"I'm going home to that bright land of rest Where pain and grief and sickness are unknown; The year begins in sorrow, but will close In joys that never end--I'm going home!

Last year the warning came on sunken eye And wasted cheek. I gazed and thought to spend My Christmas with the angels. G.o.d knows best; And here I linger, weary sufferer still.

The morning comes long watched-for, long desired; The day drags on, and then the sleepless night: But this will have an end--it must be soon."

About six weeks before her death she was taken with nausea and vomiting: everything she took distressed her, and for the last twenty-three days she took no nourishment save what water contains.

Her prayer--

"Close to the Cross, close to the Cross. G.o.d grant I may be found When death shall call my spirit hence, or the last trumpet sound,"--

was indeed answered. Her end was very peaceful and happy. For several weeks not a cloud seemed to pa.s.s over her mind; and though often in great distress there was no impatience manifested, nor did a murmur escape her lips. She said, "It is nothing to die: 'the sting of death is sin,' and when sin is taken away the sting is gone." On another occasion she remarked: "I have often heard the words sung--

'Jesus can make a dying bed Feel soft as downy pillows are'--

and thought they were not strictly true; but now I know that they are perfectly, _perfectly_ so." Once as we stood by her bedside she observed her mother and sister weeping, and with a countenance beaming with joy (sufficient to remind us of 1 Pet. 1:8) she expressed surprise, remarking: "It seems to me I am only crossing a narrow brook, and as I look back I see you all coming--we shall soon meet."

Her view of her own weakness and sinfulness was indeed clear, but she had such unwavering faith in her Redeemer as enabled her to say: "Dying seems to me like laying the head back and closing the eyes, just to open them in a few moments on the joys of paradise." The following lines, written with a pencil on the cover and blank leaf of her French Testament, were the last she ever wrote. They are dated March 3--just ten days before her death--and give indubitable evidence of the clearness of her intellect and the strength of her faith while pa.s.sing through "the valley of the shadow of death":--

"Jesus, I know thou art the living Word!

Each blessed promise to myself I take; I would not doubt, if I had only heard This--this alone, '_I never will forsake!_'

I have no fear-the sting of death is sin, And Christ removed it when he died for me: Washed in his blood, my robe without, within, Has not a stain that G.o.d himself can see.

Wrapped in the Saviour's arms I sweetly lie; Far, far behind I hear the breakers roar; I have been dying--but I cease to die, My rest begins--rejoice forevermore!"

Having expressed a wish to be visited by all her acquaintances, many called to see her, with whom she conversed freely on the interests of their soul. With great composure she made arrangements for her departure--leaving books and other articles to her intimate friends.

One day she made a request that I should preach her funeral sermon.

For a moment I hesitated because of relations.h.i.+p (having married her sister Josephine), then remarked, that I supposed there would be no impropriety in doing so, as I recollected that Whitefield preached his wife's, to which she immediately added, "And Wesley preached his mother's." On asking if she had thought of any pa.s.sage to be used as a text, she replied: "I first thought of the words, 'I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness'; but you know that is all about _I_, and now I feel that Christ is all--it is all Christ: so I have thought of his words in the 11th of John, 'I am the Resurrection and the Life.'" She also suggested to her sister that the following hymns (which were favorites with her) should be used on the occasion:

"Come let us join our cheerful songs With angels round the throne;"

"On Jordan's stormy banks I stand And cast a wishful eye,"--

"Joyfully, joyfully, onward I move, Bound for the land of bright glory and love."

The joyous character of the hymns will at once be noted; and this was the very reason why she selected them: she considered that they would be more expressive of her condition than the mournful ones which are so frequently used at funerals. Two of her poems seem so appropriate here that we insert them. The former was written in June, 1859, and the latter bears date "Nov. 30, 1861":--

THE ONE NAME.--ACTS 4:12.

"When round my dying bed ye stand, And kiss my cheek and clasp my hand, Oh, whisper in my failing ear The only Name I care to hear,-- The only Name that has the power To comfort in the dying hour.

"Let neither sob nor sigh be heard, But still repeat that sacred word,-- Until the solace it imparts Descends like balm upon your hearts, And I in triumph gladly sing: 'O dreaded Death, where is thy sting?'

"And when released from sin and clay My happy spirit soars away, And pauses at the heavenly gate, Where saints and smiling angels wait, And views the city bright and fair,-- That Name shall be my pa.s.sport there!

"Oh then, in calm and holy trust, Give my poor body to the dust-- a.s.sured that G.o.d will guard the clay Until the Resurrection Day, When he on whom my soul relies In thunder tones will bid me rise.

"Amid the earth-devouring storm, Made like my Saviour's glorious form, Redeemed from sickness, death, and pain, I shall awake to life again; And soul and body both shall be With Christ throughout eternity."

THE ADIEU.

"You will miss me when I am gone-- At morning, at night, and noon: I have needed your arm to lean upon, I shall need it no longer soon.

"I've been helpless for many years, 'No _burden_' you always said;-- I have claimed your pity, your prayers and tears You will miss me when I am dead.

"How many a dreary night You have watched by my couch of pain, Till the streaming in of morning light-- You will never watch again.

"G.o.d taketh not all away The bitter and sweet he blends, And I bless his name by night and day That he has not denied me friends.

"You have shared the heavy load, Which alone I could not have borne; I am going now to a bright abode, But I leave you, alas! to mourn.

"You will miss me when I am gone, As you never have missed before!

I have needed your arm to lean upon But soon I shall need it no more.

"I lean on my Saviour's breast In this hour of mortal pain; Oh, strong are His arms! and sweet my rest!

Farewell! till we meet again."

The expected hour though long of coming arrived at last. As long as she seemed to realize what was transpiring around her, and when too weak to converse, she would signify by a word or motion that she had peace and all was well. About a quarter past 11 o'clock Friday night, March 13, 1863, "the silver cord was loosed," and she sweetly fell asleep in Jesus, aged twenty-eight years, four months, and sixteen days. On the Tuesday following we buried her from the village church, where ten years before she had decided to come out openly on the Lord's side. It was crowded. Three ministers, from as many different denominations, a.s.sisted me in the services. Her mother and sister (the wife of Dr. G. O. Somers) were too feeble to attend. But we hope soon to greet her where--to use her own words,

"Earthly love is like the starlight lost In glorious suns.h.i.+ne, and the things of time Shrink into nothing: even death itself Fades like a shadow in the noontide blaze, And life--new, glorious, everlasting life-- Expands the soul, and all it ever dreamed Of heavenly bliss becomes reality."

Above the stillness of death we hear the words of inspiration: "Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints"; "Thy dead shall live again"; and in hope we wait. The weary pilgrim has reached her resting-place. She lies in the chamber of Peace, whose windows open toward the sunrising.

SELECTIONS

Thou King of kings, Almighty One!

bend unto me the ear That listens to the music of every rolling sphere, And guide, oh guide my feeble hand to strike my slumbering lyre To strains harmonious and divine, and every thought inspire.

--_Poems, p. 9._

RURAL SCENES.

THE WALK IN JUNE.

A walk in June, in early June, Our sweet Canadian June-- When every tree is all in leaf, And every bird in tune; When laughing rills leap down the hills And through the meadows play, Inviting to their verdant banks The old, the young, the gay.

When not a cloud is in the sky, Nor shadow on the lake Save what the trees that line the sh.o.r.e And little islands make,-- When every nook where'er we look, Is bright with dewy flowers, And violets are thickly strewn As though they fell in showers.

How sweetly on the balmy air The children's voices ring!