The home beyond, or, Views of heaven and its relation to earth . h you to tell him so, forI cannot bear to tell him. The father went in and sat down by the bedside, and he placedhis hand upon his forehead, and he could feel the cold, damp sweatof death, and knew its cold, icy hand was feeling for the chords oflife, and that his boy was soon to be taken away, and he said to him:My son, do you know you are dying?The little fellow looked up at him and said: No; am I? la this death that I feel stealing over me, father?Yes, my son, you are I live the day out?No; you may die at any moment
The home beyond, or, Views of heaven and its relation to earth . h you to tell him so, forI cannot bear to tell him. The father went in and sat down by the bedside, and he placedhis hand upon his forehead, and he could feel the cold, damp sweatof death, and knew its cold, icy hand was feeling for the chords oflife, and that his boy was soon to be taken away, and he said to him:My son, do you know you are dying?The little fellow looked up at him and said: No; am I? la this death that I feel stealing over me, father?Yes, my son, you are I live the day out?No; you may die at any looked up to his father and he said; Well, I will be with Jesusto-night, wont I, father? And the father answered: Yes my boy, you will spend to-nightwith the Savior, and the father turned away to conceal the tears,that the little boy might not see him weep; but he saw the tears, andhe said: Father, dont you weep for me; when I get to heaven I will gostraight to Jesus and tell Him that ever since I can remember, youhave tried to lead me to Him. D. L. DAVID SWING. 160 THE HOME BEYOND WKETEFIELDS DEATH. REV. ABEL STEVENS, D. D. i ATT) Sir John Herschel, I could see Sirius annotinciag¥& himself, as lie swept the heavens with his telescope, in| search of Sirius, till the great star rushed in and filled thei«w-^ ^qIq £ei(j 0f vision with a sea of light. The time came\v for Whitefield to die. The man had been immortal till his work3 was done. His path had been bright, and it grew brighter tothe end, like that of the had better be in bed, Mr. Whitefield. said his host, theday he preached his last sermon. True, said the dying evangelist, and clasping his hands, cried: I am weary in, not of, thy work, Lord Jesus. He preached his last sermon at Newburyport, pale and dying; heherein uttered one of the most pathetic sentences which ever came tohis lips: I go to my everlasting rest. My sun has risen, shone, and issetting—nay, it is about to rise and shine forever. I
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