I have been very ill, perhaps I should say very low, it was an attack with night fever accompanying it when already quite worn out. My first part when so low (and God graciously set me to it) was to repass and judge all my ways—not my activities, which, however wanting, were really for Christ, but all that had passed in my own mind according to His Spirit where I had allowed any evil in my mind. Then I got into a spirit, of direct worship in which I was very happy, and full of God's presence, not exactly dwelling on His love, which I had often enjoyed, but worship—God put in His place, God enjoyed in and for Himself as God; and then much thought, happy and profitable, how I should feel if Christ came—looked at humanly, so to speak, I suppose Mary's would be the place, she sat still in the house. I felt the unspeakable joy of one look of His favor; and so I passed my time (most kindly cared for) but alone. I had flowers from the famous poet Longfellow's garden, for God can provide even these from where He will.
1867.