hanging upon my mind.

* * * * *

Sunday, September 8.--Most awful day of wind and dust. May I never
see such another.

Church (!); open air; clouds of dust; people just simply buried in
dust; could scarcely read; whole service forty-five minutes.

During sermon compelled to turn round and shut eyes; saw on opening
them that my black hat had changed to my brown one.

Met wailing women on return; Mrs. Lubbe; news of husband's death;
shot in war; frantic; visited this evening; hopeless. What could I
do? frantic despair; cruel anguish unconsolable. Grief makes one
unreasonable. I think one should fight against grief and not collapse
so readily; and yet--and yet!

Funerals five; old Mr. Petersen; large crowd; availed myself of
opportunity; "Alleen wiens namen opgeschreven zijn in het Boek des
Levens des Lams" (But they which are written in the Lamb's Book of
Life).

May God not let His word return to Him void; read also Psalm 25,
which I read to old Mr. Petersen just before he died.

Accompanied Mrs. Mentz to see husband in hospital; youngest child
dead; father knows not; in fear and trembling lest she should tell.
He gave her half an orange to give the little girl (buried already);