that we are pilgrims and
strangers on the earth. Two lines of my own keep running in my head:

Oh foolish heart, oh faithless heart, oh heart on ruin bent, Build not
with too much care thy nest, thou art in banishment.

I have seen the time when the sense of being a pilgrim and a stranger
was very sweet; and God can sweeten whatever He does to us. So though
perplexed we are not in despair, and if we feel that we are this summer
living in a tent that may soon blow down, it is just what you are doing,
and in this point we shall have fellowship. I am sure it is good for
us to have God take up the rod, even if He lays it down again without
inflicting a blow. I know we are going to pray till light comes. I
feel very differently about it from what I did last summer. The mental
conflicts of the past winter have created a good deal of indifference to
everything. Without conscious union and nearness to my Saviour I can't
be happy anywhere; for years He has been the meaning of everything, and
when He only _seems_ gone (I know it is only seeming) I don't much care
where I am. I am just trying to be patient till He makes Satan let go of
me. Excuse this selfish letter, and write me one just as bad!

On the 7th of June she went to Dorset with her husband and the younger
children. The following lines, found among her papers, will show in what
temper of mind she went. It is worth noting that they were written on
Monday, and express a week-day, not merely a passing Sabbath feeling:

Once more at home, once more at home--
For what, dear Lord, I pray?
To seek enjoyment, please myself,
Make life a summer's day?

I shrink, I shudder at the thought;
For what is home to me,
When sin and self enchain my heart,
And keep it far from Thee?

There is but one abiding joy,
Nor place that joy can give;
It is Thy presence that makes home,
That makes it "life to live."

That presence I invoke; naught else
I venture to entreat;
I long to see Thee, hear Thy voice,
To sit at Thy dear feet.

_To a young Friend, Dorset, June 12, 1871._

I trust it is an omen of good that the first letters I have received
since coming here this summer, have been full of the themes I love best.
I was much struck with the sentence you quote, "They can not go back,"
etc., [5] and believe it is true of you. Being absorbed in divine things
will not make you selfish; you will be astonished to find how loving you
will