Some day, perhaps when I am very old, I shall walk down a valley shadowed with dark wings. Beside me will be one—that mighty one—whose face is cold and quiet, majestic and inexorable. I shall not fear him as the darkness deepens in that vale, for all around, by reason of the Passion of my Lord, there will be a song of triumph sung:—
'Oh death! where is thy sting?
And where thy victory?'
And at the end of that dark night I, too, shall find the morning. I shall greet Ross again. I shall see mother, and the others who have gone before. I shall in one ecstatic moment, find myself—'linked up' with God.
LONDON AND GLASGOW: COLLINS' CLEAR-TYPE PRESS.
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