"Did I murmur that the rod
Was so heavy, O my God?
I forgot the cursed tree,
I forgot Gethsemane,
I forgot the grief and pain—
May I ne'er forget again."
"Unworthy, wretched as I am
I hope for mercy through the Lamb:
His name, his glorious name prevails
When every other passport fails;
It opens Heaven's eternal gate;
Then, doubting soul, why longer wait?"
"Sabbath after Sabbath comes;
When will dawn the endless day?
Swiftly roll the wheels of time,
Swiftly pass the hours away;
Brighter and brighter from afar
View we now 'the Morning Star.'"
"And we, alas! are called to part:
'Farewell' is said, with aching heart;
But God will watch o'er thee I ween,
And guide thee through each trying scene,
My dearest sister Josephine!"
"The glorious sun—
His race has run,
And sweetly sought repose:
O that for me
This life might be
As bright—as calm its close!"
"What an awful peal of thunder!
O my soul, be still and wonder;
Yet another, and another—
Each one louder than the other;
God of heaven, I see thy power,
May I feel it hour by hour."
"A thousand twinkling stars to-night
Look down with soft and silvery light
And tell the majesty divine
Of Him who gives them leave to shine.
Oh, what an atom must I be,
And yet He loves and cares for me!"
"The wheels of Time-how swift they roll!
Dost thou consider, O my soul,
That it shall soon be said to thee:
'Time was, but time no more shall be'?
Then seize upon the present hour;
Improve it to thy utmost power."
In the fall of 1856 Miss JOHNSON was prostrated by disease, and nearly all the time afterwards confined to the house. So numerous and complicated were her difficulties as to baffle the skill of all the physicians who saw her, and no one knows the amount of suffering she endured. Her mind however was active and vigorous, and though there were seasons—sometimes quite protracted—when to her the heavens above seemed as brass and the earth iron, yet God did not forsake her: the sunshine succeeded the storm, and the peace that Jesus gives—was poured into her wounded heart. Referring to her afflictions in 1858 and the two following years she writes:—
"Those were days and nights of anguish, but I now look back to them with feelings of regret, for my feet had only touched the dark waters and my lips had only tasted the cup from which I was to drink the very dregs. Early in the spring of 1858 I was seized with fever and acute inflammation of the stomach, which brought me to the verge of the grave. I could feel the warm tears of beloved ones upon my cheeks, as they bent tenderly over me; I could see the dark vale just ahead (though there was a light amid the darkness), but my sufferings were not to be so soon terminated. Gradually my disease assumed a chronic form, and physicians said there was no hope. The little nourishment I could take distressed me so, terribly that the very thought of eating made me shudder, and my stomach became so sore that I could not be moved from one side of the bed to the other without uttering a cry of pain. Winter, spring, summer and autumn in turn visited the earth, and with each I thought, aye, longed to depart; but the great Refiner had his own purpose to accomplish,—there was a little fine gold but the dross rendered it useless. The ordeal through which I am passing is indeed a terrible one, but I know where peace and consolation are to be found, and there are times when I can say in sincerity, 'Thy will be done.'"