Once more that strife, that sore struggle to speak; and suddenly, as though the will had mastered the flesh, sounds forth, in clear, strong tones, which ring through the ward, “My only base, my foundation!” Blessed for us all, when that awful hour is upon us, if we can so trustfully, so fearlessly meet it; so fully and entirely realize the One Eternal Rock to be our “foundation.”
We dare no longer call him “poor William;” rather, as we kneel by his side, let us breathe forth a thanksgiving for such beautiful assurance, that his last battle is fought, his victory won.
“Little skills it when or how,
If Thou comest then or now—
With a smooth or angry brow.
“Come Thou must, and we must die—
Jesu, Saviour, stand Thou by,
When that last sleep seals our eye!”