"Yet save a trembling sinner, Lord,
Whose hope, still hovering round thy word,
Would light on some sweet promise there,
Some sure support against despair."
He now became exhausted, and reclining his head on the pillow, fell asleep, and slept several hours. When he awoke, he was composed and calm, and said, "My sleep has been refreshing to me."
"I hope," said his mother, "that your soul is refreshed, as well as your body."
"I am more composed than I ever expected to be, but I am not happy. My composure is no less a source of terror than my former agitation, as I know that the cessation of pain is sometimes an indication that the disorder is approaching a fatal termination, even when the patient may be anticipating his recovery."
"But, my friend," said I, "the terror you feel under your composure, is a proof that you are unwilling to seize a premature hope; and may be regarded as an evidence, that the Lord who refused to appear in the whirlwind, in the earthquake, or in the fire, is graciously appearing in the still small voice of love."
"Oh, my old and tried friend, my sins appear too great and too aggravated to be forgiven."
"But, Henry, the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin; and He is sent, not only to proclaim liberty to the captive soul, but to heal the broken-hearted."
"Oh!" he exclaimed, "I would believe. Lord, help my unbelief."
Death was now rapidly approaching; and having pressed the hands of each of us, he reclined his head on his wife's bosom, and fainted away. On recovering from this fit, which lasted several minutes, he once more opened his eyes, and casting a mournful look on us, said, "I die an unworthy and guilty sinner at the foot of the cross; but will He permit me to perish when crying to Him to save me? Impossible!" he exclaimed; and then, as if having exhausted all his strength by this last effort, his head fell back on the pillow, and he expired.