or it; but I do crave and value
sympathy with those who love Christ. And it is such a new thing to open
my heart thus! I have written any number of verses that no human being
has ever seen, because they came from the very bottom of my heart.

I wish I could put into words all the blessed thoughts I had last week
about God's dear will: it was a week of such sweet content with the work
He gave me to do; naturally I hate nursing, and losing the air makes me
feel unwell; but what can't God do with us? I love, dearly, to have a
_Master_. I fancy that those who have strong wills, are the ones to
enjoy God's sovereignty most. I wonder if you realise what a very happy
creature I am? and how much _too good_ God is to me? I don't see how He
can heap such mercies on a poor sinner; but that only shows how little I
know Him. But then, I am learning to know Him, and shall go on doing it
forever and ever; and so will you. I am not sure that it is best for us,
once safe and secure on the Rock of Ages, to ask ourselves too closely
what this and that experience may signify. Is it not better to be
thinking of the Rock, not of the feet that stand upon it? It seems to me
that we ought to be unconscious of ourselves, and that the nearer we get
to Christ, the more we shall be taken up with Him. We shall be like a
sick man who, after he gets well, forgets all the old symptoms he used
to think so much of, and stops feeling his pulse, and just enjoys his
health, only pointing out his _physician_ to all who are diseased. You
will see that this is in answer to a portion of your letter, in which
you say Miss K. interprets to you certain experiences. If I am wrong I
am willing to be set right; perhaps I have not said clearly what I meant
to say. I certainly mean no _criticism_ on you or her, but am only
thinking aloud and querying.

_To Miss E. A. Warner, New York, March 27, 1870._

You ask if I revel in the Pilgrim's Progress. Yes, I do. I think it an
amazing book. It seems to me almost as much an inspiration as the Bible
itself. [3] I am glad you liked that hymn. I write in verse whenever I
am deeply stirred, because, though as full of tears as other people, I
can not shed them. But I never showed any of these verses to any one,
not even my husband, till this winter. But if I were more with you no
doubt I should venture to let you run over some of them, at least those
my dear husband has seen and likes. I have felt about hymns just as you
say yo