A wounded spirit

The fumes of those opiates being now dispelled, he feels the anguish of a wounded spirit. He finds that sin let loose upon the soul, whether it is pride, anger, or evil desire, whether self-will, malice, envy, revenge, or any other, is perfect misery. He feels sorrow of heart for the blessings he has lost, and the curse which has come upon him, and remorse for having thus destroyed himself and despised his own mercies. He feels fear, from a lively sense of the wrath of God, and of the consequences of his wrath, of the punishment which he has justly deserved, and which he sees hanging over his head. He feels fear of death, as being to him the gate of hell, the entrance of death eternal. He feels fear of the devil, the executioner of the wrath and righteous vengeance of God. He feels fear of men, who, if they were able to kill his body, would thereby plunge both body and soul into hell. He feels fear sometimes rising to such a height that the poor, sinful, guilty soul is terrified with everything, with nothing, with shades, with a leaf shaken by the wind.

Yes, sometimes it may even border upon distraction, making a man drunk, though not with wine, suspending the exercise of the memory, of the understanding, of all the natural faculties. Sometimes it may approach to the very brink of despair, so that he who trembles at the name of death may yet be ready to plunge into it every moment, to choose strangling rather than life. Well may such a man roar, like him of old, for the very disquiet of his heart. Well may he cry out, The spirit of a man may sustain his infirmities, but a wounded spirit who can bear?