"
She caught the idea; whispered "Bright Angels," and tried to say more.
I added the precious words, "Having loved His own, He loved them to
the end," also the lines of our own sweet singer;--
"And God Himself our Father is,
And Jesus is our Friend."
Another effort was made to speak, and at intervals we caught the
words, "Praise," "Glory," "My Father," "My Redeemer." These were the
last sounds we could hear; the full expression of triumph was lost in
the gentle murmurs of the river. There was yet another signal of happy
and exulting confidence. For sometime, she gazed intently upward, and
then around, with a look of delighted surprise; as if she "saw
scenes we could not see, or heard sounds we could not hear;" and
then gradually sunk into a state of unconsciousness. A few more hours
terminated her _mortal_ panting after immortality; and at twenty
minutes past eight, just as we commended her to God, without an effort
or a struggle, she breathed her ransomed spirit into the bosom of her
Lord. What was mortal remained with the mourners,--the spirit was with
God.
Thus, on the 4th of July, 1860, after the toils and struggles of life,
protracted to a period of seventy-eight years, and a few weeks; my
beloved, and venerated mother "fell asleep." She rests in the cemetery
about a mile from the city, by the side of her loved Eliza. Rich
and poor united to pay the last tribute of affection and esteem; and
mingled their tears at the place of her repose.
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