she
had bidden them all farewell, and left farewell messages for her
school, and the church, and all her friends. She had thus set her
house in order, to die, or, rather, to live a diviner life, and she
was waiting the summons home. She said that she felt like a little
child in her Father's arms; and if, by lifting a pebble, she could
hold back her spirit, she would not do it.

Several days before her death, she requested me to sing "The
Christian's Home in Glory," or "Rest for the Weary"--a hymn, with its
tune, dear to her for itself and for its associations. As I repeated
the chorus, she exclaimed, again and again, with great tenderness and
emphasis, "Rest, rest, rest! Oh, brother Lockwood, there I shall rest,
rest, rest! This weary head shall rest on my Saviour's bosom."

When I had sung the last stanza,--

"Sing, oh, sing, ye heirs of glory,
Shout your triumph as you go,"--

she burst out in an ecstasy that seemed as if the spirit would break
away from the body, "Oh, brother, I shall sing! I shall shout! Won't
we sing? Won't we shout? Yes, we shall--we shall sing and shout!"

On Saturday morning, February 22, she was in a very happy frame of
mind, and said that she had had precious visits from her Saviour; he
had told her that he was coming soon, and would fulfill her heart's
desire in taking her to him. Her mother said, that during the previous
night she had been constantly reaching up, and sometimes she would cry
out, with great earnestness, "Do not leave me, dear Jesus."

She requested me to sing for her, and I sung, "The Shining Shore," and
"Homeward Bound." During the singing of the last stanza of the latter
song, she was filled with joy.

"Into the harbor of heaven now we glide,
We're home at last!
Softly we drift o'er its bright silver tide,
We're home at last!
Glory to God! All our dangers are o'er;
We stand secure on the glorified shore;
Glory to God! we will shout evermore,
We're home at last!"

"Yes," she exclaimed, "home at last! Glory to God! Home at last! Oh,
I shall soon be home--home--home at last!"

On the night of that day, about twelve o'clock, her waiting, longing
spirit went home. Washington's birthday was her birthday to a higher
life. After many a sleepless night, this last evening she was
permitted to rest quietly, till the midnight cry struck upon her ear,
"Behold, the bridegroom cometh!" It found her re