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Memoir of Norman MacLeod, D.D
Early College Days

IN the year 1825 his father was translated from Campbeltown to the parish of Campsie, in Stirlingshire, where he remained till 1835. The change was, in many respects, great from Campbeltown and the Highlands to a half-agricultural, half-manufacturing Lowland district, in which the extremes of political feeling between stiffest Toryism and hottest Radicalism were running high. The parish was large and thickly peopled, and its natural features were in a manner symbolical of its social characteristics. The long line of the Fell, its green sides dotted with old thorns, rises into mountain solitude, from a valley whose wooded haughs are blurred with the smoke of manufacturing villages. The contrast is sharply presented. Sheep-walks, lonely as the Cheviots, look down on unsightly mounds of chemical refuse, and on clusters of smoking chimneys; and streams which a mile away are clear as morning, are dyed black as ink before they have escaped from print-work and bleaching-green. The Manse was on the borderland of mountain and plain, for it was placed at the opening of Campsie Glen, famous for its picturesque series of thundering waterfalls and rocky pools. Behind the Manse lay the clachan and the old parish church, now in ruin.

This was a busy period in his father's life, for, besides taking the pastoral charge of the large parish, he wrote, during the ten years of his ministry in Campsie, the greater part of the Gaelic Dictionary, which bears his name along with that of Dr. Dewar. He was editor and chief contributor to a monthly Gaelic magazine, which acquired unrivalled popularity in the Highlands; [The "Teachdaire Gaelltachd."] and he also translated, at the request of the Synod of Ulster, a metrical version of the Psalms into Irish Gaelic, for the use of the Irish Presbyterian Church. Besides these literary labours, he took the chief part in establishing the education scheme of the Church of Scotland, the special sphere of which lay in the Highlands.  While these public labours taxed his energy, his increasing family, and the concomitant res angusta demi, gave no little anxiety to himself and his partner in life. The Manse maintained the traditions of Highland hospitality, and the ingenuity with which guests were accommodated was equalled only by the skill with which a very limited income was made to cover the expenses of housekeeping, and the many requirements of a family of eleven children. Norman was sent for a year to the parish school, taught, as many such schools then were, by a licentiate of the Church—an excellent scholar, and a man of great simplicity and culture. There is little to record of his schooldays, or of his first years at college. His career at the University of Glasgow, where he took his curriculum of Arts, was not distinguished by the number of prizes he carried off, for he gave himself rather to the study of general literature and of science than the subjects proper to the classes he attended. Logic, admirably taught by Professor Buchanan, was indeed the only class in Arts which kindled his enthusiasm, and it was also the only one in which he obtained academical honours. He was frequently dressed sailor-fashion, and loved to affect the sailor in his speech as well as dress. His chosen companions seem to have been lads of precocious literary power— some of them considerably older than himself—whose attainments first inspired him with a passion for books, and especially for poetry. His favourite authors were Shakespeare and Wordsworth, the first acquaintance with whose works was as the discovery of a new world. He was, besides, passionately fond of natural science, and spent most of his spare hours in the museum, studying ornithology. There is little in his journals or letters to indicate the impression which these college years made on him; but one of the favourite subjects of conversation in his later days was the curious life he then led; the strange characters it gave him for acquaintance; the conceits, absurdities, enthusiasms in which it abounded , the social gatherings and suppers, which were its worst dissipations; the long, speculative talks, lasting far into the night, in which its glory and blessedness culminated—and the hard, although unsystematic, studies to which it was the introduction.

The loss of accurate scholarship, which the desultoriness of this kind of training entailed, might not have been sufficiently compensated by other advantages; nevertheless, contact with men, insight into character, the culture of poetic tastes, of original thought, and of an eye for nature, were perhaps no mean substitutes for skill in Latin verse and acquaintance with the Greek particles. He was, besides, very far from being idle. He read much and thought freshly, and even at a very early period in his University career he seems to have contemplated joining a fellow-student in the publication of a volume of tales and poetry. His moral life was at the same time pure, and his religious convictions, though not so strong as they afterwards became, were yet such as prevented him from yielding to the many temptations to which one of his temperament and abounding, as he did, in animal spirits, was greatly exposed. Next to the grace of God, his affection for home and its associations kept him steady. A short journey from Glasgow brought him out on many a Saturday during the session to spend Sunday at Campsie, and the loving welcomes he there received and the thousand influences of the Manse-life served to keep his heart fresh and pure. These visits sometimes gave no little concern to his father and mother, for coming, as he did, in a full burst of buoyant excitement after the restraint of study, the noisy fun and the ceaseless mimicry in which he indulged, disturbing the very quiet of the Sabbath, made them afraid that he would never be sedate enough for being a minister. Both father and mother; who could scarcely repress their own laughter at his jokes, wrote to him very gravely on the dangerous tendencies which were manifesting themselves in him. But they —might as well have asked him to cease to be, and, had they told the secret truth, they would scarcely have wished him different from what he was.

[There were some most original characters then in Campsie, who afforded much amusement to Norman; but his great friend was old Bell, the author of "Bell's Geography," and editor of "Rollin's Ancient History." This man had been a weaver, but, impelled by a powerful intellect and literary taste, he devoted himself to study. He lived with his wife in a mere hut, and sat surrounded by books, a Kilmarnock nightcap on his head, and conversing with an emphasis and an originality, not unworthy of Johnson, on every subject—literary, political, theological. Some of his sayings are worth recording. There was a hawker in the parish, a keen controversialist, ever talking of his own perfect assurance of salvation, but withal very greedy and worldly. "Humph!" grunted old Bell, when asked his opinion of him; I never saw a man so sure o' goin' to heaven, and sae sweart (unwilling) to gang till't." He used to utter aloud in church his dissent to any doctrine he disliked, or sometimes his impatience expressed itself by his long black stick being twirled gradually up through his fingers till it reached well over his head. On one occasion, a young preacher having chosen as his text, "There shall be no more sea," proceeded to show the advantages of such a condition of things. Higher and higher rose Bell's stick, as his favourite principles of geography were being assailed under every "head," till at last it came down with a dash on the pavement, accompanied by a loud "Bah! the fule!" When he was dying, an excellent young man, whose religious zeal was greater than his ability, volunteered to pray with him. Bell grunted assent; but as the prayer assumed throughout that the old man was a reprobate, he could scarcely restrain himself to the Amen, before he burst out, "I'm saying, my man, nae doubt ye mean well; but ye'd better gang hame and learn to pray for yoursel' afore ye pray tor other folk." When Norman remonstrated with him afterwards for his rudeness, Bell said, "Maybe ye're richt; but, sure as death, Norman, I canna thole [bear] a fule!"]

And so he passed the four years of his study of "the Arts," with happy summers interspersed, sometimes in the Highlands, sometimes in Campsie, until, in 1831, he went to Edinburgh to study theology.

Dr. Chalmers was then professor, and Norman listened with delight and wonder to lectures which were delivered with thrilling, almost terrible, earnestness. The Professor's noble enthusiasm kindled a responsive glow in the young hearts which gathered to listen to him, and the kindly interest he took in their personal welfare inspired them with affection as well as admiration. Dr. Welsh, a man of kindred spirit and powerful intellect, then taught Church History. Such in fluences did not fail to waken in Norman loftier conceptions of the career to which he looked forward. As might have been expected, Chalmers had a peculiar power over him, for professor and student had many similar natural characteristics. The large-heartedness of the teacher, his missionary zeal, and the continual play of human tenderness pervaded by the holy light of divine love, roused the sympathies of the scholar. He heartily loved him. And Chalmers also valued the character of the student, for when asked by a wealthy English proprietor to recommend for his only son a tutor in whose character and sense he might have thorough reliance, Chalmers at once named Norman. This connection became of great importance to him. The gentleman alluded to was the late Henry Preston, Esq., of Moreby Hall, then High Sheriff of Yorkshire. For the next three years Norman acted as tutor to his son ; and whether residing at Morby or travelling on the Continent, the simple-hearted old squire treated him with the utmost confidence and affection, In the autumn of 1833 he went for a few weeks to Moreby, but returned shortly afterwards with his pupil to Edinburgh, and was thus able to attend his theological classes, while he also superintended the studies of young Mr. Preston. During his second session at Edinburgh, besides the usual classes, he attended Professor Jamieson's lectures on geology, and studied drawing and music. His brother-in-law, the Rev. A. Clerk, LL.D., who was then his fellow-student, contributes the following reminiscence :—

"It was in the social circle Norman displayed the wondrous versatility, originality and brilliancy of his mind. With a few of his chosen companions round him he made the evening instructive and delightful. He frequently, by an intuitive glance, revealed more of the heart of a subject than others with more extensive and accurate scholarship could attain through their acquirements in philosophy or history. He was often disposed to start the wildest paradoxes, which he would defend by the most plausible analogies, and if forced to retreat from his position, he would do so under a shower of ludicrous retorts and fanciful images. He was ever ready with the most apt quotations from Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Keats, or with some telling story; or, brimming over with fun, he would improvise crambo rhymes, sometimes most pointed, always ludicrous, or, bursting into song, throw more nature into its expression than I almost ever heard from any singer. The sparkling effervescence of his mind often astonished, and always charmed and stirred, the thoughts, feelings, and enthusiasm of his companions."

It was at this time he experienced the first great sorrow of his life. His brother James, his junior by three years, was a lad of fine promise. Like Norman in many things, he was his opposite in others, and the unlikeness as well as similarity of their tastes served only to draw them nearer to each other. Clever, pure-minded, and affectionate, he was also—what Norman never was—orderly, fond of practical work, and mechanics. Norman was rollicking in his fun, James quietly humorous. He was the delegated manager of glebe and garden, and of so sweet and winning a nature, that when he died the tokens of sorrow displayed by many in the parish were a surprise, as well as a consolation, to his parents. Hitherto Norman had given little expression to the religious convictions which had been increasing with his growth since childhood. Now, however, he broke silence. In the sick-room, with none but their mother present, the two brothers opened their hearts to one another; and, on the last evening they were ever to spend together, the elder asked if he might pray with the younger. This was the first time he had ever prayed aloud in the presence of others, and with a full heart he poured out his supplications for himself and his dying brother. When he left the room, James, calling his mother, put his arms round her neck, and said, "I am so thankful, mother. Norman will be a good man." This was a turning-point in Norman's life; not, indeed, such a crisis as is usually called conversion; not that the scene in the sick-room marked his first religious decision; but the solemnity of the circumstances, the frank avowal of his faith, and the tremendous deepening which his feelings received by the death which occurred a few days afterwards, formed an epoch from which he ever afterwards dated the commencement of earnest Christian life. The anniversary of his brother's death was always kept sacred by him. Other critical times arrived, other turning-points no less important were passed; but, as in many other instances, this first death in the family, with the impressions it conveyed of the reality of eternity and of the grandeur of the life in Christ, was to him " the beginning of days."

At the close of the winter session he returned, with Mr. Preston, to Moreby, and in the following May he and his pupil started for the Continent.

To his Mother, written by him when a mere boy:—

"Campsie Manse, Friday.

"I know how very difficult it is to ease the yearnings of a mother's heart when far from her beloved offspring; yet I am sure, when she hears that 'all are well,' the wan and wrinkled face of anxiety will give way to the bloom of youth that makes you look at all times so beautiful. The garret windows being nailed, none of the children have fallen over, and the garden door being locked, none have died of gooseberry or cherry fevers.

"But the children are the least of my thoughts; no, no, let them all die if the housekeeping succeeds; this is the point. The Principal [Principal Baird, of Edinburgh.] and Mr. Gordon came here to-night, and don't go off till Monday! I and Betty are dying of lamb fevers with the very thoughts of preparing dinners out of nothing; these two nights I have been smothered alive by salmon and legs of roasted lamb crammed down my throat by Jessy and Betty. Oh, my dear mamma, it is only now that a fond mother is missed, when dangers and misfortunes assail us. If you but saw mo without clothes to cover, or shoes to put on my feet, all worn away with cooking. I am quite crusty.

"But I will not mar your enjoyments or hurt your feelings by relating more of this melancholy tale.

"Betty, my worthy housekeeper, has told me to-day that she has forty-five young birds and ducks. I think a sixth is to be added in the laundry —if it be so, I intend to get a share of Donald Achalene's [A Highland character.] bed in the asylum."

From his Mother, when he was a student in Glasgow:—

"While younger, and under the immediate eye of your father and myself, I could watch every little tendency of your disposition, and endeavour as much as I could, to give it the right bias; but now, my beloved child, you are seldom with me, you are exposed to many temptations, and oh ! if you knew the many anxious thoughts this gives rise to ! Not, my dear, that I fear anything wrong in principle, in the common acceptation of the word; but how many shades are there between what is glaringly and broadly wrong to the generality of observers, and the thousand acts and thoughts and words that must be watched and corrected and repented of and abandoned, in order to become a Christian ! Avoid whatever you have found hurtful, be it ever so delightful to your taste, and persevere in whatever you have found useful towards promoting piety and heavenly-mindedness. You must not look on this as a mother's dry lecture to her son; no, it is the warm affection of a heart that truly loves you as scarce another can do, and which prays and watches for your eternal interest."

From his Father :—

"CAMPSIE, February 23, 1829.

"I rejoice to see your companions, if you would conduct yourself with calmness and seriousness on the Sabbath day, and cease your buffoonery of manner in tone of voice and distortions of countenance, which are not only offensive, but grievous. You carry this nonsense by much too far, and I beg of you, my dear Norman, to check it. Imitation and acting a fool is a poor field to shine in; it may procure the laugh of some, but cannot fail to secure the comtempt of others. I was much pleased with the manner of the Stewart boys—their steady, grave, sedate manner formed a very striking contrast to the continual mimicking and nonsense at which you aim. I implore of you, by the tenderness of a father, and by the authority of one, to desist from it in time, and to despise it, and to assume a more manly, sedate manner.

"I hope you will take in good part, as becomes you, all I have stated and evince to me that you do so when I have the happiness, my dear boy, to see you. I rejoice to see everybody happy; but there is a manner that gains on a person if indulged in, which must be guarded against, and none more dangerous than that buffoonery which, by making others laugh, causes us to think ourselves very clever. You, even already, seldom use your own voice or gestures or look—all is put on and mimicked; this must cease, and the sooner the better. After this I shall say no more on the subject. I leave it to your own good sense to correct this.

"Ever your dutiful Father."

To his Aunt Jane:— " February, 1831.

"I read your letter over and over, and chuckled over its coruscations of wit and brilliancy; swallowed, and finally digested all the advices. In fact, it brought me back to Fiunary once more—to Fiunary with all its pleasures and its many enjoyments. I could, with a little effort of fancy, picture myself sitting with J. in the garret, giving way to my mimicking propensities to please her, in whatever character she chose, or one of the social circle round a happy tea-table, or taking an intellectual walk along the beach; and no sooner is this imaginary train set a-going than many a happy day spent among the rocks, and in the woods, hills, or glens, rise ghost-like before me, till my too pleasing dream is broken by a dire reality —the college bell summoning poor wretches from their warm beds to trudge through snow and sleet to hear a crude lecture on philosophy, and reminding me that I have so much to do that I cannot expect to see my dream realised for another year. There is no use in fighting against fate, though I long for the day that I shall escape from prison, and ' visit those blessed solitudes from toils and towns remote.' "

From his Mother:—

"Campsie, November 27.

"It gives me pleasure to observe the warm and genuine feelings and confessions of an affectionate disposition—freely spoken. Yes, my dear Norman, long may I find you frankly owning your thoughts and feelings; this is the true way to a parent's heart, and the true and only comfortable footing for parent and child—the only way in which a parent can really be of use; and never will you repent trusting yourself to me. Wonderful would be the fault that, when candidly acknowledged, I could not excuse, or at least try to help you to remedy. In all I said I wished to cure you of an ugly habit of arguing that has crept in on you, before it becomes a confirmed habit, and leads you (just for argument's sake) to maintain wrong views; from first beginning to argue you will by-and-by think these views right."

To his Aunt Jane:—

"June, 1832.

"Where, in the name of wonder, did you light on that lovely poem, Jane? Talk no more to me of the powers of music to lull the angry feelings or to excite the more gentle ones. Poetry, poetry, for ever!

"We have had four cases of cholera here, and two deaths. My father was down at the Torrance every day, and had no small trouble between keeping down rows, coffining the bodies, and quelling all those disgraceful and riotous feelings that have been too much the attendants of this sad complaint.

"All the children are half ill with chicken-pox; Polly's face is like a rock with limpets. Limpets ! How that word does conjure up a thousand associations!—the fishing-rock, the rising tide waving the tangle to and fro at my feet! Out comes a fine cod, see how he smells the bait! I am already sure of him; I know the bait is good, and the hook of the best Limerick. He sniffs it, and away he slowly sails, gently moving his tail from side to side as he goes off. But he repents, and turns back and casts a longing look at the large bait; slowly his jaws open, and in the most dignified manner close on the meal, and now the line strains, the rod bends, I see something white turning in the water, my eyes fill till I hear 'Whack' on the rock, and there he lies as red as—as what's the man's name, at Savarie—John Scallag's father? as red as he. Pardon me, Jane; this night is oppressively hot, it is perfect summer. They are turning the almost dry hay on the glebe—a calm sleeps on the woods and hills, and this, too, vividly recalls the sound of Mull, as I fancy it to be on such an evening. I am at this moment in fancy walking up the road to Fiunary with a gadd of fish, knowing that thanks and a good tea await me.

"I confess that when I indulge in such fancies, I involuntarily wish myself away from my books to feast and revel in the loveliness of the Salachan shore, or 'Clach na Criche;' but, as I told you before, I wish to have some summer to look back to as one usefully employed."

Letter to his Brother James. (Inside of this letter was found placed a lock of James' hair):—

"Moreby Hall, October, 1833:

"I went on Sabbath to church. There was no organ; but what think you % a flute, violin, and bass fiddle, with some bad singing. However, I liked the service much. Monday was a great day at York, all the town and country were there, it being the time at which, once every three or four years, Lord Vernon, the Archbishop of York, confirms the children of this part of the diocese. The scene was beyond all description. Fancy upwards of three thousand children under fifteen, the females dressed in white, with ladies and gentlemen, all assembled in that glorious minster — the thousand stained glass windows throwing a dazzling light of various hues on the white mass—the great organ booming like thunder through the never-ending arches! The ceremony is intensely simple; they come in forties and fifties, and surround the bishop, who repeats the vows and lays his hand successively on each head. I could not help comparing this with a sacramental occasion in the Highlands, [It is a common custom in the Highlands to celebrate the Communion in the open air during summer.] where there is no minster but the wide heaven, and no organ but the roar of the eternal sea, the church with its lonely churchyard and primitive congregation, and—think of my Scotch pride!—I thought the latter scene more grand and more impressive. I ascended to-day to the top of the great tower in the minster, two hundred and seventy steps ! But such a view ! I gazed from instinct toward the North for a while—not that I expected to see anything; but there was nothing but masses of wood."

Extracts from his Journal:—

"Edinburgh, Tuesday, 1st Nov., 1833.—"Began to read on crystallography and geology (Lyell). I wish, above all things, to know mineralogy and geology thoroughly. I must attend chemistry, anatomy, and botany. To acquire accurate knowledge is no joke.

"Tuesday, 3rd Dec.—There are certain days and times in a man's existence which are eras in his little history, and which greatly influence his future life. This day has been to me one of much pain; and oh ! when the grief has passed away (and shall it ever be so!) may its influence still remain! I heard my own dear brother James was so ill that he cannot, in all human probability, recover. How strange that I who, when in health and strength, and with everything to cheer, and little to depress the heart, thought not of God, the great Giver of all good, should now, when my beloved brother is sinking into the grave, my best and dearest of mothers sore at heart, for her child, raise my voice, and I hope my heart, to Him who has been despised and rejected by me. My mother has been my best earthly friend, and God knows the heartfelt, profound veneration I have for her character. And now, O God of my Fathers, this 3rd day of December, solely and entirely under Thy guidance, I commence again to fight the good fight. I acknowledge Thy hand in making my dear brother's illness the means; through, and only for the sake, of the great Redeemer Jesus Christ do I look for an answer to my most earnest prayer. Amen.

"Thursday.—It is past twelve. The wind blows loud, and the rain falls. I am alone in body, but my mind is in my brother's room, where, I am sure, my dear mother is now watching her boy with a heavy heart. May God be with them both!

"Saturday.—I heard the waits last night play The Last Rose of Summer' beautifully. It went to my heart; I thought of my poor James. The week is past, the most memorable, it may be, in my existence.

"Monday, 16th Dec.—I saw James, Wednesday morning. Such a shadow ! Still the same firm mind, with the same dependence upon his Saviour. I shall never, I hope, come to that state in which I can forget all the kindness which God has shown me for the last six days! I had many earnest conversations with dear James.

"Alas, this day I parted from one I loved as devotedly as a brother can be loved! Thank God and Christ, we shall meet. I went to his bedside: 'I am going away, James, my boy; but I trust to see you for a day during the holiday's.' 'Norman, dear, if I'm spared I'll see you. But what is this to end in?' I hardly knew what to say. 'I know your firmness of mind. But, James, it is but the husk, the mere shell.' 'I am very weak.' 'Yes, Jamie; but I shall be weak, and all weak. I part without sorrow, for I know you are Christ's, and Christ is God's.' 'I have, Norman, got clearer views since we met. I know on whom I can lean.'

"Friday evening, 20th Dec—It is all past. My dear brother is now with his own Saviour. I do heartily thank God for His kindness to him; for his patience, his manliness, his love to his Redeemer. May I follow his footsteps! May I join with James in the universal song! I know not, my own brother, whether you now see me or not. If you know my heart, you will know my love for you, and that in passing through this pilgrimage, I shall never forget you who accompanied me so far. "Thy will be done on earth as it is done in heaven."

From his Mother:— "February 7, 1834.

"Now, write me everything as you would to your own heart, and do not hide even passing uneasy feelings, for fear of making me uneasy. Believe me, I will just give everything its own value, and from 'the heart to the heart' is all, you know, I care for."

From, his Journal:—

"Friday.—Went in the evening with Uncle Neil to a meeting of the Shakespeare Club—Vandenhoff, Ball, MacKay, &c. A very pleasant evening ; fine singing; two scenes I won't forget: the noble feeling of Vandenhoff when his daughter's health was drunk, and Ball's acclamations (!!) interrupting a very humbugging, stupid speech, proposing the memory of Lord Byron. There is blarney all the world over. I plainly see the stage, as it now is, and the Church are at complete antipodes.

"Sunday.—Not two months dead—my dearest brother—and yet how changed am I! I thank God with my whole heart and soul that He has not forsaken me. I seem a merry, thoughtless being. But I spend many a thinking and pleasant hour in that sick-room. That pale face, all intelligence and love—the black hair—the warm and gallant heart of him I loved as well as a brother can be loved—shall never be forgotten."

To My Mother :—

"York, March 9, 1834.

"In an old, snug garret, in the city of York, upon Good Friday, with the minster clock chiming twelve of the night, do I sit down to have a long chat with you, my dearest mother.

"I intend upon Sabbath to take the sacrament at Moreby. I have reflected on the step, and while I see no objection, I can see every reason in showing forth the Lord's death with Christian brethren of the same calling; as to me, individually, it signifies little whether I take it kneeling at. an altar, or sitting at a table."

To his Aunt:—

"Sion Hill, April 12, 1834.

"One peep of Loch Aline or of Glen Dhu is worth all in Yorkshire. Their living is certainly splendid; but, believe me, I shall never eat any of their ragouts, or drink their champagne, with the same relish as I ate the cake and drank the milk beside my wee bed when I returned from fishing. If only the white can had not been broken! "

To his Mother:—

"Near Moreby, April 15, 1834.

"The house is full, and I am now sleeping at the farm, a quarter of a mile from the house. We have very pleasant people—Lady Vavasour and her son and daughter. They have been abroad for six or seven years in different parts of the Continent. She and I are great friends. We get letters from her for the Court of Weimar, and she has been drilling me how to speak to her 'Imperial Highness' the Grand Duchess, sister to the late Emperor of Russia."

From his Journal:—

"22nd April, Monday.—Upon Easter Sunday I partook of the sacrament in York minster, and although the formulas are of course different from ours, yet, 'as there is no virtue in them, or in them that administer them,' I found God was present with me to bestow much comfort.

"During the next week all was gaiety. A party or ball every night.

The next week we spent at Sion Hill and, between fishing, riding, seeing the railroad, and, above all, Fountain Abbey, I must say I was very happy. "I start to-morrow morning for London. But what hangs heavy on my mind is the deep sense of responsibility I am under: I have not only the superintendence of my pupil, but I am about to be placed in hard trial in a thousand circumstances which are eminently calculated to draw my mind off from God. But my only confidence is in Him. O Thou who hast brought me to this—Thou who didst make me what I am when I had no strength of my own—to Thy loving and merciful hands I commend myself, wholly trusting that I may, through the aid of Thy Holy Spirit, be every day more sanctified in my affections, and ever constant in the performance of my duty."

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