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praise him, I will praise him! Wonderful---glory Jésus reigns."



On the 26th day of December, 1827, Frances Ann Myers, the only child of our brother and sister, George R. and Lucy Ann Myers, of Richmond, Va., took her joyful passage from this world of sin and sorrow to the bosom of her Father and her God. For some hours previous to her death she had been silent and composed. Her father discovering that she became a little restless asked the cause. She replied, “I wish that man to leave the room,” alluding to a gentleman who had called to see her ; who, upon discovering that she was not willing to unbosom herself in his presence, shook hands with her and retired. She turned to her afflicted mother, who sat upon the bed near her, and said, “ Mother, I want to bid you good-by." Her mother, with a heart overwhelmed with grief, and eyes streaming with tears said, “ Where are you going, my dear child ?" She, with a countenance serene and sweet, said, “ To heaven.”“ Do you want to go to heaven ?” said her mother. She replied, “ Yes, I am going to see Jesus.” She then turned to the other side of the bed, where her aunt Hopkins stood, and said, “Good-by, Aunt Clary."Her aunt said, “ Where are you going, my dear ?"-She replied, “ To heaven, to see my little cousins," alluding to two of Major Hyde's little children, who had died a few days before. She then called her father, and taking him by the hand said, " Farewell."-He kissed her, and asked if she felt any pain. She said, “ None;" then calling her grandfather, she bid him farewell, and said, “ Are you coming to heaven ?" After this she called separately upon all who were in the room, not forgetting three little coloured children, and took a final and affectionate leave of them.

Her uncle Hopkins, who stood at the foot of the bed, looking on with mingled emotions of astonishment, grief, and joy, approached her, and said, “Do you know me?” She said, “Yes.”—“Where are you going, my Frances ?"-She replied, “ To heaven." "I will try to come after you,” said her uncle. She looked at him and said, “ Are you not happy?" He replied,

66 Are you happy, my dear?” She, with a countenance strongly indicating the feelings of her heart, said, “Yes." She then sent for her three little cousins, near her own size, who she supposed were gone to the house of worship; and when they came, she kissed them and bid "good-by.” After having made these solemn arrangements, with a countenance unspeakably sweet and composed, and a soul filled with peace and joy, she fell asleep in Jesus, aged 8 years, 7 months, and 20 days.




Friend after friend departs ;

Who hath not lost a friend ? There is no union here of hearts

That finds not here an end ! Were this frail world our final rest, Living or dying none were blest. Beyond the flight of time,

Beyond the reign of death,
There surely is some blessed clime

Where life is not a breath ;
Nor life's affections transient fire,
Whose sparks fly upwards and expire.

There is a world above,

Where parting is unknown ;
A long eternity of love,

Form'd for the good alone :
And faith beholds the dying here
Translated to that glorious sphere!

Thus star by star declines,

Till all are past away;
As morning high and higher shines

To pure and perfect day:
Nor sink those stars in empty night,
But hide themselves in heav'ns own light.


How sweetly parts the Christian sun,

Just like the summer monarch set,
'Mid cloudless skies his journey done,

To rise in brighter regions yet.

Oh, where the Christian ends his days,
Lingers a lovely line of rays,

That speaks his calm departure blest,
And promises to those who gaze,
The same beatitude of rest.



Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee,

Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb : Thy Saviour has pass'd through its portals before thee,

And the lamp of his love is thy guide thro' the gloom!

Thou art gone to the grave ! we no longer behold thee,

Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side ; But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee,

And sinners may die, for the sinless has died !

Thou art gone to the grave ! and, its mansion forsaking.

Perchance thy weak spirit in fear lingered long; But the mild rays of paradise beam'd on thy waking,

And the sound which thou heardst was the seraphim's

song !

Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee,

Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian, and guide ; He

gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore thee, And death has no sting, for the Saviour has died !



SHE dropp'd a tear, and grasp'd my hand,

And fain she would have spoke ;
But well my heart could understand

The language of her look.

Farewell ! it meant; a last adieu !

Į soon shall cease from pain ;
This silent tear I drop for you!

We part—to meet again.

I said, “If, leaving all below,

You now have peace divine,
And would, but cannot, tell me so,

Give me at least a sign.”

She rais'd and gently wav'd her hand,

And fill'd me with a joy,
To which the wealth of sea and land,

Compar'd, were but a toy.


Fainter her breath, and fainter grew,

Until she breath'd her last :
The soul was gone before we knew

The stroke of death was past.

Soft was the moment, and serene,

That all her sufferings clos'd;
No agony or struggle seen,
No feature discompos'd.

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