been often by his side; they sang sweetly (which he seemed fully to enjoy,) the beautiful hymn:
“We speak of the realms of the blest.”
Sunday 28th. — My precious one too low to speak or see, but he shewed consciousness by just saying “Yes,” when spoken to, and evidently knew his friends by their voices. It was on the morning of this day he took hold of my hand with a most affectionate and indescribable look, and said, “I have something, dear. I wish to say to you, and I may as well mention it now; you must try not to be alarmed, or too much grieved when you see me die; perhaps I may have to struggle with the last enemy.” Dear creature! what an example of kind consideration, even in death. I said to him, “How can I do without you, love?” he replied, “Jesus will take care of you.” As this never-to-be-forgotten night drew on, the actual approach of death was too evident. The friends who watched with me around his dying couch till midnight, were Mrs. Brett, Mrs Johns, daughter of old Capt, Brant; Mr. and Mrs. Beamer, Mr. C. Welles, and Mr. G. Johnson, Mohawk. About 10 p. m., he said, and these were his last words, “God bless you, dear.” After this, I said “If you have given the last token of love, and spoken the last word, do, dear, shew you are conscious by pressing my hand, and assuring me you die in the full prospect of a blessed immortality.” He did so, feebly, but with all the remaining strength he had, twice.[1] From this time he laid perfectly quiet; whether conscious or not we could not discover. About half-
- ↑ Though prompted by the purest affection and the deepest solicitude, this practice is not to be commended: at this solemn moment the soul should be left undisturbed in its approaches to those heavenly realities which unfold their glories to its powers, while it struggles to free itself from
“This cumbrous clay,
“Springing into liberty, and light, and life”
E. W.
