FOX (George, founder of the Society of Friends), 1624-1690. "_All is well, all is well--the Seed of God reigns over all, and over death itself. Though I am weak in body, yet the power of God is over all, and the Seed reigns over all disorderly spirits._" A little later he said, and they were his last words, "_Never heed; the Lord's power is over all weakness and death._" FOX (Charles James, English orator and statesman), 1749-1806. "_Trotter will tell you_," said to Mrs. Fox, who did not understand what he meant. FRANCIS ("Saint," of Assisi, founder of an order of mendicant friars called Franciscans or Cordeliers, from the cord with which they girded their coarse tunics), 1182-1226. "_The righteous wait expectant till I receive my recompense._" Members of his order were kneeling around his bed, awaiting his death. FRANCKE (August Hermann, professor of Oriental languages at Halle, author of "Methodus Studii Theologiae;" and other works, and founder of the orphan asylum and college for the poor which were known as Francke's Institutions), 1660-1727. "_Yes_," to his wife who asked him if his Saviour was still with him. So long as he was able to speak he would repeat from time to time in both Hebrew and German, "God will continue to support me. My soul has cast itself upon him; Lord, I wait for thy salvation." FRANKLIN (Benjamin, moralist, statesman, and philosopher), 1706-1790. "_A dying man can do nothing easy._" He endured in later years a complication of diseases, which brought the extremity of physical suffering, but courage was strong, and he worked on almost to the last. Worn with pain, he welcomed the end. His last look was on the picture of Christ which had hung for many years near his bed, and of which he often said, "That is the picture of one who came into the world to teach men to love one another." The resolute repression of all signs of suffering, every indication of the long conflict, passed at once. He lay smiling in a quiet slumber, and the smile lingered when the coffin lid shut him in. His grave is in the heart of the city he loved, and even the careless passerby pauses a moment to read the simple legend. An epitaph, written by him in 1729, holds his chief characteristics, his humor, his quiet assurance of better things to come, whether for this world or the next: THE BODY OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, PRINTER, (LIKE THE COVER OF AN OLD BOOK, ITS CONTENTS TORN OUT, AND STRIPT OF ITS LETTERING AND GILDING), LIES HERE, FOOD FOR WORMS. YET THE WORK ITSELF SHALL NOT BE LOST, FOR IT WILL, AS HE BELIEVES, APPEAR ONCE MORE, IN A NEW AND MORE BEAUTIFUL EDITION, CORRECTED AND AMENDED BY THE AUTHOR.[21]