XIV.

COMMUNION WITH GOD UNDER DISAPPOINT

much

MENTS.

A LITTLE time ago, I met with a considerable disappointment, and in a matter too that lay upon my heart-but I shall never forget the comfort I received. I shut myself out from the world, and in bitterness of spirit, fell low before my Saviour. Saviour. I poured forth floods of tears before him. I showed him my rebellious heart, ready to repine, because things went not as I would have them. My dear Master gave me a look of kind compassion, and with ineffable sweetness smiled graciously upon me. Nature was subdued-Grace triumphant. I left him not till my whole soul was melted to resignation, and I went forth from my chamber, cheerful and easy, without a single wish, but in subserviency to the divine direction, and desiring nothing but that God's will may be done in me, and by me, and upon me. I find such happines in this state of mind, that it is my utmost ambition to attain an entire submission to the decrees of Providence, so that I may receive, what to my short sightedness appears evil, with the same thankfulness, as the most desirable things in the world-and even accounting it all joy, that I am thought worthy to suffer, knowing that nothing happens by chance, and every dispensation, if my own stubbornness

prevent it not, will work for my eternal welfare, and every cross be made a step to glory

'Tis my happiness below,

Not to live without the cross;
But the Saviour's love to know,
Sanctifying every loss.

Trials make the promise sweet,
Trials give new life to prayer,
Trials lay me at his feet,

Lay me low, and keep me there.

PANTING

XV.

AFTER GOD AND DELIGHT IN HIM,

AS THE SUPREME GOOD.

As the reviving stream to the thirsty hart; as the soft nocturnal dews to the parched herbage; and as plenteous showers after long drought in summer; so, dear fountain-head of refreshment, and infinitely more, are the emenations of thy love and the waterings of thy grace, to my thirsty, dry, and parched soul. Thou art my retreat from the burning sun, and the shelter of my defenceless head.

To thy bosom do I flee for refuge, from the hellish darts of Satan; and hide myself in thee, from all my ghostly enemies.

While I abide with thee, I am secure, nor fear to be molested by the most potent foe; but, alas! fool that I am, my unsteady feet are ever apt to stray, and wander in temptation's flowery paths.

Through the prevalence of temptation, I leave my Lord, enter into the world, defile my robes, fill myself with mourning, and drink deep of the bitter cup of shame and remorse. It is astonishing to myself that after receiving from thee the bread of life, and drinking large draughts of living water, I should ever forsake thy bosom, and leave my hiding place. Lord, I love trials, I love crosses, for they send me near to thee. Passing through the fire and water, through torrents of distress, and floods of tribulation, are indeed my sweetest moments, for then I forget the world, and derive my happiness and comfort from thyself alone, my unchangeable and never failing friend. In the day of affliction thou dost cheer my fainting soul, and revive my drooping spirits. When I am ready to sink under the load of grief, and enveloped with deep gloom, my heart and my strength are ready to fail, he supports me in the dark hour, and darting through the thickest clouds, with the sun beams of his love, calms my troubled mind, gives light and joy, peace and consolation, which the world knows nothing of, and which I would not part

with for thrones of royalty, and sceptres of dominion.

Mistress of the universe, without Christ, I should be miserable; with him no state can be verse for the soul that is made one with Jesus, and lives in daily communion with him, has health, friendship, honour, wealth, pleasure, and satisfaction, more and greater than the warmest imagination can conceive, or the most fluent tongue describe.

I AM often much distressed by fears of apostasy. This dread upon my mind keeps me very low, and I often weep at the very apprehension

of it. I cry day and night to my God, and importunately wrestle with him for preserving grace. I expect, unless there be some wonderful intervention of divine grace, soon to meet with sore temptations. The fear of reproach, and love of creatures, so easily beset me, that I am sure nothing less than power from on high, can enable me to stand: my situation at present is peculiarly happy—I am in a dear family—my uncle and aunt are patterns of piety, and every one in the house, to all outward appearance, is a real christian. Here I am encouraged in devotion, and my pious resolutions meet with applause. But, O! what should I do, if I were in an irreligious, or even lukewarm society? how could I bear to be laughed at for my preciseness, and to be ridiculed for my strictness to hours of prayers? how would my poor heart stand it, if I were surrounded with gay company, and from morning to night, heard nothing but worldly conversation. Do I not find, whenever I go out, the world too apt to engross my thoughts, and steal on my affections? What should I do if my nearest connexions and dearest relatives were gay and fashionable, and did not live up to the strictest doctrines of the cross? If left to myself, I must undoubtedly fall; and unless Christ has pity on me, I must infallibly backslide. Dear, tender hearted Shepherd, hear the

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