MOST people think it is time to stop working long before they are eighty, but John Wesley at eighty-seven still went about his "Father's business." His constant prayer was, "Lord, let me not live to be useless." Every meeting he knew might be his last, and when he visited the different societies, he used to ask the members to take as his last advice: "To love as brothers, to fear God, and to honour the King." He closed nearly all these meetings with his brother's hymn: "O that without a lingering groan, I may the welcome Word receive; My body with my charge lay down, And cease at once to work and live." John Wesley's last sermon was preached in a gentleman's dining-room, at Leatherhead, a small place about eighteen miles from London. It was on February 23rd, 1791, and his text was, "_Seek ye the Lord while He may be found, call upon Him while He is near._"--Isa. lv. 6. This was on a Wednesday, and the day but one after, Friday, he felt very poorly, and said he would like to lie down. At the end of half an hour, some one went to his bedroom, and found him so ill that they sent for the doctor. On Sunday he seemed better, and got up. He was so cheerful and happy; and while sitting in his chair in his bedroom, he repeated a verse from one of his brother's hymns: "Till glad I lay this body down, Thy servant, Lord, attend; And oh! my life of mercy crown With a triumphant end!" On Monday night he couldn't sleep, and the next day, some one asked him if he had any pain. "No," he answered. And then he began singing: "All glory to God in the sky, And peace upon earth be restored; O, Jesus exalted on high, Appear our omnipotent Lord. Who meanly in Bethlehem born, Didst stoop to redeem a lost race; Once more to Thy people return, And reign in Thy kingdom of grace." When he had sung two verses, he lay still. After awhile he said, "I want to write." So they brought him ink and paper, and put the pen in his hand; but John Wesley's writing days were over. "I cannot," he said. "Let me write for you," said one of his friends, "tell me what you want to say." "Nothing," replied the dying Christian, "but that God is with us." In the morning he wanted to get up, and while his friends were bringing him his clothes, he started to sing: "I'll praise my Maker while I've breath, And, when my voice is lost in death, Praise shall employ my nobler powers; My days of praise shall ne'er be past, While life, and thought, and being last, Or immortality endures.