3d Mo. 28th. * * * To cease from my own works, surely in a very small degree, I can experimentally say, "this is the only true rest." This blessed experience seems to me the height of enjoyment to the truly redeemed. Oh, a little foretaste of this sabbath has been granted, when I have seemed to behold with my own eye, and to feel for myself in moments too precious to be forgotten, the waves of tumult hushed into a, more than earthly calm by Him who alone can say, "Peace, be still." My tossing spirit has never found such a calm in any thing this world can give.
During her first attendance of the Yearly Meeting in London, in 1841, she wrote the following affectionate lines in a letter to her sisters at home:—
LONDON THOUGHTS.
The crowds that past me ceaseless rush
Stay not to glance at me,
As falling waters headlong gush
Into their native sea.
But hearts there are that brightly burn,
And light each kindling eye,
And home to them my thoughts return,
Swift as the sunbeams fly.
* * * * *
To home, to home my spirit hastes;
For why? my treasure's there;
'Tis there her native joys she tastes,
And breathes her native air.
Oh, sweetest of all precious things,
When this wide world we roam,
When meets us on its balmy wings
A messenger from home!
From home, where hearts are warm and true,
And love's lamp brightly burns,
And sparkles Hermon's pearly dew
On childhood's crystal urns.
Oh, sweet to mark the speaking lines
Traced by a sister's hand,
And feel the love that firmly twines
Around our household band!