The diary which was kept by the beloved object of this memoir, and
the extracts from which form the principal part of this volume, is
contained in several volumes of closely-written manuscript, and,
taken as a whole, is a most interesting record of mental and spiritual
growth. At times it was continued with almost daily regularity, but
at others, either from the pressure of occupations or from various
causes, considerable intervals occur in which nothing was written.
It has been the endeavor of the editor to make such selections as may
preserve a faithful picture of the whole. There is almost of necessity
a certain amount of repetition, as in seasons of depression, when
faith and hope seemed to be much obscured, or, on the other hand, when
cheerful thankfulness and joy of heart were her portion; and in such
places it did not seem right to curtail her words too much. Many
entries referred too closely to personal and family matters to be
suitable for publication, and the uneventful character of her life
does not leave room to supply in their stead much in the way of
narrative; but it will be remembered that it is the heavenward journey
that it is desired to trace, not simply _towards_ the land "very
far off," but that pilgrimage _during which_, though on earth, the
believer in Jesus is at times privileged to partake of the joys of
heaven.
The first volume of the series is entitled, by its author, "Mementos
of Mercy to the Chief of Sinners." Some lines written on her
fourteenth birthday--about the period, of its commencement--may
appropriately introduce the extracts.
_6th Mo. 9th_, 1837.--
Can it be true that one more link
In that mysterious chain,
Which joins the two eternities,
I shall not see again?
Eternity! that awful thing
Thought tries in vain to scan;
How far beyond the loftiest powers
Of little, finite man!
E'en daring fancy's fearless flight
In vain would grasp the whole,
And then, "How short man's mortal life!"
Exclaims the wondering soul.
A bubble on the ocean's breast,
A glow-worm's feeble ray,
That loses all its brilliancy
Beneath the orb of day.
Can it be joyful, then, to find
That life is hastening fast?
Can it be joyful to reflect,
This year may be our last?
Look on the firmament above,
From south to northern pole:
Can we find there a resting-place
For the immortal soul?
* * * * *
Where can we search to find its home?
The still small voice in thee
Answers, as from the eternal throne,
"My own shall dwell with me."
And I have one year less to seek
An interest on high;
Am one year nearer to the time
When I myself must die!
And when that awful time will come,
No human tongue can say;
But, oh! how startling is the thought
That it may be to-day!
How shall my guilty spirit meet
The great, all-searching eye?
Conscious of my deficiencies,
As in the dust I lie.
How shall I join the ransom'd throng
Around the throne that stand,
And cast their crowns before thy feet,
Lord of the saintly band?
_12th Mo. 6th_, 1836. There are seasons in which
I am favored to feel a quiet resignation, to spend
and be spent in the service of Him who, even in
my youthful days, has been pleased to visit me with
the overshadowing of His mercy and love, and to require
me to give up all my dearest secret idols, and
every thing which exalts self against the government
of the Prince of Peace.
_4th Mo. 3d_, 1837. Almost in despair of ever
being what I ought to be. I feel so poor in every
good thing, and so amazingly rich in every bad thing.
Still this little spark of love that remains, seems to
hope in Him "who will not quench the smoking flax."
_6th Mo. 4th_. I have cause to be very watchful.
Satan is at hand: temptations abound, and it is no
easy matter to keep in the right way. To have my
affections crucified to the world is my desire. The
way to the celestial city, is not only through the
valley of humiliation, but also through the valley
of the shadow of death.
_6th Mo. 11th_. Many things have lately occurred
which have flattered my vanity. I have received
compliments and commendations: old Adam likes
these things, and persuades me that I am somebody,
and may well feel complacency. How needful is
watchfulness! may the true light discover to me the
snares that are set on every side.
_7th Mo. 2d_. May I be enabled to give myself up
as clay into the Potter's hand, without mixing up
any thing of my own contriving; and in the silence
of all flesh, wait to have the true seed watered and
nourished by heavenly dew.
_8th Mo. 2d_. I feel humbled at the sight of my
many backslidings and deficiencies. Oh, may He,
"who is touched with a feeling of our infirmities," in
just judgment, remember mercy. If He does not,
there can be no hope for me; but oh! I trust He
will. "Let not Thy hand spare, nor Thine eye pity,
till Thou hast made me what thou wouldst have me
to be."
_8th Mo. 20th_. Utterly unworthy! Oh, my
Father! if there be any right beginning, if there
be the least spark of good within me, carry it on:
oh, increase it, that I may become as a plant of thy
right hand planting, that I may become a sheep of
thy fold. Assist me to present myself before thee
in true silence, that I may wait upon thee in truth,
and worship thee in the silence of all flesh, and
know "all my treasure, all my springs, in Thee."
_10th Mo. 13th_. We have just been favored with
a visit from J.P., which has been to me a great
comfort. At our Monthly Meeting he addressed
the young; and it seemed as though he spoke the
very thoughts of my heart; and the sweet supplication
offered on their behalf that they might be
preserved from the snares of the delusive world,
may it be answered.
_4th Mo. 15th_, 1838. I want to give up every
thing, every thought, every affection, in short, my
whole self, to my offered Saviour. Then would His
kingdom come, and His will be done. Instead of
the thorn would come up the fir-tree, and instead
of the brier the myrtle-tree. How precious, how
holy, how peaceful, that kingdom! Oh! if I may
yet hope; if mercy is left, I beseech Thee, hear and
behold me, and bring me "out of the miry clay, and
set my feet upon the rock."
_5th Mo. 26th_, 1839. A beautiful First-day.
Every thing sweet and lovely; fulfilling the purpose
of its creation as far as man is not concerned. Birds
and insects formed for happiness, are now completely
happy. But ah! they were formed to give glory to
God, by testifying to man His goodness. Ten thousand
voices call upon me to employ the nobler
talents intrusted for the same purpose. Nearly
sixteen years have I been warned, and sweetly
called upon to awake out of sleep: "What meanest
thou, O sleeper? arise, and call upon thy God!"
How shall I account, in the last day, for these
things? It is often startling to think how time is
advancing, and how ill the day's work keeps pace
with the day. For even now, poor drowsy creature
that I am, it is but occasional sensibility, with the
intervals buried in vain dreams; and even at such
times, my poor warped affections, and busy imaginations,
crowded with a multitude of images, refuse to
yield to the command, "Be still, and know that I
am God." I have, indeed, found that in whatever
circumstances I may he placed, I can never be really
happy without the religion of the heart; without
making the Lord my habitation; and oh, may it be
mine, through Christ's humbling and sanctifying
operations, to know every corner of my heart made
fit for the dwelling-place of Him who is with the
meek and contrite ones. Then shall the remaining
days of my pilgrimage be occupied in the energetic
employment of those talents which must otherwise
rise up for my condemnation in the last day.
_6th Mo. 2d_. It is not for me to say any more
"thus far will I go, but no farther," either in the
narrow or the broad way. In the former, we cannot
refuse to proceed without receding; in the latter, if
we will take any steps, it is impossible to restrain
ourselves. Besetting sins, though apparently opposite
ones, sad stumbling-blocks in the way of the
cross, are unrestrained activity of thought and
indolence: the former proceeds from earthly-mindedness;
and the latter as a sure consequence from
the want of heavenly-mindedness. Oh that by
keeping very close to Jesus, my wandering heart
may receive the impression of His hand, that the
new creation may indeed be witnessed, wherein
Jerusalem is a rejoicing and her people a joy;
then may I find that quiet habitation which nothing
ever gave me out of the fold of Christ.
_6th Mo. 9th_. Alas! how shall I account for the
sixteen years which have, this day, completed
their course upon my head? What shall I render
unto the Lord for all his benefits? Shall I not,
from this time, cry unto Him, "My Father, thou
art the guide of my youth"? But, for the year that
is passed, what can I say? I will lay my hand on
my mouth and acknowledge that it has been squandered.
Yes, so far as it has not been employed about
my Father's business. But, alas! it has been
crammed with selfishness; though now and then
He, whom I trust I yet desire to serve, has made me
sensibly feel how precious is every small dedication
to Himself.
_6th Mo. 16th_. The consideration of the peculiar
doctrines of Friends having been lately rather
forced on my attention, let me record my increased
conviction of the privilege of an education within
the borders of the Society; of the great value and
importance of its spiritual profession, and the awful
responsibility of its members to walk so as to adorn
its doctrines, and shine as lights in the world.
Warmly as she was attached to these principles, she ever rejoiced in
the conviction that all the followers of Christ are one in Him, and
that, by whatever name designated, those who have attained to the
closest communion with Him are the nearest to one another; and when
differences in sentiment were the topic of conversation, she would
sometimes rejoin in an earnest tone, the "commandment is exceeding
broad."
_2d Mo. 2d_, 1840. Time passes on, and what progress
do I make, either in usefulness in the earth,
or preparation for heaven? Self-indulgence is the
bane of godliness, and is, alas! mine.' This world's
goods are snares, and are, alas! snares to me.
Coward that my heart is, when pride is piqued, I
have not resolution to conquer my own spirit.
Pride, indolence, and worldly-mindedness are bringing
me into closer and closer bondage: the first
keeps me from true worship by preventing me from
seeking the help and teaching of the one Spirit;
the second, by making me yield without effort or
resistance to the uncontrolled imaginations which
the third presents. And now do these lines witness
that, having been called to an everlasting salvation,
God, the chief good, having manifested His name
unto the least of His little ones, my soul and body
are for Him, _belong_ to Him, to be moulded and
fashioned according to His will; and that if I
frustrate His purpose, His glorious holiness and
free grace are unsullied and everlastingly worthy.
_7th Mo. 12th_. If I acknowledge my own state,
it is one cumbered with "many things." Alas!
amid them how little space is there for the love of
God! I have remembered the days when untold
and inexpressible experiences were mine; when a
child's tears and prayers were seen and heard before
the throne! The stragglings of grace and nature
have been great since then. I can look back to
years of struggles and deliverances, years of revoltings
and of mercies. It is like "threshing mountains"
to meddle with the strongholds of sin; but
mountains, I sometimes hope, will be made to "skip
like rams."
_10th Mo. 5th_. How long have I been like the
"merchantman seeking goodly pearls"! Ever since
reason dawned I have longed for a goodly pearl;
though dazzled and deceived by many an empty
trifle, I cannot plead as an excuse that I could not
find the pearl. I have seen it at times, and felt how
untold was the price, and thought I was ready to
sell all and buy it, sometimes believed that all was
sold; but why, ah, why was my pledge so often
redeemed? I have been indeed like a simple one,
who, having found a "pearl of great price," cast it
from him for an empty, unsatisfying show.
_1st Mo. 17th_, 1841. Very precious as have been
the privileges vouchsafed the last two days, I can
this morning speak of nothing as my present condition,
but the extreme of weakness and poverty. On
6th day evening R.B. addressed us in such a way
as proved to me that the Divine word is a discerner
of the thoughts and intents of the heart. The
chief purport was the necessity of a willingness to
learn daily of the great Teacher meekness and
lowliness and faithfulness in the occupation of the
talents intrusted; "for where much is given, much
will be required." Yesterday his parting "salutation
of brotherly love" was such as cannot be effaced
from my memory; and oh, I pray that it may not
from my heart. And now my prayer, my desire,
must be for a renewed dedication. The separation,
as R.B. said, from the right hand and the right eye
must be made: the sacrifice which is acceptable will
always cost something.
_3d Mo. 8th_. Oh, may I become altogether a babe
and a fool before myself, and, if it must be, before
others! God has been very graciously dealing with
me.
_3d Mo. 19th_. Words must be much more
guarded, as well as thoughts. This morning I am
comforted with a precious feeling: "I will take care
of thee."
_3d Mo. 27th_. How does my heart long, this
evening, that the one Saviour may be made unto
me "wisdom and righteousness, sanctification and
redemption!" Teach me to keep silence, O God!
to mind my own business and be faithful to it; to
deny my own will and wisdom; give me the spirit
of true Christian love, that my whole life may be in
the atmosphere of love!
_3d Mo. 28th_. * * * To cease from my own
works, surely in a very small degree, I can experimentally
say, "this is the only true rest." This
blessed experience seems to me the height of enjoyment
to the truly redeemed. Oh, a little foretaste
of this sabbath has been granted, when I have
seemed to behold with my own eye, and to feel for
myself in moments too precious to be forgotten, the
waves of tumult hushed into a, more than earthly
calm by Him who alone can say, "Peace, be still."
My tossing spirit has never found such a calm in
any thing this world can give.
During her first attendance of the Yearly Meeting in London, in 1841,
she wrote the following affectionate lines in a letter to her sisters
at home:--