At any rate, this is as far as I have come to; there may be oceans of knowledge I have yet to acquire, which will modify or wholly change my range of thought.  And, according to what light I have, I am inclined to advise you not to confuse yourself with trying to believe in or experience this or that because others do, but to get as close to Christ as you can every day of your life; feeling sure that if you do, He by His Spirit will teach you all you need to know.  There has been to my mind, during the last few weeks, something awe-inspiring in the sense I have had of the way in which God instructs His ignorant, forgetful, stupid children.  Such goodness, such patience, such love!  And, on the other hand, our amazing coldness and ingratitude.

To Mrs. Smith, New York, Dec. 21, 1873.

I wanted to see you before you left, but it would have been cruel to add to the cares and distractions amid which you were hurrying off. [7] ...  I am reading, with great interest, the letters of Sara Coleridge.  What strikes me most in her is, that knowing so much of her, one still feels what lots there is more to her one does not know. 22d.—­Strangely enough, in writing you last evening, I forgot to tell you how much prayer is being offered for you and your husband, and what intense sympathy is expressed.  Dr. Vincent said he could not bear to hear another word about his sufferings.  Mrs. L——­ said, “I do love that man.”  Mrs. D., herself all knotted up with rheumatism, would hardly speak of herself when she heard he was so ill; and this is only a specimen of the deep feeling expressed on all sides....  I am glad you find anything to like in my poor little book.  I hear very little about it, but its publication has brought a blessing to my soul, which shows that I did right in thus making known my testimony for Christ.  My will in the matter was quite overturned.

The “poor little book” appeared under the title of Religious Poems, afterwards changed to Golden Hours; Hymns and Songs of the Christian Life.  In a letter of Mrs. Prentiss to a friend, written in 1870, occurs this passage: 

Most of my verses are too much my own personal experience to be put in print now.  After I am dead I hope they may serve as language for some other hearts.  After I am dead!  That means, oh ravishing thought! that I shall be in heaven one day.

Until the fall of 1873 her husband and two or three friends only knew of the existence of these verses, and their publication had not crossed her mind.  But shortly after her return from Dorset she was persuaded to let Mr. Randolph read them.  She soon received from him the following letter: 

The poems must be printed, and at once!  “We”—­that is, the firm living at Yonkers—­read aloud all the pieces, except those in the book, at one sitting, and would have gone on to the end but that the eyes gave out.  Out of the lot three or four pieces were laid aside as not up to the standard of the others.  The female member of the firm said that Mrs. Prentiss would do a wrong if she withheld the poems from the public.  This member said he should give up writing, or trying to write, religious verses.