“Nay, nay, mah lassie,” said Adam, “draw t’ cottain up; ‘It’s a pleeasant thing for t’ ees te behold the sun.’ It weean’t ho’t ma’; mah poor and ees iz gettin’ a cottain drawn ower them, bud that only ’elps ’em te see t’ leet o’ t’ glory ’at’s jost dawnin’ upo’ ma’. Will yan o’ ye read t’ ninety-fost Psalm?”
Lucy read it, and as soon as she began, he said, with infinite tenderness,—
“God bless yo’, mah dear; ah’ve heeard yer pratty voice ivver sin yo’ had yan, an’ it’s sweeter noo then ivver. Oh, Maister Philip! bud you are rich! Some fooaks get a treasure wiv a wife, bud you’ve gotten a treasure iv a wife. Bless ’em, Lord, ten thoosandfoad wi’ Thi’ luv an’ fayvour.”
When the Psalm was ended he turned to the old squire.
“Gi’e ma’ hod o’ yer ’and,” said he; “the Lord’s dealt boontifully wi’ yo’, Maister Fuller, an’ noo, prayse the Lord! that psalm belangs te you as weel as me. ‘He that dwells i’ t’ seeacret pleeace o’ the Meeast High,’ that’s iv His luv i’ Jesus Christ, ‘sall abide under t’ shado’ ov t’ Almighty.’ Abide! hey, for ivver an’ ivver an’ ivver! ‘He sall cuver thee wiv ’is feathers.’ Halleluia! Warm ageean His ’art, an’ oot o’ t’ reeach o’ ’arm. Ah’s there! nestlin’ an’ cuddlin’ an’ seeafe. ‘Thoo sall nut be aflaid for t’ terror be neet.’ Flaid! No: what is there te be freetened on? Jesus ez killed all that, because He’s slayn t’ enmaty, an’ God an’ uz iz yan. He sall give His aingels chayge ower tha’. Glory be te God! they’re here! Ah can ’ear t’ rustlin’ o’ th’ir wings. They’re waitin’ fo’ ma’!
‘Aingels beckons ma’ away,
An’ Jesus bids ma’ cum.’
Bud that last vess caps ivverything! ‘Ah’ll show ’im me’ salvaytion!’ Ah’ve seen a good deal, an’ felt a good deal mair, bud it’s nowt cumpared te what’s cumin’. Ah’ve seen it through a glass darkly, an’ ah’ve felt it through a gluv. Noo ah sail see Him feeace te feeace, an’ tutch Him as Thomas did, till me’ sowl is ravished wi’ glory an’ delight Moses saw t’ Promised Land, bud he was a lang way oft, and t’ river rowlled atween. Ah sall be on t’ spot, an’ be a citizen o’ that cuntry. St. John saw it i’ Patmos, bud it was a vision an’ a dreeam. Ah sail see t’ real thing an’ be payt on it, an’ hev it for t’ lot o’ me’ inheritance. St. Paul saw it, bud he ’ad te cum doon ageean te be pricked wi’ thorns an’ buffeted wi’ trubbles. Ah sall gan oot nae mair for ivver! Maister Fuller! Ah’ll be riddy fo’ yo’ when yo’ cum, an’ we’ll gan tegither te t’ King, an’ as Nathan Blyth says, we’ll shoot and sing till we mak’ heaven ring wi’ prayse!”
It is not to be supposed that this and much other joyous and triumphant speech was said without break and pause. Now and again he was utterly spent with excess of joy, and the feeble tongue refused to follow the spirit’s eager flight, and failed to syllable the rapture of his exulting soul. About eight o’clock in the evening the messenger came. The old man seemed to be asleep, but he suddenly opened his eyes, and, looking upward, lifted his hand towards heaven; a strange soft light and a beaming smile broke upon his face. “Heaven’s oppen!” said he; “Ah see Jesus Christ standin’ at t’ right ’and o’ God. He hez a star in His ’and. Beautiful! Beautiful!” The light upon his face deepened; it seemed to be haloed with a glory. “He’s cumin’,” said he, “cumin’ for me. No, it isn’t a star; it’s a croon. Oh, mah Sayviour, cum quickly. A croon o’ glory!” Lifting up both hands, he half sprang from the bed, crying, “It’s mahne, prayse the Lord, it’s mahne!” He fell back upon his pillow, with a triumphant smile upon his face, and Adam Olliver’s glorified spirit went to heaven to wear it—that crown of righteousness which the Lord, the righteous Judge, had laid up for him against that day.