The moon was at its
height and the time and scene befitting our tribute to the dying soul.
The nurse opened the door quietly. The invalid had fallen asleep in
the back room, the moon shining in at his window in soft light upon
his pale face. With voices subdued we began the song of Home, Sweet
Home. He talked in his sleep, "Yes, I am coming home." He heard, yet
was not enough awake to know the song was sung by earthly voices. At
last, with a deep sigh, he awoke and said, "Nurse, I have been called
home. Shall I hear her sing before I go?" "Yes, I think so." While he
spoke the sign was given and I sang Nearer, My God, to Thee, with the
other voices softly following each verse. "Oh, the angel has come at
last." "Listen, she is singing to you," said the nurse. "Hark, is it
not the angel voices? Is it real? Then I have heard the heavenly song
before I go. Oh, how beautiful it all is and how kind of all these
friends to come to me and make me so happy with their song in my last
hours on earth. Listen," he whispered. "Still another song for me," he
gasped out. Safe in the Arms of Jesus we sang and he was listening
intently as his life was ebbing away. As we closed the hymn, Sweetly
His Soul Shall Rest, he had crossed the River of Life and nothing
remained but the casket, emaciated and cold in death, with the face of
a saint and a smile on his silent lips--gone to his eternal rest to
hear the music of angelic voices around the Throne of God.
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