Canadian Wild Flowers | Page 9

could feel the warm tears of beloved ones upon my cheeks, as they bent tenderly over me; I could see the dark vale just ahead (though there was a light amid the darkness), but my sufferings were not to be so soon terminated. Gradually my disease assumed a chronic form, and physicians said there was no hope. The little nourishment I could take distressed me so, terribly that the very thought of eating made me shudder, and my stomach became so sore that I could not be moved from one side of the bed to the other without uttering a cry of pain. Winter, spring, summer and autumn in turn visited the earth, and with each I thought, aye, longed to depart; but the great Refiner had his own purpose to accomplish,--there was a little fine gold but the dross rendered it useless. The ordeal through which I am passing is indeed a terrible one, but I know where peace and consolation are to be found, and there are times when I can say in sincerity, 'Thy will be done.'"
Thursday, Jan. 1,1863, she wrote:--
"Bright, beautiful day. Many people on the ice. Edwin [her brother] there. Over our dwelling is a shadow; it falls upon our spirits and we are sad. Will it never be removed? God grant we may be patient and grateful for the blessings we do enjoy, for are not friends--true, tender friends, the greatest and holiest of blessings? and while we have them God forgive us for murmuring at his dealings."
The last entries in her diary are: "Feb. 2. Very sick"; "Tuesday, 3rd. No better." It is uncertain when the following lines were written, but it might have been about this time:--
"I'm going home to that bright land of rest Where pain and grief and sickness are unknown; The year begins in sorrow, but will close In joys that never end--I'm going home! Last year the warning came on sunken eye And wasted cheek. I gazed and thought to spend My Christmas with the angels. God knows best; And here I linger, weary sufferer still. The morning comes long watched-for, long desired; The day drags on, and then the sleepless night: But this will have an end--it must be soon."
About six weeks before her death she was taken with nausea and vomiting: everything she took distressed her, and for the last twenty-three days she took no nourishment save what water contains. Her prayer--
"Close to the Cross, close to the Cross. God grant I may be found When death shall call my spirit hence, or the last trumpet sound,"--
was indeed answered. Her end was very peaceful and happy. For several weeks not a cloud seemed to pass over her mind; and though often in great distress there was no impatience manifested, nor did a murmur escape her lips. She said, "It is nothing to die: 'the sting of death is sin,' and when sin is taken away the sting is gone." On another occasion she remarked: "I have often heard the words sung--
'Jesus can make a dying bed Feel soft as downy pillows are'--
and thought they were not strictly true; but now I know that they are perfectly, perfectly so." Once as we stood by her bedside she observed her mother and sister weeping, and with a countenance beaming with joy (sufficient to remind us of 1 Pet. 1:8) she expressed surprise, remarking: "It seems to me I am only crossing a narrow brook, and as I look back I see you all coming--we shall soon meet." Her view of her own weakness and sinfulness was indeed clear, but she had such unwavering faith in her Redeemer as enabled her to say: "Dying seems to me like laying the head back and closing the eyes, just to open them in a few moments on the joys of paradise." The following lines, written with a pencil on the cover and blank leaf of her French Testament, were the last she ever wrote. They are dated March 3--just ten days before her death--and give indubitable evidence of the clearness of her intellect and the strength of her faith while passing through "the valley of the shadow of death":--
"Jesus, I know thou art the living Word! Each blessed promise to myself I take; I would not doubt, if I had only heard This--this alone, '_I never will forsake!_'
I have no fear-the sting of death is sin, And Christ removed it when he died for me: Washed in his blood, my robe without, within, Has not a stain that God himself can see.
Wrapped in the Saviour's arms I sweetly lie; Far, far behind I hear the breakers roar; I have been dying--but I cease to die, My rest begins--rejoice forevermore!"
Having expressed a wish to be visited by all her acquaintances, many called