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.
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