* * * REMEMBER the days of sickness, for they are many. It is fit that I should infuse a branch of myrrh into the festival goblet, and, after the Egyptian manner, serve up a death's head at a feast. I will only shew it, and take it away again. It will make the wine bitter, but wholesome. But those that live, as remembering that they must part again, and give an account how they treat themselves and each other, shall at the day of their death be admitted to glorious espousals; and when they shall live again, be married to their Lord, and partake of His glories with Abraham, and Joseph, and St. Peter, and all the saints. JEREMY TAYLOR. THE days and nights of solicitude drew near a fatal close. I could not think of his death. At that prospect nature revolted. I felt as if it would be comparatively easy to die for him. But the day before his death, when all spoke encouragement, I felt that we must part. Never shall I forget that hour. I drew near to God. Such a view of the reality and nearness of eternal things I had never had. It seemed as if I was somewhere with God. I cast my eye back on this life; it seemed a speck. I felt that God was my God, and my husband's God; that this was enough; that it was a mere point of difference, whether he should go to heaven first or I, seeing we should both go soon. My mind was filled with satisfaction with the government of God. 66 Be ye followers of them who through faith and patience inherit the promises," seemed to be the exhortation given me upon coming back to this world. I do not mean that there were any bodily or sensible appearances, but I seemed to be carried away in spirit. I pleaded for my self and children, travelling through this distant country. It seemed as if I gave them, myself, and husband up entirely. And it was made sure to me, that God would do what was best for us. From that time, though nature would have her struggles, I felt that God had an infinite right to do what he pleased with his own; that he loved my husband better than I did; that if he saw him ripe for his rest, I had no objections to make. All the night he was exercised with expiring sufferings, and God was pouring into my soul one truth and promise of the Gospel after another. I felt it sweet for him to govern. There was a solemn tranquillity filled the chamber of death; it was an hour of extremity to one whom Jesus loved. I felt that he was there, that angels were there, that every agony was sweetened and mitigated by One, in whose sight the death of his saints is precious. I felt as if I had gone with the departed spirit to the very utmost boundary of this land of mortals; and as if it would be easier for me to drop the body which confined my soul in its approach towards heaven, than to retrace all the way I had gone. When the 1 intelligence was brought me that the conflict was over, it was good news. I kissed the clay, as pleasantly as I ever did when it was animated by the now departed spirit. I was glad that he had got safely home, and that all the steps of his departure were so gently ordered. It would be in vain for me to attempt a description of my feelings the next morning. I had never seen such a sunrise before. It beheld me alone. Were I the only created being in the universe, I could not, perhaps, have felt very differently. I went to the chamber in which he died. The bed of death was just as when it resigned, for ever, the body of him who was all the world to me. God won derfully supported me. But why do I dwell on a description which, even now, is almost too much for me? How did God sustain a creature who was weakness itself! How mercifully he has carried me through all my successive trials! Truly it was the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in my eyes." MRS. HUNTINGTON. THE WIDOWER. * * I SAW the widower mournful stand, O'er the yellow corn, and the waving trees, Vain are the sunshine and brightness to him,- His thoughts are not with the moaning sea, His thoughts are far, where the dark boughs wave O'er the silent rest of his Mary's grave; 25-2 ૧૯ ” |