Indeed, I do thank my dear Master that He does not let me alone, and that He has let me suffer so much; it has been a rich experience, this long illness, and I do trust He will so sanctify it that I shall have cause to rejoice over it all the rest of my life.  Now may I return patiently to all the duties that lie in my sphere.  May I not forget how momentous a thing death appeared when seen face to face, but be ever making ready for its approach.  And may the glory of God be, as it never yet has been, my chief end.  My love to Him seems to me so very feeble and fluctuating.  Satan and self keep up a continual struggle to get the victory.  But God is stronger than either.  He must and will prevail, and at last, and in a time far better than any I can suggest, He will open those closed gates and let me enter in to go no more out, and then “I shall never, never sin.”

As might be inferred from this record, she was at this time in the sweetest mood, full of tenderness and love.  The time of the singing of birds had now come, and all nature was clothed with that wondrous beauty and verdure which mark the transition from spring to summer.  The drives, which she was now able to take into the country, on either side of the river, gave her the utmost delight.  On the 30th of May—­the day that has since become consecrated to the memory of the Nation’s heroic dead—­she went, with her husband and eldest daughter, to visit and place flowers upon the graves of Eddy and Bessie.  Never is Greenwood more lovely and impressive than at the moment when May is just passing into June.  It is as if Nature were in a transfiguration and the glory of the Lord shone upon the graves of our beloved!  Mrs. Prentiss made no record of this visit, but on the following day thus wrote in her journal: 

May 31st.—­Another peaceful, pleasant Sunday, whose only drawback has been the want of strength to get down on my knees and praise and pray to my Saviour, as I long to do.  For well as I am and astonishingly improved in every way, a very few minutes’ use of my voice, even in a whisper, in prayer, exhausts me to such a degree that I am ready to faint.  This seems so strange when I can go on talking to any extent—­but then it is talking without emotion and in a desultory way.  Ah well!  God knows best in what manner to let me live, and I desire to ask for nothing but a docile, acquiescent temper, whose only petition shall be, “What wilt Thou have me to do?” not how can I get most enjoyment along the way.  I can not believe if I am His child, that He will let anything hinder my progress in the divine life.  It seems dreadful that I have gone on so slowly, and backward so many times—­but then I have been thinking this is “to humble and to prove me, and to do me good in the latter end.” ...  I thank my God and Saviour for every faint desire He gives me to see Him as He is, and to be changed into His image, and for every struggle against sin He enables me to make.  It is all of Him.  I do wish I loved Him better!  I do wish He were never out of my thoughts and that the aim to do His will swallowed up all other desires and strivings.  Satan whispers that will never be.  But it shall be!  One day—­oh, longed-for, blessed, blissful day!—­Christ will become my All in all!  Yes, even mine!