“Scarce I begin my sad complaint, When all my warmest wishes faint: Hardly I lift my weeping eye, When all my kindling ardors die: Nor hopes nor fears my bosom move, For still I cannot, cannot love!” I could not rest thus, though I concluded, it would always be the case: I expected to be miserable all my life, and to perish at the last: I found it as easy to reach heaven with my hand, as to believe Jesus died for _me_. I felt, _no one can come to Christ, except the Father draw him_. Now I knew, it was the work of God, to believe on him whom he hath sent. I prayed he would work faith in _me_, but seemed as distant from God as hell from heaven: I was cut off from all self-dependence: I was a sinner stript of all. I was on my knees striving to pray, when I heard inwardly a voice say, “Thy sins are forgiven thee.” I felt the truth of it in my heart, and in a moment prayer was lost in praise. I called upon the angels to join with me, in blessing him who died for _me_! He caused his goodness to pass before me, and I rejoiced with joy unspeakable. Yet in a few hours after I began to fear I had deceived myself, and all was delusive. I was much distressed, and had recourse to prayer, and the Lord repeated his mercies, and impressed the same words on my mind, more strongly than before. I was more assured of his forgiving love, and enjoyed much peace in believing. I now thought, I never could sin more. My mind was taken up with God, and I conversed with him as a man would with his friend. My confidence in him was unshaken, and my hope full of immortality. I wanted others to rejoice with me; but they were _strangers to Jesus_, and _intermeddled not with_ my _joy_. I lamented being alone. My nearest friends thought I carried things too far. My mother was more alarmed; for I could not speak but on religious subjects. A neighbouring clergyman advised her to confine me, if I offered to hear the Methodists. This I did at all opportunities, though none was nearer than four miles off. Her tenderness gave me much pain. I was sorry to grieve her in any thing; and yet I did not dare to oblige her, by acting contrary to my conscience. I could not play at cards, nor join in trifling discourse, though my refusal was deemed preciseness. I was near two years at home after this. Then the Lord fulfilled his promise: He _gave me the bread of adversity and the water of affliction_; but _my eyes_ did _see my teachers_. I was now more desirous than ever, to be made conformable to the will of God: but I thought, to believe the doctrine of perfection, was derogating from the priestly office of Christ.