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Mine

eyes look for "the living God,"
His summons willing to obey;
That frees me from this heavy load,
That bids my "Spirit, come away!"
Almighty Saviour, hear my cries,
Accept my humble faith and prayer;
On Thee my waiting soul relies,
On Thee I cast my every care.

What though my troubles should increase,
With contrite heart, "I kiss the rod;"
Yet haste the hour of my release;
"Make no long tarrying, oh! my God!"
"I know that my Redeemer lives,”
I long with Him in heaven to dwell;
Death to my soul the welcome gives:

Dear husband, child, and friends, farewell!

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Evening.

2 Tim. 4. 8

John 6. 63

John 14. 19

John 15. 14

Matt. 20. 23

Mark 8. 35..
Philemon v. 4. 5

2 Pet. 2.9

2 Pet. 3. 18
Acts 2. 21
John 17. 2
Rev. 2. 10
Luke 18. 14
Matt 3. 12
Matt. 24. 35
Acts 17. 27, 28
John 12. 48
Acts 3. 19

1 Cor. 4. 20
Acts 4. 38, 39
Phil. 2. 12
Matt. 18. 27
Rev. 21. 6
James 4.8

2 Cor. 3. 6
John 13. 34
Col. 3. 12

7 Sunday after Trinity 29 Ps. 68. 35

M 30 Is. 60. 20

Tu 31 Gen. 1. 31

Luke 12. 42

Luke 16. 15

1 John 4. 21
Rom. 8. 8

A. FOSTER, PRINTER, KIRKBY LONSDALE.

FRIENDLY VISITOR.

No. 238.]

JULY, 1838.

[VOL. 20.

COTTAGE PIETY.

......In the row of very poor houses to which we went, one was distinguished by its very neat garden, and its cut hedges of evergreen box. Here will be daisies and polyanthuses in abundance, in a few weeks; and carnations and lavender, for those who live till midsummer to gather them. Ah! frail flowers! yet there are frailer things that you outlive. It is not only the yew of a thousand years, and the venerable oak, that laugh to scorn the mightiness of man; but the lowly crocus will spring up for fifty years together in the same spot, when he that first set it and his children are gone, and their place knows them no more.

I was thinking how short a time old Hannah had to live. We shall not see her any more stooping amongst the narrow borders of her little garden;-but come up the few steps of the steep and winding staircase; here she lies in her clean white-washed room, and from hence she will never remove till carried out for the last time. Her illness had been a very trying one. She was seized with paralysis seventeen weeks since; and her senses were much affected. One side was rendered quite useless; her voice was altered, and her sight gone. She was unable to feed herself, or to lift herself in the bed; and to the questions of her affectionate children, she could scarcely make a reasonable reply. The world and all its concerns had passed from her, as if they had never been; but on one subject, the mercy of her Mighty Redeemer, her mind was clear and strong. "That," said she, as if she felt the weakness of her memory on other matters, "that I shall never, never, never forget."

At times, a spark of intelligence seemed to blaze up amongst the dying embers. An evening or two since, her husband on his return home from work asked his

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daughters if her mind had been comfortable that day; she caught his meaning, and exerting herself to speak loud enough for those down stairs to hear her, said that "in that matter all was well;" and that it was written, that the Almighty God was hers, and she was his. On subjects of temporal concern, however, she was completely lost; but overhearing her daughter giving her kind visitor a proof that her mental faculties were nearly gone; "Ah! interrupted she, "I am going to heaven; I shall have right knowledge there.” She never complained of pain or poverty; all seemed right to her. Though the small quantity of food, except what charity supplied, was coarse, and little fitting for a sick person, she always owned it as her Father's gift, and enjoyed it as such. Want, and cold, and illness, seemed matters of Lo importance to her: the hope of the glory to be revealed swallowed up all concern for this life. "It is not a crown of gold," 1 heard her say, "nor one of silver; it is a crown of glory that is laid up for me!"

One expression of natural feeling I witnessed. As one of her daughters was mentioning the death of a sister, whom they lost about ten months ago, the aged mother burst into tears, exclaiming, "She was a dear, blessed creature!" But she presently dried her tears: "I am going fast, fast to her," she said; "and I shall soon see her."

It is indeed cause for great thanksgiving, when parents are permitted to see a whole family of sons and daughters treading that path, which they themselves have found to be pleasantness and peace; and such, I believe, has been granted to these old people. Their remembrances of this last daughter, in particular, are very delightful. Nearly blind, very slow of speech, and exceedingly infirm to outward appearance; yet, as Fox says, "quick of understanding in the Lord's matters.' O the wisdom that is from above! how independent, how superior is it to all outward aids! Quiet. patient, humble, and industrious, there she sat at her spinning-wheel, day after day, and year after year

expecting nothing on earth, but with a heart set upon things above. The poorest of that poor family, yet the first to be called to that glorious inheritance. The last in her father's house; the first to take her place in those mansions, of which eye has not seen, nor ear heard the glory. She was suddenly attacked by some complaint in her head, so violent, that she feared she should lose her senses. "I pray," said she, and it was one of her last reasonable sentences, "I pray, that if the Lord sees fit to take my senses, he will take my speech too; that I may not say words to grieve his Holy Spirit. Oh!" added she, very earnestly to her sisters, "be sure, if I talk foolishly, tie up my mouth; promise me you will; that I may not grieve his Holy Spirit by vain words." Her prayer was heard. On Thursday her senses forsook her, and about the same time she ceased to speak. On Sunday, her sister, standing by, thought she heard her articulate the words, "Lord, now let thy servant depart in peace." And so she reached her home.

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But I must not forget the old man--the very picture of an English cottager. He was a little bent and toilworn, yet still retaining proof, in his hale figure, clear eye, and healthy complexion, that if labour is the primal curse," it is "softened into mercy." He had been a man fearing God from his youth up; and his happy countenance assured you, at the first glance, that his heart fed on the promise, "Even to old age I am he; even to hoary hairs I will carry you."

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I was some time ago much struck by a remark of Mr. Newton's: "If a Christian is only a shoe-black, he ought to be the best in the parish;" and, as far as my observation goes, it will certainly be the case. was our old man's diligence, as he broke stones on the road, that first attracted a friend's attention to him. "I should be sorry to need any human eye to watch me,' ," said he: "if I rest five minutes, I know I'm bound to make it up again." His language was generally figurative and poetical, naturally so, because he constantly drew from the two grand sources of poetry

--the book of God and the book of nature. From every surrounding circumstance, his hungering and thirsting mind drew food. I remember his spiritualizing his employment to me the other day, when I found him scraping a very dirty lane. "This reminds me," said he, "of the ministers of the heavenly gospel. They are sent, as we are, to prepare the way, to make straight the path; and they toil and labour. Now a bit seems cleaner, and there it is a little smoother; but very soon it is all disheartening, all as bad again as ever. Well, we begin again: toil over it again: our work will be done at last, and they must wait in patience, till the great Master comes to finish his own."

His affection for his aged wife has always been extremely strong; and it is delightful to observe how the love of Christian relations can survive all the extraneous aids of youth, interest, or personal attraction. "She asks, half a dozen times in the day, if he is not come home," said the daughter; "and he won't wait even to warm his hands, till he goes up stairs to see her, and, if she likes, to read or pray with her." The last time that she was sufficiently in possession of her senses to enjoy the word of God, as he read it to her, she expressed herself with remarkable delight and energy, as to the pleasure it had afforded her. "It seems as if I was in heaven," said she; "the room seems full of heaven." "What," said her daughter, "do you see any thing?" "No," she answered, "it is not to be seen or heard; it is to be FELT!” O glorious gospel, that shines thus in the dark valley and shadow of death!

But the old man's strength was labour and sorrow: His toil was soon done. His spirits excited him to exertions too great for his strength. "I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee," says the majestic word of promise. What shall we ask more? Will the God of heaven and earth compass about his servant with his mercy, and draw near to him in loving-kindness, and does it much matter where? No: all was well with poor old Isaac. As he said one evening, when we

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