ministered unto me. And now go I unto Him, who hath said "the merciful shall obtain mercy."
They felt that the chilling clasp of her fingers relaxed, and saw that her lips moved inaudibly. They knew that she was addressing Him, who was taking her unto himself. A smile not to be described passed, like a gleam of sunshine, over her countenance; and they heard the words "joy unspeakable, and full of glory." Something more was breathed in the faintest utterance, but she closed not the sentence—it was finished in Heaven.
There was long silence in the apartment, save the sobs of the bereaved Martha, and at long intervals a deep sigh, as if bursting from the bottom of the breast of the aged warriour. Then he rose from the earth where he had stooped his forehead, and took the hand of his companion.
"We have heard," he said, "before we were Christians, that too much grief is displeasing to the Great Spirit. Let us pray to that God, to whom she has returned. She hath taught us to call Him Father, who was once terrible to our thought. She was as the sun in our path. But she hath set behind the dark mountains. Hath set did I say? No. She hath risen to a brighter sky, and beams of her light will sometimes visit us. Thou hast wept for two daughters, Martha. One, thou didst nurse upon thy breast. But was she dearer than this? Did not the child of our adoption lie as near to our heart, as she to whom we gave life? Henceforth, we shall be made childless no more. Let us dry up the fountain of our sorrows. Let us pray
