The rays of the morning star were not so beautiful in my sight, as the spiritual lustre of this young Christian’s character. “Her night was far spent;” the morning of a “better day was at hand.” The sun of eternal blessedness was ready to break upon her soul with rising glory. Like the moon, which I saw above me, this child’s exemplary deportment had gently cast a useful light over the neighbourhood where she dwelt. Like this moon she had for a season been permitted to shine amidst the surrounding darkness; and her rays were also reflected from a luminary, in whose native splendour her own would quickly be blended and lost.
The air was cool, but the breezes of the morning were refreshing, and seemed to foretell the approach of a beautiful
day. Being accustomed, in my walks, to look for subjects of improving thought and association, I found them in every direction around me as I hastened onwards to the house where Jane lay, waiting for a dismissal from her earthly dwelling.
I felt that the twilight gravity of nature was, at that hour, peculiarly appropriate to the circumstances of the case; and the more so, because that twilight was significantly adorned with the brilliant sparklings of the star on one hand, and the clear, pale lustre of the waning moon on the other.
When I arrived at the house, I found no one below; I paused for a few minutes, and heard the girl’s voice very faintly saying, “Do you think he will come? I should be so glad—so very glad to see him before I die.”
I ascended the stairs—her father, mother, and brother, together with the elderly woman before spoken of, were in the chamber. Jane’s countenance bore the marks of speedy dissolution. Yet, although death was manifest in the languid features, there was something more than ever interesting in the whole of her external aspect. The moment she saw me, a renewed vigour beamed in her eye; grateful affection sparkled in the dying face.
Although she had spoken just before I entered, yet for some time afterwards she was silent, but never took her eyes off me. There was animation in her look—there was more—something like a foretaste of heaven seemed to be felt, and gave an inexpressible character of spiritual beauty, even in death.
At length she said, “This is very kind, sir—I am going fast—I was afraid I should never see you again in this world.”
I said, “My child, are you resigned to die?”
“Quite.”