Daughters of the Cross: or Womans Mission | Page 5

as thoughtless as before her
conversion. Again was the Bible laid aside, and the sickly novel and the
wild romance substituted in its place. The closet was neglected, and she
loved not to retire and commune with God. The flame of piety in her
soul went out, and her heart was dark and sad; she fearfully realized the
truth of the divine declaration, "The way of the transgressor is hard." In
her diary she tells of sleepless nights and anxious days; of the Savior
wounded by her whom he died to save; of the Spirit grieved, and
almost quenched, yet lingering around her, now reproving, now
commanding, now pleading; at one time holding up the terrors of a
broken law, and then whispering in tones as sweet and gentle as
Calvary; of conscience holding up a mirror in which she might discern
the likeness of herself and contemplate her real moral character.
Thoughts of God and holiness, of Christ and Calvary, made her gloomy
and unhappy; and she entered the winding path of sin, that the celestial
light might not burst upon her. Like other sinners, she sought happiness
by forgetting what she was doing, and by an entire withdrawal from all

scenes which could awaken in her soul emotions of contrition and
repentance.
On the 28th of June, 1809, Miss Atwood listened to a discourse, which
was the instrument, in the hands of God, of again prostrating her at the
foot of the cross. Her carnal security gave way; her sins, her broken
vows and pledges, rose up before her in startling numbers; her guilt
hung over her like a dark mantle; she felt the awful pangs of remorse,
and was induced to return to that kind and compassionate Savior who
had at first forgiven all her faults. Peace was restored; the smile of God
returned; and the bleeding heart, torn and wounded by sin, had rest.
While in her fifteenth year, the subject of this sketch was called upon to
part with her father. What influence this sad event had upon her mind is
hardly known; but that it was an occasion of deep and thrilling anguish
cannot be doubted. Smarting under the hand of Providence, she writes
letters to several of her friends, which abound in words of holy and
pious resignation. The manner in which her sire departed, his calm exit
from the sorrows of the flesh, served to give her a more lofty idea of
the power of faith to sustain its subject in the hour of death. Though he
had left nine fatherless children and a broken-hearted widow, there was
to Harriet a melancholy pleasure in the idea that he had burst off the
fetters of clay and ascended to the skies. Though on earth deprived of
his companionship, his counsels, and his guidance, she looked forward
to a meeting where parting scenes will not be found, and where the
farewell word will never be spoken.
"There is a world above, Where parting is unknown, A long eternity of
love, Formed for the good alone; And faith beholds the dying here
Translated to that glorious sphere."
Nor had she a single doubt that her father had reached that world. She
knew the sincerity, piety, and devotion of his life, and the sweet
calmness of his death. His coffin, his shroud, his grave, his pale form
were reposing in lonely silence beneath the bosom of the earth; but the
spirit had departed on its journey of ages, and she doubted not its
perfect felicity. As often as she repaired to the spot where he was
interred, and kneeled by his tomb and breathed forth her humble
supplications, she found the sweet assurance that beyond the grave she
would see her earthly parent, and live with him forever. Though
divided by the realms of space, faith carried her onward to the scenes of

eternity and upward to the joys of heaven; and though she roamed on
earth, shedding many a tear of sorrow, her spirit held communion with
the spirit of her departed sire.
"While her silent steps were straying Lonely through night's deepening
shade, Glory's brightest beams were playing Bound the happy
Christian's head."
In October, 1810, an event occurred which gave direction to the whole
life of Harriet Atwood. She became acquainted with Samuel Newell,
one of the enthusiastic apostles of missions. He made her familiar with
his plans and purposes, and asked her to accompany him as his
colaborer and companion. Long had she prayed that she might be a
source of good to her fellow-creatures; long had she labored to
accomplish something for God and his holy cause; but the idea of
leaving mother and friends, home and kindred, and going forth to
preach salvation and tell of Jesus in wild and barbarous climes,