Thought I had accepted Christ. I thought He
was my salvation and my all. "Yet once more" will
the Lord shake not my earthly heart, but also my
heaven, my hopes, my expectations, in Him. Will
He convict me still of holding the truth in unrighteousness?
How else can I explain to myself the
pride which revolts from censure, the touchy disposition,
the self-justifying spirit, the jealousy of my reputation,
the anxiety to keep up my character? How
else can I explain the inaptitude for the divine, the
unwillingness to have the veil quite lifted from my
heart, to display it even to my own eyes? Ah! is it
not that there is still a double mind and instability in
all my ways, still a want of that simplicity of faith,
that humility, and poverty, and meekness of spirit,
that can accept the gospel, still the self-righteousness
(worse than "I am of Paul") which assumes to itself
"_I_ of Christ"? Ah! if I may yet lift my eyes
through Him who hath borne even the iniquity of
our holy things, keep me, O Lord, from a wider
wandering, till Thou bring me fully into the fold,
the "little flock," to whom it is Thy good pleasure to
give thy kingdom.

_7th Mo. 5th_. * * * It is useless to conceal from
myself that I have felt grieved at some, whom we
might suppose grounded in the faith long since, appearing
to keep the expression of sole reliance on the
mercy of God in Jesus Christ, as a sort of death-bed
confession. I know full well that religion must be an