"Dig deep into this precious mine,
Toil and its richest ore is thine:
Search, and the Lord will lend His aid
To strew its wealth from its mystic shade:
Strive, and His Spirit will give the light
To work in the heavenly mine aright.
Pray without ceasing, and in Him confide,
Into all truth His light will guide."
When weakness prevented her attending public worship, she found a sanctuary in God^s word: "My Bible is my church," she said. " It is always open, and there is my High Priest, ever waiting to receive me. There I have my confessional, my thanksgiving, my psalms of praise, a field of promises, and a congregation of whom the world is not worthy—prophets, apostles, martyrs, confessors; in short, all I can want I there find." What a blessing it is that this rich treasure, so full of blessing to her, is ours also, that the humblest mind may receive a ray from that Divine source of all light and life. Her sister says hers was, to a great extent, " a hidden life,"—hid with Christ in God, we may say. But as the unseen violet is known and tracked by its fragrance, so the breathings of her soul have come to us in her poems, and help to waft our thoughts heavenward. We feel that it was by prayer she lived and sang her sweet strains. We hardly need to be told that she had special seasons of spiritual communion with, and prayer for, absent friends; special times for commending works of faith and labours of love to Him who alone can send the prospering blessing,
