The following was written by my mother, Katherine Gillingham Howard, found in her little prayer notebook after her death.
How cold the heart and stony-like one dead-
On which the beams of God's own Word,
In daily meditation, fail to shed their warmth.
If through neglect, we draw not near that fire,
At first, unnoticed, creeps a shivering chill.
But when, neglected, lies the Book for days,
That chill takes hold, till the whole soul is ill.
And yet when once again we seek God's Word,
With empty heart and soul and deep despair,
In faithfulness He meets us. Praise the Lord!
And pours in oil and wine on all our care. .
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