Farewell to gold and silver,-wealth, adieu;
You fly from others, but I fly from you.
Farewell to honour, I'm enrolled above,
My plume, my crest, is Love, Redeeming Love;
By his dear hand that bled,I read my name,
Wrote 'mong the living in Jerusalem.

Farewell to pleasure, vanities, and lies,

I

I

go to drink a River in the skies,

Whose banks are with immortal verdure clad,
Whose streams make all Jehovah's City glad.
Farewell to houses, gardens, orchards, lands,
I have an house above not made with hands,
A spotless mansion, built of precious stone,
A crown of living light a jasper one.
Farewell to knowledge, first of earthly things,
go to drink it where the fountain springs;
Clear from its source, pellucid and refined,
The dregs of muddy error left behind.
Farewell to Death! I shall forever bloom
In youth's fresh loveliness beyond the tomb.
Farewell to sickness, all the aches and pains
That croud my vitals and consume the reins;
No hectic flush shall on my cheeks disclose
The transient blushes of the dying rose;
This aching, burning head, shall throb no more,
And these sharp stitches in my side be o'er;
Farewell to friends, I leave the social ring,
And fly to Eden on a Seraph's wing;
I soon shall join the ranks of the first-born,
Whom robes of light and crowns of life adorn.
Farewell, thou fairest of my joys on Earth,
The Church of God, the place of second birth,
Of second life, and nameless comforts too;
More dear than gold, more sweet than vernal dew
Have been thy verdant pastures to my soul,
Where flowers appear and streams of pleasure roll.
I go to see the saints in beauty bright,

The Saints embower'd in love, enshrin'd in light.
I go to see the Lamb upon the throne,

And that dear land, the beatific zone;

That land of sweet delight, of calm repose,
Of Gilead's balm, of Sharon's fragrant rose;

There ceaseless bliss, and sun-bright knowledge reigns;

No fiends to vex me, and no sin to stain,
But friendship formed by love,-O, Angel powers,—
Receive a weary pilgrim to your bowers!
O! Let me listen to your golden lyres,

And burn, like you, in love's seraphic fires;
Adore the Lamb, in each soul thrilling chant,
Your ardor feel, and still for greater pant,-
The weakest, meanest, poorest sinner take
To your sweet fellowship, for Jesus' sake!
Farewell my dearest children,-fare you well;-
What pangs I feel, to leave you, none can tell;
But I have drunk the bitter parting cup,

And now,

thank God, can freely give you up: Love, fear, adore, and serve the Lord alone! Soon we shall meet, where farewells are unknown. Farewell my husband-I am loth to part With thee, the joy and solace of my heart, With thee the dear companion of my care And bliss, when I had bliss to share: So round my heart, with many a fibre bound, To give thee up inflicts the deepest wound: But Jesus calls me to his bless'd abode,— I go the first, but thou art on the road:'Tis but a moment! love-repress thy tears,— And then we're married through the eternal years. Well now the bitterness of death is pass'd, That pang of souls untwining was the last,The coast is clear, my mortal race is run; Angels bring near the chariot, all is won; I soon shall sing, on yon celestial shore,I'm safe! I'm safe! I'm safe forever more, Step in my soul-I go with all my heart, Now let thy handmaid, Lord, in peace depart.”

AN ACCOUNT OF HER LAST SICKNESS AND DEATH.

BY HER HUSBAND.

After leaving Thomaston Circuit, her health, like that of people in decline, was sometimes so apparently good, that all indulged the fond hope that health and life would be prolonged: but in May and June her disease grew worse rapidly, so that in the judgment of one of the first physicians in the parts, her case was desperate; and that two weeks at most would end her career. Her lips, mouth, throat, and lungs appeared to be one coat of canker. Her cough racked her whole frame. Her weakness was such that she could leave the bed but little.

We prepared a cordial in the following manner :took 4lb. of gold thread and boiled out the strength in about one quart of water, then strained it off and added 4lb. of loaf sugar, and simmered it away to about three gills, and added a little brandy, so as to preserve it sweet. [a gláss.]*

Doctor Mann from Hallowell, from friendship to us, came 12 miles voluntarily to inquire after our welfare, and do us all the good in his power. He approved of the cordial, and added, “Mrs. N. you are above the fear of death, and therefore if I tell you plainly my judgment, you will not be alarmed— "By no means," she replied, "for I have given all up, to die, and feel a measure of calm resignation, yet I have some thoughts that God will spare me a

*This recipe is given for the benefit of the afflicted.

little longer to my children."-The doctor rejoiced in her prospects, (for he had obtained a hope in the mercy of God himself,) and said, "You must not flatter yourself with the thoughts of life, for I see no ground to encourage you, but we will do all we can for your comfort and relief-take freely of your gold-thread cordial, keep your mouth and stomach moist with it-it cannot hurt you, and it may relieve you entirely from the canker."—and so it did!!

I walked with the doctor to his carriage, who, with an affectionate look said, "I do feel it my duty to say to you plainly before I leave you, that one week, or two at farthest, will remove your wife to another, and I trust a better world than this." I replied, Doctor, I have faith to believe God will raise her up to a measure of health, and spare her to us a little longer."

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In two weeks she was able to ride to Hallowell. The doctor met us at the door and said, "Welcome to my house, your faith was a good faith."

From this time, like most cases of consumption, for more than a year her health was in a state of constant fluctuation; at times able to attend the domestic concerns of her house, and ride out 10 or 20 miles, but often confined to the house, and a few times to her room. But as the autumn of 1823 approached her strength failed, her disease advanced, our fears were alarmed, and the word of the Lord, "Prepare to meet thy God," spoke loud to us. In November she could help herself but little. December and January, her sufferings were great, but the work of the Lord on the circuit demanded my attention: but at our Quarterly meeting holden in Pittston, Feb. 1824, the good Lord opened the door, and brought a young man to take my circuit,

and with advice and consent of my Presiding Elder and brethren, and from a sense of duty, I left the field and retired to my little family, that by the grace of God I might stand in my lot through the trying scene, as a pillar in my house.

It now became necessary to have watchers every night; and to give as little trouble as possible, I proposed to rise at twelve o'clock every night, and watch until the morning. Her benevolent father's household readily agreed to take the necessary care the first part of the night. Thus I was favored with the opportunity to mark her piety and disease day and night, and it was a season never to be forgotten. From the commencement of our acquaintance we ever made death and judgment a familiar topic—we met and we parted as though it was, or might be, our last time. But now, sitting under the frozen wall of death, and the grave at our feet, we were making_arrangements for the moment of separation. Religion has beauties which adorn life with charms celestial, but in no place can the worth of the grace of God be so truly estimated this side of Heaven, as in the hours of sickness and death.

One day having lifted her from the bed to the chair, and then to the bed again, and waiting for her to rest, I asked, How does death appear to you now it is doubtless so near? Panting awhile for breath, as soon as she was able to speak, she said, "To live looks pleasant, that I may watch over my children and train them up for God, encourage you to preach the Gospel, and do what I can to win souls. to Christ; but to die looks most pleasant.

The last of February, a C. Baptist preacher, Br. G., called on us, and his visit was like cold water