aught wisdom, whose access comes
not with observation; blessed truths revealed by the Holy Spirit, full
of strength and consolation.

At any rate, this is as far as I have come to; there may be oceans of
knowledge I have yet to acquire, which will modify or wholly change my
range of thought. And, according to what light I have, I am inclined
to advise you not to confuse yourself with trying to believe in or
experience this or that because others do, but to get as close to Christ
as you can every day of your life; feeling sure that if you do, He by
His Spirit will teach you all you need to know. There has been to my
mind, during the last few weeks, something awe-inspiring in the sense
I have had of the way in which God instructs His ignorant, forgetful,
stupid children. Such goodness, such patience, such love! And, on the
other hand, our _amazing_ coldness and ingratitude.

_To Mrs. Smith, New York, Dec. 21, 1873._

I wanted to see you before you left, but it would have been cruel to add
to the cares and distractions amid which you were hurrying off. [7] ...
I am reading, with great interest, the letters of Sara Coleridge. What
strikes me most in her is, that knowing so much of her, one still feels
what _lots_ there is more to her one does not know. _22d._--Strangely
enough, in writing you last evening, I forgot to tell you how much
prayer is being offered for you and your husband, and what intense
sympathy is expressed. Dr. Vincent said he could not bear to hear
another word about his sufferings. Mrs. L---- said, "I do love that
man." Mrs. D., herself all knotted up with rheumatism, would hardly
speak of herself when she heard he was so ill; and this is only a
specimen of the deep feeling expressed on all sides.... I am glad you
find anything to like in my poor little book. I hear very little about
it, but its publication has brought a blessing to my soul, which shows
that I did right in thus making known my testimony for Christ. My will
in the matter was quite overturned.

The "poor little book" appeared under the title of _Religious Poems_,
afterwards changed to _Golden Hours; Hymns and Songs of the Christian
Life_. In a letter of Mrs. Prentiss to a friend, written in 1870, occurs
this passage:

Most of my verses are too much my own personal experience to be put in
print now. After I am dead I hope they may serve as language for some
other hearts. After I am dead! That means, oh ravishing thought! that I
shall b