Friday morning, Woodvale, August 28 (25?)

Ah! my neglected journal. When sorrows come and other friends forsake me, then do I turn to thee for relief, then burden they pages with tales of grief. But today let me pause and think calmly why it is that I fell so depressed. Alas the reason soon dispersed–or for at this moment–my dear grandmother is prostrated on a bed of sickness, probably never to rise from it again. At this however though tis hard to bear. I will not murmur for it is the Lord’s will. “Blessed be his name.”

The next thing that disturbs me is my own sinfulness. “O wretched being that I am.” Who shall deliver me from the wrath of a just God? I often fear (and wretched is the thought) that there can be no mercy left for such a sinful and depraved mortal as I. But Lord help me. If I perish, I will pray and perish only at the “throne of Grace.”

Would that I could banish the gloom which hovers over me, but it seems that I am doomed to be miserable and the horrid thought cannot as least at present be shaken off.

Time will I hope heal all my sorrows and restore peace once again to my troubled breast.

There are many other things that trouble me but I have indulged long enough in the sadness and will now endeavor to commit myself into the hands of God. Knowing that He doeth all things well, I must now return to my dear grandmother and let nothing in my power be wanting to make her comfortable.