Page:Letters to Mothers (1839).djvu/307

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Another pious man, who had practised daily reading and explaining the Scriptures in his family, continued it, during his last illness. Once, [239] while remarking upon a chapter, he suddenly exclaimed, "What brightness do I see? Have you lighted any candles?" They replied that they had not, for it was a summer's afternoon, and the twilight had not yet come. Then clear, glad voice, be said, "now, farewell, world! and welcome heaven! for the day-star from on high, hath visited me. Oh, speak it when I am gone, and tell it at my funeral, that God dealeth familiarly with man. I feel his mercy, I see his majesty, whether in the body, or out of the body, I cannot tell: God knoweth. But I behold things unutterable." And filled with joy, he expired.

Once, when Spring had begun to quicken the swelling buds, a fair form that was wont to linger among them, came not forth from her closely-curtained chamber. She was beautiful and young, but Death had come for her. His purple tinge, was upon her brow. The lungs moved feebly, and with a gasping sound. It would seem that speech had forsaken her. The mother bent over her pillow. She was her only one. Earnestly she besought her for one word, "only one more word, my beloved." It was in vain.

Yet again, the long fringes of her blue eyes opened, and what a bursting forth of glorious