I have no fear-the sting of death is sin,
And Christ removed it when he died for me:
Washed in his blood, my robe without, within,
Has not a stain that God himself can see.
Wrapped in the Saviour's arms I sweetly lie;
Far, far behind I hear the breakers roar;
I have been dying—but I cease to die,
My rest begins—rejoice forevermore!"
Having expressed a wish to be visited by all her acquaintances, many called to see her, with whom she conversed freely on the interests of their soul. With great composure she made arrangements for her departure—leaving books and other articles to her intimate friends. One day she made a request that I should preach her funeral sermon. For a moment I hesitated because of relationship (having married her sister Josephine), then remarked, that I supposed there would be no impropriety in doing so, as I recollected that Whitefield preached his wife's, to which she immediately added, "And Wesley preached his mother's." On asking if she had thought of any passage to be used as a text, she replied: "I first thought of the words, 'I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness'; but you know that is all about I, and now I feel that Christ is all—it is all Christ: so I have thought of his words in the 11th of John, 'I am the Resurrection and the Life.'" She also suggested to her sister that the following hymns (which were favorites with her) should be used on the occasion:
"Come let us join our cheerful songs
With angels round the throne;"
"On Jordan's stormy banks I stand
And cast a wishful eye,"—
"Joyfully, joyfully, onward I move,
Bound for the land of bright glory and love."
The joyous character of the hymns will at once be noted; and this was the very reason why she selected them: she considered that they would be more expressive of her condition than the mournful ones which are so frequently used at funerals. Two of her poems seem so appropriate here that we insert them. The former was written in June, 1859, and the latter bears date "Nov. 30, 1861":—
THE ONE NAME.—ACTS 4:12.
"When round my dying bed ye stand,
And kiss my cheek and clasp my hand,
Oh, whisper in my failing ear
The only Name I care to hear,—
The only Name that has the power
To comfort in the dying hour.
"Let neither sob nor sigh be heard,
But still repeat that sacred word,—
Until the solace it imparts
Descends like balm upon your hearts,
And I in triumph gladly sing:
'O dreaded Death, where is thy sting?'