Last Sickness
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lifted nearly every day after the first week or two of illness had passed
by. The view from this sunny corner was pleasing and varied, and she
greatly enjoyed the changing beauties of springtime and early summer.
Close beside her chair, on a table, were kept several of the books
she had written. These she would often handle and look over, seeming
to delight in having them near. Like an affectionate mother with her
children, so was she with these books during her last sickness. Several
times, when visited, she was found holding two or three of them in her
lap. “I appreciate these books as I never did before,” she at one time
remarked. “They are truth, and they are righteousness, and they are
an everlasting testimony that God is true.” She rejoiced in the thought
that when she could no longer speak to the people, her books would
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speak for her.
At times when her strength permitted, she was taken in a wheel
chair to a sunny veranda on the upper floor. From this little balcony,
embowered with beautiful climbing roses, the panorama of orchard
and vineyard, of mountains and valleys, afforded continual pleasure.
Again and again, during the earlier weeks of her illness, her voice
was lifted in song. The words oftenest chosen were:
“We have heard from the bright, the holy land,
We have heard, and our hearts are glad;
For we were a lonely pilgrim band,
And weary, and worn, and sad.
They tell us the pilgrims have a dwelling there—
No longer are homeless ones;
And we know that the goodly land is fair,
Where life’s pure river runs....
“We’ll be there, we’ll be there, in a little while,
We’ll join the pure and the blest;
We’ll have the palm, the robe, the crown,
And forever be at rest.”
About a fortnight after her accident, she was told of the mission-
ary and bookmen’s convention in session at Mountain View, where
plans were being laid for an increased circulation of denominational
publications. This reference to the bookmen led her to express once