a land very far off from the haunted region described in the first; but to "turn over a new leaf" is easier in a letter than in a life. Thy idea of the next ten years altering us less than the last will perhaps prove true; but, oh, the painful doubts that force themselves on me, whether the present channel is such that we can peacefully anticipate it only as deepening, and not as having an utter change of direction! How much harder to live in the world and not be of it than to forsake it altogether!
So lazy self says; and, in turning from present duty, tries to justify itself by the excuse that it would willingly leave this world for another.
_2d Mo. 4th. First-day evening_. Little as I have felt inclined to put pen to paper of late, I thought this evening that some small memento might be left, as it were, at this point of the valley, just to say, Here were the footsteps of a weary halting pilgrim at such a time--one that brought no store of food or raiment, no supply of wisdom or subtlety, no provision for the way, nothing but wounds and weaknesses, household images, secret sins; but by favor of unspeakable long-suffering, continuing unto this day--and, as she would fain hope, not deserted. A.
troop of thoughts doth grievously overcome her, and faint is her hope that she shall overcome at the last; yet does she desire to set up the Ebenezer, if not of rejoicing, which as yet cannot be, yet of humble hope, in a cloudy and dark day, that He who has said, "Light and gladness are sown for the upright in: heart," will yet verify His promise in the day-spring of the light of His countenance, if any measure of integrity remain within. Oh, that He may keep, as the apple of His eye, that which a troop of robbers are watching to spoil, and may provide it with a hiding-place in His pavilion of love! And for one thing is my earnest wish directed to Him, that, unable as I am to direct my own steps aright, He would provide a leader for me, and a willing heart within me, and grant me _enough_ of His guidance to keep me in the way, and enough of a willingness to walk therein and not stumble.
_3d Mo. 7th_, Letter to M.B.
* * * I know well that impatience will sometimes put on the pretence of something much better, and that we shall never run to good purpose unless we "run with patience." Unhappily, a slow gradual progress is sadly opposed to my inconstant nature, and after one of the many interruptions it meets with, how prone am I to wish for some flying leap to make up for the past! It seems so hard a thing to get transformed, and therefore--strange inconsistency indeed--one would be translated.
But truly it might be said, "Ye know not what ye ask."
* * * I have been interested with reading the early part of "No Cross, no Crown," and especially the chapter on lawful self, where the receiving back again, as Abraham did Isaac, the lawful pleasures which had been resigned to the Divine will, is so nicely spoken of; and I do believe it explains the cause of half the gloom of would-be Christians. They do not quite refuse, nor quite resign their hearts, and so they are kept, not only without true peace, but without the enjoyment of those earthly goods which have been called for, not to deprive their owners of them, but to be restored in _this life_ "an hundredfold." How is it to be wished that these half measures were abandoned, and that if we have put our hand to the plough, we might not look back, as we so often have done, to the unfitting ourselves for that kingdom which is not only righteousness, but peace and joy.
"That your joy may be full," is plainly the purpose of our Saviour towards His children; and yet how many, as Macaulay says, "have just enough religion to make them unhappy when they do wrong, and yet not enough to induce them to do right."
_5th Mo. 28th_. It is an unspeakable blessing to be permitted and enabled to pray. How can I be sufficiently thankful that it has been mine? Last night my heart was fervently engaged towards my God; and this evening, though the sense of my utter destitution and weakness was very painful, was it not a blessing if it led me to Him? I have thought of the test, "In quietness and confidence shall be your strength." There is danger in fleshly confidence; yet there is no strength, but a new danger in fleshly fear. Oh, I would be stripped of _all_ fleshly dispositions of whatever kind, or however specious: they war against the soul; but because mine enemy has not quite triumphed over me, may I not believe that _He_ favoreth me in whose favor is life, and whose is a faithful love? Oh for its perfect dominion in me!
His will is my sanctification, my perfection. It is His "good pleasure to give me the kingdom"--even to me. Amazing grace! What in me but my greatest foe could hinder the full adoption of the prayer, "Thy will be done"?
_6th Mo. 3d_. The little measure of faith I have is not worn out, but rather purified and strengthened; but, oh, when I think of the reality, the momentous import, of the change of nature from sin to holiness, which has to be effected, what a baptism may I not have yet to be baptized with, and what perils to pass through! Oh, if it might please my heavenly Father to shorten and hasten the process, and deliver me from earth and its dangers into a changeless state of safety and peace in His dear presence! But I do believe He would rather be glorified by living Christians than by only dying penitents. A watchful, holy life is His delight. Oh that this high calling may not be slighted or cast away! The near approach of my birthday has led me to look back over the brief notes of twelve months. The interesting details we have received of the Yearly Meeting remind me of what I felt at the conclusion of the last. The Lord has again been with the Church's gathering, faithful as of old, and, where seats were vacant, hath filled His people with joy.
_6th Mo. 5th_. I wish simply to record how last night, when in bed, I was favored with a calm, watchful frame, and lay enjoying the mental repose till long after my usual hour of sleep. This morning at breakfast-time it was renewed, with a sweet sense of the willingness of our heavenly Father to enable His children to serve Him. He made them for that end: it is His will that they should do so. It cannot be that He will refuse them the indispensable assistance.
How sweet was this feeling! but hurry, and too much care about little things, sadly dissipated me in the day. This evening I have had a gracious gift of some of those _Sabbath_ feelings again, after reading the seventeenth chapter of Jeremiah. The verses referring to the Sabbath-day, and bearing no burden therein, were solemnly instructive. The utter inability of my natural heart to attain or retain such a state shows me the necessity of all being done for me through faith in Divine power, "His name, through faith in His name." Oh for watchfulness unto prayer continually, and that the cumber of earth may be cast away! "Take heed that your flight be not in the winter," has been my watchword, though how imperfectly obeyed! and if, through infinite mercy, the season be changing, if He who has faithfully kept me from utter death there-through is beginning to give me more of rest, oh, let me never forget the solemn addition, "neither on the Sabbath day."
_6th Mo. 13th_. * * * I wish now to record the very solemn and encouraging visit of James Jones from America to our meeting this day. How wondrously did he speak of trials and afflictions, and the necessity of entire resignation through all!
Though oceans of discouragement and mountains of difficulty loom up before thee, thou wilt be brought through the depths dry-shod, and be enabled to adopt the language, "What ailed thee, O thou sea, that thou fleddest, and ye mountains, that ye skipped like rams?" Thou wilt be "led through green pastures, and beside still waters," speaking of the call to service in the Church, which he believed was to some in an especial manner in the early stages of life. I heard all; but such was my dejection that I seemed to _receive_ little, though I could not but feel the power. I seemed incapable of taking either hope or instruction to myself. J.J. left us after dinner, and, on taking leave, took my hand in a very solemn manner, and, after a few minutes silence, said, tenderly, but authoritatively, "If the mantle falls on thee, wear;" words which will long live in my heart. Would that the power which sent them may fulfil them! None other can.
_7th Mo. 1st_. Last week at Plymouth Quarterly Meeting. An interesting time. I trust that which silenced and solemnized my spirit was something better than myself. What could I do but endeavor to lie down in passiveness under it, and crave that nothing might interfere to mar the work of the Lord? Much was said to encourage the hope that those who truly love the Lord will at length be brought into more peace and liberty in Him; that He will qualify them to fill just that place He designs for them in His house. Oh, how I long to become that, and that only, which pleases Him, that neither height nor depth might separate me from His love! And when I think of the deceitfulness of my heart, the danger of being lifted up seems so appalling that the former deliverance seems yet greater than the latter.
_7th Mo. 23d_. I have been glad to be released from some of my charges and cares, as well as to share the loving interests of home with all my dear sisters, and trust it is not all laziness which makes me shrink from engaging in new though useful objects. I seem to have much need of quiet, and have enjoyed many hours with dear F.'s precious children. Often, as now, I am very destitute, and sometimes very sad; but sometimes, though rarely, "all is peace." Long shall I remember a moonlight half-hour, on Sixth-day, in the fields and garden, where I sat down to enjoy the cool of the day, and for a time all sorrow was far away, and the very "Prince of Peace" did seem to reign. Then did I feel I had not followed "a cunningly-devised fable,"
and the precious words did comfort me, "If children, then heirs." But, oh, how otherwise I often am!
how utterly destitute! This day we have had a sweet little visit from ----. His encouragement to the tribulated children saluted my best life, overborne as it felt with the burden of unregenerate nature--ready to say, "Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?" and, amid many a giving way to the worryings of earthly thoughts, struggling to say, "Lord, I believe: help thou mine unbelief."
Often have I remembered dear Sarah Tuckett's encouraging words, "But through all, and underneath all, will be the everlasting Arms." Amen, and amen.
_8th Mo. 4th._ Still, still amen, says my poor weak spirit, in the remembrance of "goodness tried so long," of the faithful love of my heavenly Father, which melted my spirit on the morning of Fifth-day week, with the blessed hope that I had not followed "a cunningly-devised fable" in seeking a nearer union with my Saviour. I little thought what was awaiting me that day--a very important proposal from ----, put into my hands by my father. After glancing at the contents, I laid it aside, to seek for a little calmness before reading it, and needed all that morning's manna to strengthen my conviction, "Thou art my Father." Into _His_ hands I have sought to commit myself and my all, trusting that a covenant with everlasting love will not be marred by aught beneath the skies. Some precious feelings have I since enjoyed; "And one of them shall not fall to the ground without your Father," "Ye are of more value than many sparrows," have been almost daily in my heart. On Sixth-day, after spending the afternoon in the country with a cheerful party, before going to bed, such a blessed sense of my heavenly Father's presence and love was vouchsafed me, that every uneasy thought was swallowed up in-the precious conviction, "I know in whom I have believed." This love did indeed appear the "pearl of great price," and all else as "dust in the balance."
_8th Mo. 20th_. Last week I was once or twice favored with a precious feeling of Divine love. At one time my earnest sense of need and desire to seek Him to whom I could appeal amid many a recollection of past transgressions, in the words, "Thou knowest that I love thee," was most sweetly followed by the remembrance of the words, "I remember thee, the kindness of thy youth, the love of thine espousals; when thou wentest after me in the wilderness, in a land that was not sown." At another time the precious promise, "Because thou hast made the Lord thy habitation, there shall no evil befall thee," came livingly before me, and then I felt how far short of the terms I had fallen. Oh, how preciously did I feel the worth of an atonement! how my Saviour's pardon did not only remove the burden of guilt, but really reinstate me in the privileges which my backslidings had forfeited, so that the promise of safety was still mine! * * *
_9th. Mo. 20th_. [Alluding to a visit from some friends.] How precious are these marks of our Father's love! His eye is surely on us, and His hand too, for good. May we never, may _I_ never, do any thing to frustrate His merciful designs! Very various has been my state--so dead and earthly, sometimes, that I may indeed feel that in me "dwelleth no good thing," but now and then so filled with desires after God, that I feel assured that they come from Himself.
_9th Mo. 26th_. This afternoon, in a lonely walk, my sorrow was stirred, and I hope I prayed for mercy; but it has been hard to keep any hold of the anchor. But what! shall I leave my only Helper because of my evil case--my only Physician because of my desperate disease? I can take comfort in the thought that He knows the worst, and that He has sworn eternal enmity to sin. Then, if He loves me, a sinner, He must be willing and able to save me; and Jesus Christ is the mediator between God and man, that He may be the perfect divider between the sinner and his sin. Oh, what a work is this--which none but Omnipotent grace can do! Oh, be it done for me.
_11th Mo. 20th_. Letter to M.B. [Alluding to her prospect of marriage.]
* * * How does such an occasion teach one the weakness of human nature, and our utter dependence on our heavenly Father's preserving care, who "knows our frame and remembers that we are but dust." And if we can in truth say, "If Thy presence go not with me, carry me not up hence," and endeavor to decide in His fear. I hope we may trust, that if it be not of Him, something will be provided for our rescue, and that if it be, He will remember His ancient promise, "My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest."
_1st Mo. 4th_, 1851. So very much has happened since I made my record here, that I scarcely know where to begin. Never did a year end thus with me. I had almost called it the most important of my life; and certainly it is so as regards time, and also a very important one as regards eternity. Now I find my hopes, my interests, my anticipations, my every feeling and affection, have a strong reference to another than myself--one whom I believe the Providence of a merciful, heavenly Father has led me to regard with esteem and love, as a sharer in the future portion of the path, of life.
Surely it has been a serious thing, much as I have fallen short in the duties of my present favored and sheltered lot, to consent to undertake responsibilities so weighty and untried; and yet I have cause to hope in the mercy of Him who has helped me hitherto, whose covenant is an everlasting covenant, even a covenant of peace, that shall never be removed by any earthly change. Oh that it may never be forsaken by me! Oh that every breach may be forgiven me! Oh that the wisdom that is from above may be my safeguard and director! How has it comforted me, in thinking of leaving such dearly-loved ones behind, to feel that one Friend above all others, whose love has been the most precious joy of my life, will go with me, and be with me forever, and, I trust, bind in that bond of heavenly love, even more and more closely, the spirits He, I trust, has brought together, and make us one another's joy in Him!
Now that we are at home in the quiet round of duties and employments which have filled so many (outwardly at least) peaceful years, and that perhaps my continuance among them reckons but by months, oh for a truly obedient, affectionate, filial spirit, both to my heavenly Father and the precious guardians of my childhood! I have strongly felt that my highest duty towards him with whom my future lot may be linked, as well as my own highest interest, is to live in the love and fear of God. Many deficiencies I shall doubtless be conscious of! but if I may live, and we may be united in the love and fear of God, all, all will be well. Oh, then, to be watchful and prayerful!
_1st Mo. 25th_. Letter to M.B.
* * * There is much, very much, connected with any experience in these matters calculated to teach us that this is not our rest; and often have I thought, when pondering the uncertain future, that but for the small degree in which the hope of things beyond, steadfast and eternal, keeps its hold, I should be ready to sink; and then I think of kind rich promises on which I try to lay hold, "Thy shoes shall be iron and brass," and "As thy day, so shall thy strength be." And so, dear M., I trust it will be with us all, if our trust be but rightly placed; and in this I fear I have sometimes, perhaps often, been mistaken. I am sure it is well to have this sifted and searched into, and none of the pains which must attend such a process are in vain. When we have learned more fully what and how frail we are, then we can better appreciate the help that is offered, and the abundant blessing of peace when it does come.
The depth of our own capacity for suffering is known to few of us; and when we have made a little discovery of it, some short acquaintance with the dark cold caverns of hopeless woe into which it is possible to fall, even when all externally is bright and apparently prosperous, how thankful then should we feel for the daylight of hope!
Perhaps I am using strong language. I would not use it to every one, but I think thou knowest that words are feeble rather than strong to express what may be the real portion of one whom spectators look on as very happy; and I do feel sure that not a grief that can befall us even in this hidden world of ours, but _may_ be the stepping-stone to a joy with which also a stranger doth not intermeddle; and how shall we sooner find it than by "casting all our care on Him who careth for us"?
"He knoweth our frame, and remembereth that we are dust, and is touched with a feeling of our infirmities."
_3d Mo. 14th_.--Letter to M.B.
* * * I am abundantly convinced that if we can find the right place and keep it, and endeavor to fulfil its duties, whatever they may be, _there_ is our safety, and _there_ is our greatest peace; and what a blessing to know in any degree where the knowledge and the power are both to be obtained! * * *
_6th Mo. 21st_. After a fortnight's visit to my dear aunts, I followed Louisa to Tottenham. Many an occasion of deep instruction was offered to us at the Yearly Meeting; and yet from all this what remains?
A solemn inquiry for all; and how much so for me, now that every principle of the heart and mind must prepare to encounter unwonted exercise and trial, now that I daily need all that I can have in a peculiar manner, and now that the future, amid the hopeful calm which it sometimes assumes, will sometimes almost frown upon me with lowerings of fear? Fear it is, not of others, but of myself, and fear of the ignorance or precipitancy of my yet but very partially regulated mind. Oh for that other fear which only "is a fountain of life, preserving from the snares of death!" Oh for that love which casteth out the slavish fear, and maketh one with what it loves--first with that God from whom it comes, and then with those in whom it dwells!