"Everything is beautiful, and all nature is glad and rejoicing. Arise,
my soul, and be thou glad likewise. Cast off thy gloomy fears. The God
who made all the beautiful things by which thou art surrounded is not
unmindful of thee. Oh, wondrous condescension! God is not forgetful of
_me_. He gazes upon me with an eye of compassion; he pities my
distress and my weakness. Amazing love! Oh, that I were more worthy of
it; Oh, that I loved him as fervently as I ought! But my heart is
callous, and I am nothing but a poor, cold, vile and helpless sinner:
nothing but sin _dwells_ hi my heart. It is the seat of every vice,
every evil thought, and every depraved passion. [Jer. 17:9, 10;
Mark 7:21-23]. Dark and gloomy clouds envelope my soul. A weight of
sorrow presses upon my heart, and I vainly strive to free myself from
its influence. Everything looks dark. 'My God, my God, why hast thou
forsaken me? why art thou so far from helping me?' 'How long wilt thou
forget me, O Lord? forever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me?'
'Mine iniquities are gone over my head: as a heavy burden they are too
heavy for me. Lord, all my desire is before thee; and my groaning is
not hid from thee. Make haste to help me.' 'My soul fainteth for thy
salvation, but I hope in thy word.' O my God, hear my cry, and answer
my petition."

"_Tuesday_, _June_ 29, 1852. The sultry fires of the day have yielded
to the cool breezes of evening. A misty cloud hangs over the once
azure sky, and the deep, heavy roar of thunder shakes the quiet air.
Nearer and nearer still it rolls its deep-toned voice, and all nature
seems to reply. The vivid lightnings flash. The fountains on high are
opened, and the rain pours down in torrents. Wilder grows the storm:
the winds are released from their 'prison-cave,' and armed with fury
they rush madly forth; brighter the lightnings glare, louder the