The Henson Journals

[231]

Saturday, November 30th, 1912. "Baltic".

At last we are back in England – in the old land for the new life. What is to come of it? God only knows. For my part, more than ever, I feel as a straw on the stream, or a feather in the wind – a powerless creature carried along by a vast power to goals I cannot discern. There is the strain & shock of parting from Westminster to be faced – the reproaches, unuttered but none the less severe – of friends who cannot know how & why I could have consented to leave them. I must turn my back for ever on the scenes of effort: close, & hand in, the record of work: lay down finally the instruments of my warfare. It is all very dreadful, & my heart dies down within me. Am I right in going to Durham? Assuredly I did not seek to go: nor did I look to go. Had I been able to choose, I shd not have chosen this moment, or that place. Yet I said, Yes, without hesitation when the summons came. It is too late to consider duty now. I have made my choice, & must go forward. "Show Thou me the way that I shd walk in, for I lift up my soul unto Thee".