On Sunday she was very ill, and the doctor said she could not last long. Her Sunday School teacher, Miss C——, was sent for, and when she arrived, she saw that Lizzie was sinking fast, and found that she could say but little.
I am not going to set her up, and positively say she was a partaker of grace, for the very few words she uttered are not of themselves sufficient evidence for that. About five o'clock, during her mother's absence, she said, in a very low tone of voice, "I hope Jesus will heal my soul," or, "Perhaps Jesus will heal my soul." Miss C—— could not distinguish the words so as to be sure which.
Early on Monday morning, the 19th of September, 1887, she died. Had she lived till the 26th, she would have been eighteen years of age. Just as she departed there was a beautiful smile came over her countenance; and as Miss C—— afterwards went with several friends to see the corpse, these words came into her mind as if some one had spoken them to her—
"Not a wave of trouble rolls
Across her peaceful breast."
Mr. Mockford buried her on the following Saturday; and, among other things, he spoke from these words—"If the tree fall toward the south, or toward the north, in the place where the tree falleth there it shall be." He spoke of the departed as being toward the south—toward the house of God, the people of God, and the ways and Word of God; and as she was so far joined to the living, there was hope that she would be found among that people at the resurrection morning.
On Sunday morning in the school, one of the teachers read that chapter where the same words stand, and, though not at the funeral, some very similar remarks were made, and the same hope concerning the departed was expressed. I am sure of this—that, if she had that good thing in her heart toward the Lord God of Israel, namely, faith toward Jesus and His blood, she is now joining
"The host of virgin saints
Made to salvation wise."
The question may arise, "Why say anything about her, since there is no more ground for hope than this?"
It is to the living I want to say a few words, hoping the Lord will make use of this feeble account to lead the young readers of the Little Gleaner to consider how matters stand with them before God and for eternity.
"Reflect, young friend, I humbly crave,
Thy sins, how high they mount!
What are thy hopes beyond the grave?
How stands that dark account?"