Creator were still found upon his tongue, and the goodness of his God continued his enduring theme. Unwavering in his testimony, he repeatedly, and most devoutly, said: "No man on earth is under so many obligations to Almighty God as myself; yes, I will adore the great Source of Being so long as I shall exist, and every faculty of my soul shall bless my redeeming Creator." Yet, it is true, that when the once cheerful sabbath bells vibrated upon his ear, he would frequently lift towards heaven a humid eye, and mournfully articulate: "Alas! alas! it is not with me as heretofore, when I could hear the tribes devoutly say, "Up, Israel, to the temple haste, and keep this festal day:" Soon, however, his mind was hushed to peace, by calm, and firm confidence in his God, and he would add—"Well, well, when I awake in thy likeness, I shall be satisfied. We are asleep in the present state; we are asleep in the likeness of the earthy man; all our uneasy sensations are unpleasant dreams. Pleasures, derived from mere terrestrial enjoyments, detached from intellect, are also dreams, and, like the baseless fabric of a vision, shall not leave a wreck behind. But if my life have been a continued sleep, and the greater part of my pains, and pleasures, dreams; yet, while this deep sleep has been upon me, the Almighty hath instructed me; yes, blessed be His name, the roof of His mouth is as the best wine, which goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those who are asleep to speak. O! for more of this best wine, that my lips may show forth his praise, that I may drink and forget all sorrow."
Thus was the tenor of his mind generally acquiescent, and his impatience to be gone was frequently subdued, by an operative conviction of the sovereign wisdom, as well as paternal love of Deity. His bible was his constant companion. Seated by his affectionate assistant, in his easy chair, and the book of God opened before him, the man of patience, during six succeeding years, passed the long summer mornings from the sun's early beams, in examining and re-examining the will of his august father. He had, through a long life, been conversant with a variety of English authors. Poets, dramatic writers, essayists, and historians, were familiar to him; he took great delight in perusing them; but, travelling through those multiplied pages, might be termed his excursions, while the sacred volume was his intellectual home. Many hours in every day were devoted to the attentive perusal of the scriptures, and yet his sentiments were unvaried; not a single feature of the system, he had so long advocated, was changed.
Mr. Murray was fond of calling himself the Lord's prisoner; and he would add, I am, by consequence, a prisoner of hope. During his
