WILLIAM THORPE, the subject of the following memoir, was the son of Thomas and Elizabeth Thorpe, of Sheffield, and was a scholar in our Sunday-school in Allen-street. He was a boy of a very amiable disposition, and evinced great attachment to his parents. On Saturday, October 18, 1851, I received a message informing me that William was very ill, with a desire that I would go and see him. I hastened to his home and found him in extreme suffering, arising from inflammation in the bowels. His medical attendant had just left him, having given orders for prompt measures to be used with a view to check the progress of the disease; and the boy's sufferings being so great, I had not then an opportunity to ascertain the state of his mind. This was at two o'clock in the afternoon, and before I had the opportunity at night to see him, he again desired I should be sent for. I found him still suffering deeply in body but composed in mind, and relying on the atonement of Jesus Christ as his only hope. He said he wanted us to talk about Jesus and heaven, and expressed a desire for prayer. Several persons were then in the room; all went on their knees, and we implored the mercy of God on William's behalf; and while lifting up our hearts to God he fell into a sound sleep, and slept more and sang the Doxology through the progress of the disease, but it seemed to be the will of his heavenly Father to take him to him. self; but he proved that through tribulation we must enter the kingdom. He continued to suffer much through Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday; but the Lord was As an evidence of his with him. tenderness of conscience, we may state that it occurred to his mind that he had a short time before his illness disobeyed his mother's orders in going out of the house This now without his coat. troubled him; and his mother not being in the room at the time, he desired that she should be called. He told her his grief, and on her assuring him she had forgiven him, he was satisfied, saying he believed God had forgiven him also. He would during his illness often repeat the names of the teachers in the Sunday-school, saying how he desired to see them; and on two of the friends accompanying me to see him on the Tuesday night, he was much pleased; and although he was then unable to remain in bed from his acute suffering, and was laid on the floor, he desired us to sing a hymn we had in the selection for the last Sunday-school anniversary. He repeated the first line, Twelve changing months, a year has flown. But finding we had not the tune As we were singing the first spoke of the joys of heaven, and two lines of the next verse, Shout, ye little flock, and blest, You on Jesu's throne shall resthis sufferings again became so severe that we were obliged to cease, though it had seemed like a little heaven. I visited him again next morning. His mind was still quite composed, and he appeared conscious that his end was near. He told me his hands and feet were very cold, but that his bowels burned like a fire. We he expressed a hope to meet us there. It was then half-past seven o'clock, and while we were rubbing his cold hands, he turned over, clasped them, and repeated as his last words: "Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven;" and a little before eight, without a struggle, this lovely boy fell asleep in Jesus, on the 22nd October, 1851, aged eleven years. THOMAS WOLSTENHOLME. POETRY. THE GOSPEL TRUMPET. "Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out."-John vi. 37. HARK! the Gospel trumpet's sounding, Long and loud, distinct and clear; Children! Jesus waits to bless you Jesus listens while you pray. Hark! the trumpet still is sounding, Cast away their doubt and fear. Near Stepney. T. WHITE. HYMN FOR A JUVENILE MISSIONARY MEETING. C. M BY THE REV. P. J. WRIGHT. AWAKE, awake, no longer sleep, The harvest rustles wide and far, While sun, and moon, and evening star, In England, thousands pleasure love, In Ireland, poverty and crime, And Popery's galling chain, From Canada loud voices cry, In Canada and Ireland sow The seeds of truth and grace, Then tell the news to all around, "The dead's alive, the lost is found," |