not to be self-sufficient, but to be humble and yet diligent.

I do not think that we practise this simple resignation often
enough; it is astonishing how the act of placing our own will as
far as possible in unison with the Will of God restores our
tranquillity.

It was only a short time ago that I was walking alone among fields
and villages. It was one of those languid days of early spring,
when the frame and the mind alike seem unstrung and listless. The
orchards were white with flower, and the hedges were breaking into
fresh green. I had just returned to my work after a brief and
delightful holiday, and was overshadowed with the vague depression
that the resumption of work tends to bring to anxious minds. I
entered a little ancient church that stood open; it was full of
sunlight, and had been tenderly decked with an abundance of spring
flowers. If I had been glad at heart it would have seemed a sweet
place, full of peace and beautiful mysteries. But it had no voice,
no message for me. I was overshadowed too by a sad anxiety about
one whom I loved, who was acting perversely and unworthily. There
came into my mind a sudden gracious thought to commit myself to the
heart of God, not to disguise my weakness and anxiety, not to ask
that the load should be lightened, but that I might endure His will
to the uttermost.

In a moment came the strength I sought; no lightening of the load,
but a deeper serenity, a desire to bear it faithfully. The very
fragrance of the flowers seemed to mingle like a sweet incense with
my vow. The old walls whispered of patience and hope. I do not know
where the peace that then settled upon me came from, but not, it