My dear cousin Ann is, I fear, sinking, so
true is it, 'Man cometh up as a flower,' and is cut down; but she is
happy in God. This is cause of thanksgiving. Many of the excellent of
the earth are retreating behind the veil. May I work while it is day.
What a poor slothful soul I have been, when heaven shines so bright
above me. Now I feel resolved to work. Jesus, Thou seest my heart, aid
me that I loiter no more. A full salvation is what my soul aims at;
but ah! how grovelling and low are my desires! language is too poor
to express my poverty, when seen in the light of the Sun of
righteousness.
O! when shall I from sin set free,
Bask in the light of Deity?
Expand my heart and fill the wide expanse.--While Mr. Haswell was
preaching, a woman cried out, 'Bless the Lord; bless the Lord O
my soul.' I trust she was under divine influence. Mr. H. gave out;
'Praise God from whom,' &c. I began to suspect the power of God was
more eminently present than I imagined: this led me to seek after
it in my own breast, and to long for a more powerful manifestation.
Praise God, I could say,
'Lo! God is here, let us adore.'
On my return home, I met the judge with his retinue returning from
court, lighted by torches. How solemn! But what, when the Judge of all
the earth shall descend from heaven with a shout and with the trump
of God! At His bar must I appear, and conscience that staunch witness,
give its unimpeachable evidence for or against me, O that Jesus, the
sinner's friend, may then sustain my cause.
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