It was difficult for her to
reply.
Her heart had often questioned whether she believed, and what; and
yet, as she has said, she could not keep her faith out of her poems if
she would. We find the following passage in "Among the Isles of
Shoals," which throws a light beyond that of her own lantern.
"When the boat was out late," she says, "in soft, moonless summer
nights, I used to light a lantern, and going down to the water's edge
take my station between the timbers of the slip, and with the lantern
at my feet sit waiting in the darkness, quite content, knowing my
little star was watched for, and that the safety of the boat depended
in a great measure upon it.... I felt so much a part of the Lord's
universe, I was no more afraid of the dark than the waves or winds;
but I was glad to hear at last the creaking of the mast and the
rattling of the rowlocks as the boat approached."
"A part of the Lord's universe,"--that Celia Thaxter always felt
herself to be, and for many years she was impatient of other teaching
than what nature brought to her. As life went on, and the mingled
mysteries of human pain and grief were unfolded, she longed for a
closer knowledge. At first she sought it everywhere, and patiently,
save in or through the churches; with them she was long _im_patient.
At last, after ardent search through the religious books and by means
of the teachers of the Orient, the Bible was born anew for her, and
the New Testament became her stay and refreshment.
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