In a state of vision, or wakefulness, I cannot tell which, I saw floating over my head four words: "Thy will be done." The words first appeared black and heavy, like iron. They were very familiar to me, for I had held them in memory since the day I learned them at my mother's knee. There were many tender associations connected with them.
My grandmother, when she was drawn out of shape with painful rheumatism, once raised her hands, exclaiming: "If there be a God, I cannot say to Him, 'Thy will be done.' " My sympathizing grandfather fell upon his knees beside her bed, and remained many minutes in silent prayer. When he arose, he stood with head reverently bowed for a moment, then said: "Mary, 'tis fifty years since thee and I, hand in hand, listened to the words, 'What God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.' During this pilgrimage we have been one—and we are one in this trying hour. I share your pains, and have been with them to Him who answereth prayer. His spirit overshadowed me, and I heard the words: 'Be ye made whole.'" My grandmother rose from her bed, and sang, "The Lord has risen indeed;" grandfather joining in the glad strain.
This life-scene, a part of my childhood, is one of my treasures.
