Her constantly increasing cough and expectoration, though not attended with much pain, were, as usual, accompanied with uneasiness, want of sleep, and great weakness, which made her frequently request prayer that she might have patience to bear all without a murmur, and await her Father's will. She wanted to say, with the feelings of Job, "All the days of my appointed time will I wait, till my change come. I know that my Redeemer liveth." At one time, her symptoms seemed more favorable, and I expressed a hope of her recovery. "No," said she; "I have taken leave of my family, and of every thing on earth, and I would rather go, if it be God's will; only I want to wait patiently till he comes to call me." Her husband and mother told me that, during the previous night, she had bidden them all farewell, and left farewell messages for her school, and the church, and all her friends. She had thus set her house in order, to die, or, rather, to live a diviner life, and she was waiting the summons home. She said that she felt like a little child in her Father's arms; and if, by lifting a pebble, she could hold back her spirit, she would not do it. Several days before her death, she requested me to sing "The Christian's Home in Glory," or "Rest for the Weary"--a hymn, with its tune, dear to her for itself and for its associations. As I repeated the chorus, she exclaimed, again and again, with great tenderness and emphasis, "Rest, rest, rest! Oh, brother Lockwood, there I shall rest, rest, rest! This weary head shall rest on my Saviour's bosom." When I had sung the last stanza,-- "Sing, oh, sing, ye heirs of glory, Shout your triumph as you go,"-- she burst out in an ecstasy that seemed as if the spirit would break away from the body, "Oh, brother, I shall sing! I shall shout! Won't we sing? Won't we shout? Yes, we shall--we shall sing and shout!" On Saturday morning, February 22, she was in a very happy frame of mind, and said that she had had precious visits from her Saviour; he had told her that he was coming soon, and would fulfill her heart's desire in taking her to him. Her mother said, that during the previous night she had been constantly reaching up, and sometimes she would cry out, with great earnestness, "Do not leave me, dear Jesus." She requested me to sing for her, and I sung, "The Shining Shore," and "Homeward Bound." During the singing of the last stanza of the latter song, she was filled with joy. "Into the harbor of heaven now we glide, We're home at last! Softly we drift o'er its bright silver tide, We're home at last! Glory to God! All our dangers are o'er; We stand secure on the glorified shore; Glory to God! we will shout evermore, We're home at last!" "Yes," she exclaimed, "home at last! Glory to God! Home at last! Oh, I shall soon be home--home--home at last!"