before; now he sees Him who is the faithful and true witness, and he cannot do otherwise than yield up his soul into the hands of Him who is able to keep that which is committed unto him. Hence his direct, unhesitating prayer: "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." Thanks for that model prayer of a departing saint! May it be the last that the writer and reader shall breathe, when we are called to follow!

"Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!" How many thousands, martyrs and others, have already breathed their last, uttering this prayer! It would seem as if that leader of the Christian host, in their journey to the Better Land, were moved to this brief ejaculation that he might supply the most appropriate formula for every dying believer. "Lord Jesus, have mercy on me! Lord Jesus, have mercy on me! Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!" prayed Bishop Hooper, in the midst of the flames. And on the same fiery couch, and in the same strain, prayed Latimer, Patrick Hamilton, and Rowland Taylor. With the penitent exclamation, "This unworthy right hand! this unworthy right hand!" Cranmer intermingled the believing cry, "Lord Jesus receive my spirit!" Woman too, gentle, constant, trusting woman, has sent up the same, in

the hour of martyrdom. It was Margaret Wilson, in the reign of King James, whom the Papists took down to the Bay of Wigton, at low water, and bound to a stake, there to await the advancing tide. The waters come slowly in, closing round her, and rising higher and higher. They reach her throat; but that young martyr of eighteen still sings, with a loud, clear voice, the twenty-third Psalm. Her mouth fills; she gurgles forth, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!" and goes to sleep beneath the tide. But this has not been used by those alone who have witnessed for Jesus with their blood. The venerable bishop and reformer, Jewell, prayed, "Lord, take from me my spirit. Lord, now let thy servant depart in peace. Break off all delays; suffer thy servant to come to thee; come and take him to be with thee, Lord, receive my spirit!" And by many another has that brief petition been offered, by the consumptive, as his breath slowly failed, and all utterance ceased, — by the prisoner expiring in his cell, and by the voyager, sinking in the waves.

"Saviour, into thy loving hands.

My feeble spirit I commit,

While wandering in these Border-Lands
Until thy voice shall summon it.

These Border-Lands are calm and still,

And solemn are their silent shades; And my heart welcomes them, until The light of life's long evening fades.

I heard them spoken of with dread,
As fearful and unquiet places;
Shades where the living and the dead
Look sadly in each other's faces.

But since Thy hand hath led me here, And I have seen the Border-Land;

Seen the dark river flowing near,

Stood on its brink, as now I stand, –

There has been nothing to alarm

My trembling soul; how could I fear While thus encircled with thine arm?

I never felt thee half so near."

CHAPTER V.

THE PASSAGE.

The heir of heaven, henceforth I fear not death,
In Christ I live; in Christ I draw the breath
Of the true life; -let, then, earth, sea and sky,
Make war against me! On my heart I show

Their mighty Master's seal. In vain they try
To end my life, that can but end its woe.

Is that a death-bed where a Christian lies?

Yes! but not his 't is Death himself there dies!

COLERIDGE.

THE expiring believer does not see death: he sees the heavens opened, and Jesus Christ standing at the right hand of God. It is no dark valley through which he passes, but he moves along the highway of the Lord, to the palace of the great King. He escapes out of this Golgotha into the only true land of the living. Stephen was not vanquished on the field of martyrdom; he came off victor over enemies, human and Satanic; yea, he was more than conqueror; cast out of the city, he ascended to heaven. Amidst the shouts of an infuriated mob, and a shower of stones, "He fell asleep."

None of these things move him, neither counteth he his life dear unto him. He is full of the Holy Ghost, and so is full of joy and peace. He was not killed; he has only fallen asleep in Jesus;

"Like one who draws the drapery of his couch

About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams."

66

Never did evening shadows lengthen more quietly, nor the dews come down more benignly, than he, than every true believer, sinks to rest. "He is not dead, but sleepeth.' They which sleep in Christ are not perished." They live; they live in him, and with him, — a life higher, holier far than this. The protomartyr, now opening his eyes as never before on the glory of God, and on the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God, can say, "I laid me down and slept; I awaked, for the Lord sustained me.” The French Assembly may vote “Death an eternal sleep ;" the atheist Mirabeau, when speech fails, may spend his last strength in writing, "Death is but a sleep ;" the atheist Danton may play off his horrid levity on the scaffold "Let me go to sleep ;" but that is to fall asleep in sin, sorrow, wrath, it is to fall into cuter darkness, "where their worm dieth not, and their fire is not quenched.”