tion.
And the Messenger came, and he said, "Escape, and the way is
consenting." But I said, "No, I will not have that way, I will escape
by some other way." So I tried every other way, but found it guarded
by something which seemed to be armed with a hammer; but I
persisted: then for days and nights my soul stood up to the hammers
and received terrible blows, and still I persisted--I would find a way
to escape that should please my will. But I could not eat, I could not
sleep, the flesh visibly lessened on my bones, and at last I loathed
myself and my own will and my own soul, and I cried to God, "Shall
I never be through with this terrible struggle with self-will?" and
groaned aloud in my despair.

Then the words that were sent long ago to a saint, and that he was
inspired to write down to help us all, now came and did their work
for me through him: "My grace is sufficient for thee." And so I
found it, and more than sufficient--when I consented.

Who is it, what is it, that so punishes the soul? Is it God? No.
Patiently, lovingly He waits. Our pain is the difficulty of consenting
to perfection: every virtue has a hammer, every perfection a long
two-edged sword; and the punishment we feel is the breaking and
wounding of self-will under the hammers of the virtues and the
sword-thrusts of the vision of perfection.

Put aside these wretched, these sometimes awful and terrible, battles
and punishments, shrink from them when they come, and we may
put aside salvation. Accept them--stand up to the hammer and take
the blows and learn: consent to the sword that pierces up to the hilt,
and what do we come to?--The Blisses of God.

PART V

I

After coming to Union with God, our prayers become entirely
changed, not only in the manner of presenting them, but changed
also in what is presented. Petitioning is a hard thing. I had found it
easy to pray for others whether I loved them or not, with the lips and
with some of the heart; but I found that I could not do it in the new
way, with all my heart, mind, soul, and strength, so that everything
else fled away into nothing and was no more, except that for which I
petitioned God. A perfect concentration for the welfare of a stranger
or of some cause was a very hard thing; yet I was made aware that I
must learn to do it.

For two or three years I suffered pain and exhaustion over this
petitioning; I would be so fatigued by it, found it so great a strain,
that I said to myse