For I know he'll quickly come,
And we shall dwell together
In that happy, happy home.
We were about to say farewell to the loved brother whose end was rapidly approaching. His going from this life to that beyond the grave was one of the most remarkable for faith and hope, quietly exhibiting the spirit of Him who went about continually doing good.
There was no attempt to argue with death, and ask for a respite to prepare for the journey through the valley of the shadow of death to the golden shore beyond. We cannot do better here than lay before the reader the following communication written by their son to their former pastor, the Rev. George O. Phelps, of Utica, N.Y. It is a brief narrative of their last hours on earth, which were a triumphant ending to a long life of devotion to their Master:
New York City, November 15, 1886.
Your kind letter was duly received and contents noted. At your request, I will endeavor to give you a brief account of the "goings" of my departed parents. In a spirit of humility I desire to avoid all expressions of fulsomeness when speaking of their lives and last moments, though it might be said that those who were at the death-bed of either, and saw them in their last hours, would have been willing to have left all to exchange places with them. I would say, in the words of one of old, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my end be like theirs." As they lived so they died! As father lay down, so he never moved until he was carried into the arms of Jesus.
All through his two days' sickness, as we put our ears to his lips, we could hear him earnestly praying for Allen Street Church, her minister and people, and for his family. Our mother would frequently speak to him, saying:
"Just one word, papa!"
But he would only shake his head, without uttering a word.