“Mercy, mercy upon a poor old creature, almost broken down with age and grief!—What shall I do!—Betsy’s gone. My daughter’s dead—O my child! I shall never see thee more. God be merciful to me a sinner!” sobbed out the poor mother.
“That last prayer, my dear good woman,” said I, “will bring you and your child together again. It is a cry that has brought thousands to glory. It brought your daughter there, and I hope it will bring you thither likewise. God will in no wise cast out any that come to him.”
“My dear,” said the Dairyman, breaking the long silence he had maintained, “let us trust God with our child; and let us trust him with our own selves. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord! We are old, and can have but a little further to travel in our journey, and then—,” he could say no more
The soldier, mentioned in my last paper, reached a Bible into my hand, and said, “Perhaps, sir, you would not object to reading a chapter before we go to the church?”
I did so; it was the fourteenth of the book of Job. A
sweet tranquillity prevailed while I read it. Each minute that was spent in this funeral chamber seemed to be valuable. I made a few observations on the chapter, and connected them with the case of our departed sister.
“I am but a poor soldier,” said our military friend, “and have nothing of this world’s goods beyond my daily subsistence; but I would not exchange my hope of salvation in the next world for all that this world could bestow without it. What is wealth without grace? Blessed be God! as I march about from one quarter to another, I still find the Lord wherever I go; and, thanks be to his holy name, he is here to-day in the midst of this company of the living and the dead. I feel that it is good to be here.”
Some other persons present began to take a part in our conversation, in the course of which the life and experience of the Dairyman’s daughter were brought forward in a very interesting manner. Each friend had something to relate in testimony of her gracious disposition. A young woman under twenty, who had hitherto been a very light and trifling character, appeared to be remarkably impressed by the conversation of that day; and I have since had ground to believe that Divine grace then began to influence her in the choice of that better part which shall not be taken from her.
What a contrast does such a scene as this exhibit, when compared with the dull, formal, unedifying, and often indecent manner, in which funeral parties assemble in the house of death!
As we conversed the parents revived. Our subject of discourse was delightful to their hearts. Their child seemed almost to be alive again, while we talked of her. Tearful smiles often brightened their countenances, as they heard