_16th_. Somewhat puzzled at myself. This has
not been a spiritually prosperous day--passed just to
my taste, much in reading, but not much, I fear, with
the Lord. Yet I have had very loving thoughts of
Christ this evening, and was ready to call Him _my
own dear Saviour_, though I trust on no other terms
than His terms, namely, that I should be wholly His.
Some misgivings are come up that I am tempted to
think Him mine when I am not in a state to be His;
some fears lest Satan has put on the winning smiles
of an angel of light; and yet where can I go but to
Thee, Saviour of sinners? Thou hast the words of
life and salvation; suffer me not to be deluded, but at
all hazards let me be Thine.

Thou who breakest not the bruised reed, oh, bring
forth in me judgment unto truth, and let me wait for
the _law of life and peace from Thee_.

_9th Mo. 18th_. Rode to Lodge to get ferns. Enjoyed
thoughts of the beauty of nature, imperfect
as it is, because one kind of beauty necessarily
excludes another. What, then, must be the essence
of that glory in which all perfection is beauty
united? Thus these things must be described to
mortal comprehension under contradictory images;
such as "pure gold, like unto transparent glass," &c.

_9th Mo. 19th_. I think harm is done by considering