Where the wanderer falls dejected,
By a thirst he never can slake.


In a vain endeavour to slake that cruel thirst my soul groped in strange
dark places. It went out in quest of a God, and finding one not, grew
weary.

By the unknown way that the atmosphere of the higher life penetrated to
me, so came a knowledge of the sin and sorrow abroad in the world--the
cry of the millions oppressed, downtrodden, God-forsaken! The wheels of
social mechanism needed readjusting--things were awry. Oh, that I might
find a cure and give it to my fellows! I dizzied my brain with the
problem; I was too much for myself. A man with these notions is a curse
to himself, but a woman--pity help a woman of that description! She is not
merely a creature out of her sphere, she is a creature without a sphere--a
lonely being!

Recognizing this, I turned and cursed God for casting upon me a burden
greater than I could bear--cursed Him bitterly, and from within came a
whisper that there was nothing there to curse. There was no God. I was an
unbeliever. It was not that I sought after or desired atheism. I longed
to be a Christian, and fought against unbelief. I asked the Christians
around me for help. Unsophisticated fool! I might as well have announced
that I was a harlot. My respectability vanished in one slap. Some said it
was impossible to disbelieve in the existence of a God: I was only doing
it for notoriety, and they washed their hands of me at once.

Not believe in God! I was mad!