His venerable features appeared to glow almost with inspiration, as he drew near the throne of the Holy One; and the hearts of the mourners beat more calmly, as they felt themselves carried into the presence of Him that suffered. More thoughtless than the swallow that skims the summer skies, must he have been, who could have heard that prayer, and not have joined with reverence in its solemnity. His closing words still ring upon my ear, and long will remain stamped upon my memory. “My children—your fathers, and your fathers’ fathers have listened to my voice. Generations have passed by me to their long account, and still I have been left, and still my voice hath arisen from this holy place. Wo! wo is me, if my Master hath looked upon me as a slack and unworthy servant to his people. My children—but a few short days, and this trembling voice that still strives to teach his blessed will, shall be hushed in that sleep which the Archangel’s trump alone shall break—this tottering form be laid beneath the mould from whence it came, there to remain till that trump shall demand its presence at the judgment seat. But with the last tones of this quivering voice, with the last grasp of these trembling hands, I extend to you the sacred volume, as your guide to happiness in this, your only light into the world to come. “The sneers of human reason and vain philosophy shall desert you assuredly, my children, as you stand upon the edge of that awful precipice, where each of you _alone_ must take the fated plunge into the deep darkness of the future—but this, this shall make clear your passage as brightest noon-day. My children—I look back upon you as I speak—my hand is on the door-latch—my foot upon the threshold—oh! when your short days like mine are numbered, may you with the same reliance in his mercy, say, Lo, blessed Master, we stand without—receive us into thy kingdom.” As the service ended, it was good to see the kind-hearted feeling, with which the congregation gathered around the venerable man—for he was pure, and sincere, and true; and of a verity, as he said, his voice had arisen among them above the infant’s wail, at the baptismal font—had joined them with cheerfulness at the marriage feast, and still been heard in solemn sympathy at the side of the dark and silent grave. It was the last time that he addressed them. Not many days, and another voice pronounced the burial service of the dead in that green church-yard, and the form of the good old man was covered from their sight beneath its sod.