_6th Mo. 12th_. Many and great have been the
favors dispensed within the last five weeks. The
attendance of the Yearly Meeting has been the
occasion of many and solemn warnings and advices,
and, I trust, the reception of some real instruction.
But, truly, I have found that in every situation, the
great enemy can lay his snares; and if one more
than another has taken with me, it has been to lead
me to look outward for teaching, and to depend too
much upon it, neglecting that one inward adoration
for the want of which no outward ministry can atone.
But I hope the enemy has not gained more than
limited advantages of this kind, and perhaps even
the discovery of these has had the effect of making
me more distrustful of self. And, now, oh that the
everlasting covenant might be ordered in _all_ things
and sure, and He only, who is King of Kings and
Lord of Lords, be exalted over all, in my heart; and
the blessed experience thus described, be more fully
realized: "He that hath entered into his rest hath
ceased from his own works as God did from his."
_6th Mo. 21st_. Very early this morning the long
struggle with death terminated, and the spirit of our
beloved Uncle E. was released from its worn tenement.
The stony nature in my heart seems truly
wounded. May it not be as the wounded air, soon
to lose the trace. My heavenly Father's tender
regard I have, indeed, felt this evening; but I tremble
for the evil that remains in me. May I be blessed
with the continued care of the good Shepherd, that
I may be preserved as by the crook of His love.
And now, seeing that much is forgiven me, may I
love much. I feel that my Saviour's regard is of
far more value than any earthly thing; and oh
that my eye may be kept singly waiting for Him!
The decease of her uncle was soon followed by that of his youngest
son, Joseph E. In reference to his death, she remarks:--
_7th Mo. 22d_. He, in whose sight the death of
His saints is precious, has again visited with the
solemn call our family circle, and summoned away
the sweetest, purest, and most heavenly of the group.
Our dear cousin Joseph last night entered that
"rest which remains for the people of God;" rest
for which he had been panting the whole of the day,
and to which he was enabled to look forward as his
"happy home."
_7th Mo. 28th_. Yesterday was one long to be remembered.
The last sad offices were paid to him
whom we so much loved; and oh that the mantle
of the watchful, lowly disciple might descend abundantly
upon us! Yet it is only by keeping near to
the divine power, that I can receive any thing good;
and, though yet far away, oh, may I look towards His
holy habitation who is graciously offering me a home
where there is "bread enough and to spare."
_4th Mo. 3d_, 1842. He who has been for years
striving with me, has lately, I think I may say, manifested
to me the light of His countenance, and
enabled me at seasons to commit the toiling, roving
mind into His hand. This morning, however, I feel
as if I could find no safe centre. Oh that I were
gathered out of the false rest, and from all false
dependence, to God Himself, the only true helper,
and leader, and guide! How precious to recognize,
in the light that dawned yesterday and the day before,
the same glory, and power, and beauty, which
were once my chief joy! But oh, I desire not to be
satisfied with attaining again to former experience;
but to give all diligence in pressing forward to the
mark for the prize, even forgetting things that are
behind.
_10th Mo_. Mercies and favors of which I am totally
unworthy have been graciously bestowed this morning,
and, may I hope, a small capacity granted to
enter into the sanctuary and pray. This week I
have been unwatchful,--too much cumbered; yet,
oh, I hope and trust, at times, my chains are breaking,
and though I must believe the bitterness will
come in time, the gospel of salvation is beginning
to be tasted in its sweetness, completeness, and joy.
_1st Mo._ 1843. I desire that the privilege of this
day attending the Quarterly Meeting at Plymouth,
may be long held in grateful remembrance; that the
language, "I have heard of Thee by the hearing of
the ear, but now mine eye seeth Thee; wherefore I
abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes," may
be my increasing experience. Conscious that the
state of my heart, long wavering between two opinions,
has of late been fearfully in danger of fixing
to the wrong one of these, I would ask of Him who
seeth in secret, and who is, I trust, at this very moment
renewing a measure of the contrition, which,
amid all my desires for it, did but gleam upon me
this morning, to do in me a thorough work, to remain
henceforth and ever.
_2d Mo. 12th_. About four weeks since, we had
a precious visit from B.S., and it has been a sacrifice
to me to make no record of his striking communications;
but I have been fearful, lest in any measure
the weight and freshness of these things should
vanish in words; and I have never felt at liberty to
do so.
In this year, she wrote but little in her Journal, and it appears
to have been a time of spiritual proving; yet one in which she
experienced that it was good for her "to trust in the name of the
Lord, and to stay herself upon her God."
_6th Mo. 16th_, 1844. One week ago was the
twenty-first anniversary of my birthday. In some
sense, I can say,--
"The past is bright, like those dear hills,
So far behind my bark;
The future, like the gathering night,
Is ominous and dark.
"One gaze again--one long, last gaze;
Childhood, adieu to thee;
The breeze hath hurried me away,
On a dark, stormy sea."
Deeply and more deeply, day by day, does my understanding
find the deceitfulness of my heart. Well
do I remember the feelings of determination, with
which I resolved, two years since, that this period
should not find me halting between two opinions,--that
ere _this_ day I would be a Christian indeed.
And looking back upon my alternating feelings, ever
since reason was mine, upon the innumerable resolutions
to do good, which have been as staves of reed,
I must want common perception not to assent to the
truth, that "the heart is deceitful above all things,
and desperately wicked: who can know it?" But,
oh, it is not this only, which my intellectual conscience
is burdened with: when I look at the visitations
of divine grace which have been my unmerited,
unasked-for, privilege, through which I can but feel
that in days past, a standing was placed in my power
to attain, which, probably, now I shall never approach,
the question does present with an awful importance,
"How much owest thou unto thy Lord?"
Seeing we know not, nor can know, the value of an
offer of salvation, till salvation is finally lost or won;
seeing that such an offer is purchased only by the
shedding of a Saviour's blood, how incomprehensibly
heavy, yet how true, the charge, "Ye have crucified
to yourselves the son of God afresh." I know well
that of many now pardoned, for sins far deeper in
the eyes of men than any I have committed, it might
be said that _little_ is forgiven them in comparison of
the load of debt that hangs over my head; and I
have sometimes thought, that the comparison of
_debtors_ was selected by the Saviour, purposely to
show that guilt in the sight of God is chiefly incurred
by the neglect of His own spiritual gifts, not
in proportion merely to the abstract morality of man's
conduct. It is certainly what we have received
that will be required at our hands: and oh, in the
sight of the Judge of all the earth, how much do I
owe unto my Lord! This day, though I was not in
darkness about it, seems almost to have overtaken me
unawares. I was not ready for it, though I knew so
well when it would come; and, oh, for that day which
I know not how near it may be, when the account
is to be finally made up--how, how shall I prepare?
With all the blessings, and invitations, and helps,
which the good God has given me, I am _deeply,
deeply_ involved. How, then, can I dream of clearing
off these debts, when there can be no doubt that
I shall daily incur more? Alas, I am too much disposed
to keep a _meum_ and _tuum_ with heaven itself
in more senses than one. * * * As to setting out
anew on a _carte blanche_, I cannot. There lies the
deeply-stained record against me: "_I_ called," and,
oh, how deep the meaning, "Ye did not answer."
Yes, my heart did: but to answer, "I go, sir," does
but add to the condemnation that "I went not."
_6th Mo. 23d._ This morning, I believe, the spirit
was, in measure, willing, though the "flesh was
weak." I have thought of the lines--
"When first thou didst thy all commit
To Him upon the mercy-seat,
He gave thee warrant from that hour
To trust his wisdom, love, and power."
My desire is to know that _my_ all is committed, and
then, I do believe, He _will_ be known to be faithful
that hath promised. The care of our salvation is
not ours; our weak understandings cannot even
fathom the means whereby it is effected; but this
we do know, that it indispensably requires to be
"wrought out with fear and trembling." The Saviour
will be _ours_, only on condition of our being
_his_. Religion must not be an acquirement, but a
transformation; and surely that spirit, which could
not make itself, and which, when made by God, has
but degraded itself, is unable to "create itself anew
in Christ Jesus unto good works." No, fear and
trembling are the only part, and that but negative,
which the spirit of man can have in working out its
own salvation; but when led by the good spirit into
this true fear, when given to wait, and held waiting
at the feet of Jesus, it is made able, gradually, to _receive_
the essential gospel of salvation; and so long
only is it in the way of salvation as it is sensible
of its constant dependence on the one Saviour of
men.
May Friends, above all, while distinctly maintaining
the doctrine of the influence of the Spirit on
the heart, be deeply and _personally_ sensible that
there is but _one_ Saviour, even Jesus Christ, who
came into the world to save sinners, of whom, as we
are led to true repentance, I believe each one will be
ready to think "I am chief." The distinguishing
practices of Friends, as to dress, language, etc. are
in no manner valuable, but when they spring from
the _root_ of essential Christianity. This is certainly
the great thing. "Cleanse first the inside of the cup
and platter."
I have been grieved to fear that some would resolve
the vast meaning of "a religious life and conversation
consistent with our Christian profession" into
little more than "plainness of speech, behavior,
and apparel:" then I do think it becomes a mere idol.
The tithe of "mint, anise, and cummin" is preferred
to the weightier matters of the law. But I am going
from the point of my own condition in the warmth
of my feelings, which have been deeply troubled at
these things of late.
_11th Mo. 18th_. I believe it is one and the same
fallen nature which, at one time, is holding me captive
to the world; at another, filling me with impatience
and anxiety about my spiritual progress; at
another, with self-confidence, and at another, with
despondency. Oh, the enemy knows my many weak
sides; but I do hope and trust the Lord will take
care of me. "Past, present, future, calmly leave to
Him who will do all things well." If the root be
but kept living and growing, then I need not be
anxious about the branches; but, above all, the root
must be the husbandman's exclusive care.
_11th Mo. 30th_. I believe I sincerely desire that
no spurious self-satisfaction may be mistaken for the
peace of God, that no activity in works of self-righteousness
may be mistaken for doing the day's work
in the day. Oh, who can tell the snares that surround
me? Yet I have been comforted this morning,
in thinking of the declaration, "His mercies are over-all
his works;" which I believe may be very especially
applied to the work of His Spirit in the soul of man.
Over this He does watch, and to this He does dispense,
day by day, His merciful protection from surrounding
dangers; "I the Lord do keep it, I will
water it every moment; lest any hurt it, I will keep
it night and day." Oh, the blessedness of a well-founded,
watchful, humble trust in this keeping!
_12th Mo. 27th_. The mean self-indulgence of sleeping
late has come over me again, though I found, a
week or two since, after a firm resolve, the difficulty
vanish. This morning I had no time for retirement
before breakfast; and, should circumstances ever become
less under my control, this habit may prevent
my having any morning oblation. The weakness and
sinfulness of my heart have been making me almost
tremble at the thought of another year: how shall I
meet its thousand dangers and not fall? In religious
communications in our house, I am apt to look for
any intimation that I could appropriate of a shortened
pilgrimage; but very little of the sort has occurred:
indeed, I expect my selfish wish will not be gratified,
of escaping early from this toilsome world; but how
rash and ungrateful are such thoughts! how much
better all these things are in my Father's hands! Oh,
if I may be there too in the form of passive clay,
and receive all His tutoring and refining, this will be
enough: and should my future way be full of sorrows,
heaven will bring me sweeter rest at last; when the
whole work is done, when the robes are quite washed,
when the fight is quite fought, and the death died;
when the eternal life, which shall blossom above, is
brought into actual health here, and real fellowship
is made with my last hour.
_1st Mo. 10th_, 1845. I am inclined to set down
the events of my little world for the past week; that
in days to come, should it prove that I have been
following "cunningly devised fables," I may beware
of such entanglements again; and that if they be
found a guidance from above, their contemptibleness
and seeming folly may be shown to be in wisdom. I
have, from my childhood, delighted in poetry: if
lonely, it was my companion; if sad, my comfort;
if glad, it gave a voice to my joy. Of late, I have
enjoyed writing pieces of a religious nature, though
I must confess the excitement, the possession which
the act of composition made of my mind, did not
always favor the experience of what I sought to express.
Two pieces of this kind I asked my father to
send to the _Friend_: he liked them, but proposed my
adding something to one. I had had a sweet little
season by myself just before: then, sliding from feeling
to composition, I thought of it all the rest of the
evening, and when I went to bed, stayed some time
writing four lines for the conclusion; after I was in
bed, my heart was full of it, and I composed four
lines more to precede them, with which I fell asleep.
In the morning I resolved not to think of them till
I had had my silent devotions; they came upon me
while I was dressing, and, having forgotten one line,
I stayed long making a substitute: then I retired to
read, and, if possible, to pray, but it was not possible
in that condition: I did but sit squaring and polishing
my lines; and having finished them to my heart's
content, I gave them to my father about the middle
of the day, conscious, I could not but be, that they
had "passed as a cloud between the mental eye of
faith and things unseen." Every time they passed
through my mind, they seemed to sound my condemnation.
My evening retirement was dark and
sad; I felt as if any thing but this I could give up
for my Saviour's love; "all things are lawful, but all
things are not expedient;" and yet the taste and the
power were given me, with all things else, by God.
I had used them too in a right cause, but then the
talent of grace is far better. Which should be sacrificed?
Why sacrifice either? I could not deny that
it seemed impossible to keep both. But it might be
made useful, if well employed. "To obey is better
than sacrifice." Now they _are_ written, they might
just as well be printed; but the printing will probably
be the most hazardous part. I shall be sure to write
more, and nourish vanity: or else the sight of them
will cause remorse rather than pleasure. If I should
lose my soul through poetry? For the life of self
seems bound up in it; and "whosoever loveth his
life shall lose it." But perhaps it would be a needless
piece of austerity; it would be a great struggle;
it would be like binding myself for the future, not
to enjoy my treasured pleasure. The sacrifice which
is acceptable will always cost something. So I prevailed
upon myself to write a note, and lay it before
my father, asking him not to send them, trembling
lest he should dislike my changeableness, or I should
change again and repent it. My father said nothing,
but gave me back the lines when we were all together,
which was a mountain got over. I thought to have
had more peace after; but till this First-day I have
been very desolate, though, I believe, daily desiring
to seek my God above all; and thinking, sometimes,
that that for which I had made a sacrifice became
thereby dearer.
After this striking and instructive account, which shows how zealously
she endeavored to guard against any too absorbing influence, however
good and allowable in itself the thing might be, it seems not amiss to
remark that Eliza's taste for poetry was keen and discriminating; and
that her love of external nature, and more especially her deeper and
holier feelings, found appropriate expression in verse. If some of
these effusions show a want of careful finish, it must be remembered
that they were not written for publication, but for the sake of
embodying the feeling of the occasion, in that form which naturally
presented itself.