La Mennais says, in his Paroles d’un Croyant, that—
“Il y a toujours des vents brûlants, qui passent sur l’âme de l’homme, et la desséchant. La prière est la rosée qui la rafraîchit.”
And, again,—
“Dieu sait mieux que vous ce dont vous avez besoin, et c’est pour cela qu’il veut que vous le lui demandiez; car Dieu est lui-même votre premier besoin, et prier Dieu, c’est commencer à posséder Dieu.”
The sirocco of sorrow had fanned its hot breath over my soul; but, no grateful spring shower had cooled it through prayer. God, certainly, knows better than we what we should desire; but why does He not instruct us in His wishes?
Perhaps you think this all milk-and-watery talk, and that I do not mean what I say?
But I do. Even those people whom you might think the most unlikely persons to have such thoughts, will have these reflections, so why not speak of them?
Some, I know, believe that all religious conversation should be strictly tabooed in any reference to secular matters. But it seems to me a very delicate faith that will only stand an airing once a week, like your church services on Sundays! I have thought of such things, and I’m not ashamed to mention them.
Acting on my mind at the same time—in concert with these religious doubts, and the consciousness of my unlucky fortunes—was a strong feeling of home-sickness, which grew and grew with greater intensity as the months rolled by.
I got so miserable, that, I felt with Shelley—
“I could lie down, like a tired child,
And weep away the life of care
Which I have borne and yet must bear!”