“When I spoke to him on the subject and expressed a hope that God might yet restore him to health, he said, ‘But I should not be able to preach on account of my teeth.’ I replied, ‘If you only sit here as you do at present and aid us with your counsel, all things would go on quite differently from what they would if you were to leave us.’ But when I next saw him, he said as soon as I entered, ‘I think the Lord will at last take me to himself.’ I spoke to him a great deal on the subject, but he remained silent, settled some pecuniary matters with me, and gave me some money for Palamcotta. All this troubled me much. I prayed and wept, could get no sleep for several nights, and lost my appetite and strength, for various thoughts how things would go on after his departure made me very wakeful. The physicians say there is no danger as yet, but it now appears to me that our dear father will soon leave us. O, if God would graciously strengthen him and spare him to us yet a little while! If he depart to his rest what shall we both do?” He was not to come back, already voices were calling from the other side of the river. One thought only filled the sphere of his dying moments, to be with Christ, which is far better. He wakes up from a brief slumber with these words on his lips: “My whole meditation is the death of Jesus, that I may be like Him. The whole world is a mask. I wish to be where all is real.” The English physician is leaning over him and catches his whisper, “Doctor, in heaven there will be no more pain.” In a quiet tone he replies, “Very true, but we must keep you here as long as we can.” There is a pause, and then the earnest voice speaks again, “O, dear doctor, let us take care that we may not be missing there!” And now they gather round once more, and at his request they sing, with such voice as they could command amid their sobs, his favourite hymn: “Christus der ist mein Leben.” With clasped hands they hear him commending his soul to God. “O, Lord, hitherto Thou hast preserved me, hitherto Thou hast brought me, and hast bestowed innumerable benefits upon me. Do what is pleasing in Thy sight. I deliver my spirit into Thy hands, cleanse, and adorn it with the righteousness of my Redeemer, and receive me into the arms of Thy love and mercy!” A little group of native servants softly sing a German hymn, one of Paul Gerhardt’s, the words of which he had taught them in that language: “O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden.” O Wounded Head! Must Thou Endure such shame and scorn! The blood is trickling from Thy brow, Pierced by the crown of thorns. Thou who was crowned on high With light and majesty, In deep dishonour here must die, Yet here I welcome Thee!