On another fly-leaf was written—
It is Thy hand, my God,
My sorrow comes from Thee;
I bow beneath Thy chastening rod,
'Tis love that bruises me!”
"The Church is God's vessel to contain His glory.”
"May our eyes look forward to that clay when that poor, despised man when on earth, shall come again with glory! May He find each looking for Him, and say, Well done, good and faithful servant, enter into the joy of thy Lord!'”
When he awoke, he was very weak, and unable to listen until eleven o'clock, when Mrs Deck read some hymns to him. I read the following simple and beautiful hymn, which I never met with but once, and therefore insert:—