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REFLECTED LIGHT------------------------
Near Death Testimonies of Some Old Time Believers
--------------------------LADY HUNTINGDON

From An Antique Book in Webmaster's Library - Editor Unknown
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The Angel of the Covenant
Has come, and faithful to his promise, stood
Prepared to walk with her through death's dark vale,
And now her eyes grew bright, and brighter still,
Too bright for ours to look upon, suffused
With many tears, and closed without a cloud.

They set as sets the morning star, which goes
Not down behind the darkened West, nor hides
Obscured among the tempest of the sky,
But melts away into the light of heaven. POLLOCK.

Ah, who that saw thy Parting hour,
Could wish thee here again?
Triumphant in thy closing eye
The hope of glory shone;
Joy breathed in thy expiring sigh,
To think the fight was won! DALE.


Lady Huntingdon had now gone beyond threescore years and ten, with no abatement of her labors, or of the vigor and resoluteness which distinguished her character. She knew indeed neither weariness nor rest. The now divine life with which she arose from her sick-bed. in the days of her youth and splendor, was subject to none of the Infirmities of the natural body; and far beyond the common life of man, it seemed to lift her above the weakness of the flesh, and clothe decaying nature with the strength and beauty of an immortal vesture.

. . . Her business was carefully arranged, her extensive charities all provided for, responsible persons had been selected to carry out her plans, and though still diligent with the business of the evening, she looked forward with "strong immortal hope" to the dawn of that tomorrow whose glorious sun would have no setting.

As she sits in her elbow chair and memory runs back over the long past, and through this brilliant period of the church, signalized by so many triumphs and trophies, is there no whisper of self-gratuIation for the conspicuous part she bore, the friend and helper of God's chosen ones, the leader and counsellor of many of his people?

"Oh, who would dare to produce the best works of his best days before God for their own sake?" she exclaims; sufficiently blessed and secure are we, if we (.,in but cry, 11 God be merciful unto me a sinner." Let me be found accepted in the Beloved. Drawing near to him, she said, on another occasion, " What hope could I entertain if I (lid not know the efficacy of his blood? How little could any thing of mine give a moment's rest to the departing soul --- so much sin and self mixing with the best and always so short of what I owe."

Coming from her chamber one morning, and taking her place in the easy chair, an unwonted light was spread over her countenance. "The Lord hath been present with my spirit this morning in a remarkable manner," she soon said. "What he means to convey to my mind I know not; it may be my approaching departure: my soul is filled with glory -- I am as in the element of heaven itself."

Only a few days after this she ruptured a blood-vessel, from the effects of which she never recovered. "How do you feel ?" asked Lady Anne Erskine, who sat at the bedside of her friend.

"I am well; all is well, well for ever," was the triumphant answer of this aged believer. "I see wherever I turn my eyes, whether I live or die, nothing but victory." Was there any thing in the weakness and suffering of decaying nature to dictate a reply like this? Her sickness commenced in November; the silver cord was gently loosed, for she lingered through the winter until June. By the ministry of sickness, she grew patient and childlike, and often said, "I am cradled in the arms of love and mercy;" and again, when it seemed a great way off to the better land, she "longed to be at home." "My work is done, I have nothing to do but to go to my Father;" and a few hours before the last struggle she whispered joyfully "I shall go to my Father to night;" and so she went home June 17, 1791. Her age was eighty-four. She was buried in the family tomb at Ashby-de-la Zouch, and her name is with the Miriams, the Marys, and the Marthas of the Church of God. -- From Mrs. Knight's admirable work, "Lady Huntingdon and her Friends."

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