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.