"When we arrived at Stewardstown, near the head of the Connecticut river, I parted with my cousin, whose destination was different from my own. Crossing the line, I passed the night with Dr. Ladd, a friend of my father, who was a Christian and a man of extended knowledge. I treasured up many of his observations. I was then only twenty miles from home, and heard the sad news of the ravages sickness had made during my absence, which greatly disturbed me with the thought that I should never again see all my friends. On the 10th of March, however, I arrived, and though fearful to inquire for my relatives, found, to my joy, that they were all well. In company I sought to be cheerful, but in solitude the keenest sensations of sadness were active.
"Having business with my cousin at Stanstead, I made him a visit, where I heard a missionary preach and attended as a pall-bearer at a funeral, to which my feelings were much averse. On my return, when I had proceeded as far as Barnston, for some cause I returned a mile and a half, and taking a lantern started on foot through the woods, when suddenly a storm exhibited its signs of dark and angry violence. When about half through the forest, the winds, thunder and lightning were terrific. The rain fell in torrents, my light was soon extinguished, and nothing was left to guide me through the swamp except the lurid flashes of the lightning that made the gloom more terrible. Several trees were struck and fell near me across the road; some branches fell from the tree I had chosen for my shelter, as the tempest mingled with darkness, raged in madness; and never was I so deeply impressed with the might of Him who rules the world and sways the elements. Here I gained a fresh idea of the awful power and mercy of God. I was nearly induced to kneel upon the earth, and there, in the storm, make a covenant with my Maker.
"At length the storm ceased and I arrived in safety at the house of a friend. The next day I reached home, and though met by cheerful faces, through the state of my mind, the music of their tones were as mournful sounds. The company in which I had found delight, could no longer entertain me; my home was dressed in mourning, my pillow wet with tears, and the bright prospects which had cheered me had vanished from my sky. I had no heart for business, no relish for pleasure. O how tiresome was every place! I read the Bible in private; often left my father's table in tears; often retired to the grove whose trees, more than those around me, seemed to know my heart, that I might relieve my soul in weeping. None knew the cause of this love of solitariness. Some said 'he suffers the influence of disappointment;' others, that 'he is plotting something for advantage:' none supposed that within me a deep striving was separating me from the world and leading me to the Fountain of Salvation. This period was a severe trial. Every power, it would seem, combined to test my spirit. Sometimes, from the conflict within, whilst darkness held its temporary victory, I was almost tempted to be angry with the Powers above, and with the whole creation; and once, I remember to have so far fallen under the evil power, as to swear at the existing order of things. It was continual trouble. I strove to labor what I could, and to fulfil my station in the family, using all the fortitude I could command. Here many things occurred that I shall not particularize; some things between my father and myself, which I once thought I should mention in every respect, but which the delicacy of the subject and the tenderness of our relation prevent. I can only say that my father was of deistical opinions, and at that time did not possess the degree of friendship and tenderness for the cause of religion which I could have wished him to, and which he indeed possessed some months after.
"At times, everything seemed to unite in tormenting me, in causing me trouble; again, all things in nature, when my clouds were partially dispersed, had a voice for the Creator's praise. I alone was untuned. The very winds, as they passed, spoke of His power. The stars, ever calm, looked down in love, seeming faithfully to perform the will of their Ordainer; and the flowers of the earth, which bloomed in beauty, sending forth their fragrance to His honor; and the songs of birds, whose notes were full of the primeval innocence, all combined to administer reproof. The following lines would then have spoken my feelings, as the full-blown spring-time lay unfolded around me:
"'Ye warblers of the vernal shade
Whose artless music charms my ear,
Your loveliness my heart upbraids—
My languid heart, how insincere!
While all your little powers collected, raise
A tribute to your great Creator's praise.
"'Ye lovely offsprings of the ground,
Flowers of a thousand beauteous dyes,
You spread your Maker's glory round,
And breathe your odor to the skies:
Unsullied you display your lively bloom,
Unmingled you present your sweet perfume.
"'Ye winds that waft the fragrant spring,
You, whispering, spread His name abroad,
Or shake the air with sounding wing,
And speak the awful power of God:
His will, with swift obedience, you perform,
Or in the gentle gale or dreadful storm.
"'Ye radiant orbs that guide the day
Or deck the sable veil of night,
His wondrous glory you display,
Whose hand imparts your useful light:
Your constant task, unwearied, you pursue,
Nor deviate from the path your Maker drew.
"'O Lord! thy grace my languid heart can raise,
These dissipated powers unite,
Can bid me pay my debt of praise
With love sincere and true delight:
Oh! let thy power inspire my heart and tongue,
Then will I, grateful, join Creation's song.'