Dying Man! the billows are around thee—the world is receding—the herald symptoms of approaching dissolution are gathering fast around thy pillow—the soul is pluming its wings for the immortal flight; ere memory begins to fade, and the mind becomes a waste,—ere the names of friends, when mentioned, will only be answered by a dull, vacant look, and then the hush of awful silence,—tell me, ere the last lingering ray of consciousness and thought has vanished, Where is thy God?
He is here! I feel the everlasting arms underneath and round about me. Heart and flesh are failing. The mists of death are dimming my eyes to the things below, but they are opening on the magnificent vistas of eternity. Yonder He is! seated amid armies of angels. "My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God!" "This God shall be my God for ever and ever!"
VI.
Sabbath Memories.
"Dear is the Sabbath morn to me,
When village bells awake the day,
And with their holy minstrelsy