"You will miss me when I am gone--
At morning, at night, and noon:
I have needed your arm to lean upon,
I shall need it no longer soon.
"I've been helpless for many years,
'No _burden_' you always said;--
I have claimed your pity, your prayers and tears
You will miss me when I am dead.
"How many a dreary night
You have watched by my couch of pain,
Till the streaming in of morning light--
You will never watch again.
"God taketh not all away
The bitter and sweet he blends,
And I bless his name by night and day
That he has not denied me friends.
"You have shared the heavy load,
Which alone I could not have borne;
I am going now to a bright abode,
But I leave you, alas! to mourn.
"You will miss me when I am gone,
As you never have missed before!
I have needed your arm to lean upon
But soon I shall need it no more.
"I lean on my Saviour's breast
In this hour of mortal pain;
Oh, strong are His arms! and sweet my rest!
Farewell! till we meet again."
The expected hour though long of coming arrived at last. As long as
she seemed to realize what was transpiring around her, and when too
weak to converse, she would signify by a word or motion that she had
peace and all was well. About a quarter past 11 o'clock Friday night,
March 13, 1863, "the silver cord was loosed," and she sweetly fell
asleep in Jesus, aged twenty-eight years, four months, and sixteen
days. On the Tuesday following we buried her from the village church,
where ten years before she had decided to come out openly on the
Lord's side. It was crowded. Three ministers, from as many different
denominations, assisted me in the services. Her mother and sister (the
wife of Dr. G. O. Somers) were too feeble to attend. But we hope soon
to greet her where--to use her own words,
"Earthly love is like the starlight lost
In glorious sunshine, and the things of time
Shrink into nothing: even death itself
Fades like a shadow in the noontide blaze,
And life--new, glorious, everlasting life--
Expands the soul, and all it ever dreamed
Of heavenly bliss becomes reality."
Above the stillness of death we hear the words of inspiration:
"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints"; "Thy
dead shall live again"; and in hope we wait. The weary pilgrim has
reached her resting-place. She lies in the chamber of Peace, whose
windows open toward the sunrising.