But if
God ordered that, then He did not leave unordered the qualities of
our hearts and wills, and our very sins are of His devising.
No, it is all dark and desperate; I do not know, I cannot know; I
shall stumble to my end in ignorance; sometimes glad when a gleam
of sunshine falls on my wearied limbs, sometimes wrapping my
garments around me in cold and drenching rain. I am in the hand of
God; I know that; and I hope that I may dare to trust Him; but my
confidence is shaken as He passes over me, as the reed in the river
shakes in the wind.
February 18, 1891.
A still February day, with a warm, steady sun, which stole in and
caressed me, enveloping me in light and warmth, as I sate reading
this morning. If I could be ashamed of anything, I should be
ashamed of the fact that my body has all day long surprised me by a
sort of indolent contentment, repeating over and over that it is
glad to be alive. The mind and soul crave for death and silence.
Yet all the while my faithful and useful friend, the body, seems to
croon a low song of delight. That is the worst of it, that I seem
built for many years of life. Shall I learn to forget?
I walked long and far among the fields, in the fresh, sun-warmed
air.
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