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views! Wonderful! Wonderful! Wonderful! I have heard singing. Oh ! how wonderful! I am well. Glory ineffable!" He often repeated the following stanza:—

"Now let me rise and join the song,

And be an angel too;
My heart, my hands, my ear, my tongue,
Here's joyful work for you."

Two days before his death, a pious lady, solicitous to know the feelings of the dying saint, said to him, "Mr. Haynes, how do you feel?" Raising his hand, and striking several times significantly on his breast, he replied in a whisper, for his voice had now failed,— "Happy! happy! happy!" and then stretched his hands upward, as if longing to depart.

On the last day of his life, after he had seemed actually to have entered the dark valley, he suddenly revived, and exclaimed with an air of transport,—" Oh! what beauties I have seen! Glories of the other world! What joys do I feel! I have seen the Saviour!" He remained in this state of inward peace and triumph. Now, as he was lingering on the verge of heaven, he was heard to say, "I love my wife, I love my children, but I love my Saviour better than all."

At half past three o'clock, on the 28th of September, he fell asleep, and one more was added to that great multitude which no man could number, who stand before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, and palms in their hands. Not a murmur could be uttered by surrounding relatives. God had done all things well. His servant had "come to his grave in a full age, like as a shock of corn cometh in in his season."

"He taught us how to live, and ah, too high
The price of knowledge, taught us how to die"

Extract of a letter from his son Samuel to his brother William:—

Dear Brother,

f* * All is over. Our beloved father is no more. May every murmur be hushed. Has not the Lord been gracious in that he has continued our father so long? We have heard his admonitions for many years —have been blessed with his society and prayers. Our father was happy in death; his sun set clear. I could not forbear calling to mind the expressive lines of Waller,—

"His soul's weak cottage, tattered and decayed,
Let in new light through chinks disease had made."

He could say but little to us—admonished us to walk in the ways of wisdom—live in love—implored the God of peace to be with us.

Your affectionate brother,

Samuel. )

FROM HIS DAUGHTER ELECTA.

* * * I have seen lonely hours, and had painful feelings—mourning the loss of a dear father, who was our best friend. I stood over him, and heard his dying admonitions. He said to me, "Electa, peace be with you, and the God of peace bless you." Oh, precious words! I often think of them with tears. And were they heard in heaven? And will the blessing of God rest on worthless me? Did not my dear father die in a good old age? Was he not gathered to his people? Has he not longed to see the good old patriarchs ?—the beloved Baxter ?—Watts ?—Church ?—with innumerable brethren in the ministry ?—the incomparable Ainsworth? as you heard him often mention. When I was wiping the sweat off from his face, he said to me, "Ohf remember these things." Thtese words shall I ever forget? His mind continued sound—his understanding clear. I think in theology it excelled. Truly he died the death of the righteous. His Maker kissed his soul away. In this room I have often met with him in prayer. Often, while watching with him, he said, "We will pray." The last time I attempted to pray with our dear father was when he was dying. I kneeled by the side of his bed as he desired. It was pleasing to pray once more with our dear father. He appeared sensible of what was uttered.

Your sister with affection.

During his long illness, the people of his pastoral charge paid him the most affectionate and respectful attentions. His brethren in the ministry were constantly resorting to his house, to make inquiries respecting his situation, to administer the consolations of the gospel, or to catch the falling mantle of the departing saint.

His funeral was attended on the following Monday, when a large concourse of people and several ministers of the gospel convened. The Reverend David Wilson led in prayer before the corpse was removed from the dwelling. The public services at the church began by singing the 75th hymn of the 2d book of Watts, which had been selected by a favourite grandchild of the deceased. The Reverend John Whiton preached a sermon adapted to the mournful occasion, from Phil, i., 23: "For I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart and to be with Christ, which is far better." The Reverend Mr. Drury gave a brief sketch of the life and character of the deceased. The hymn composed by the deceased was sung agreeably to his request. And they took up the body, and went and buried it.

The following record was entered on the minutes of the Rutland Consociation:—

"Whereas Rev. Lemuel Haynes has been connected with this Consociation from its organization, and has laboured long and usefully in the service of our Sariour; and whereas he has been called during the past year, as we trust, to his crown in heaven;

"Resolved, That we affectionately cherish his memory, and record on our minutes this tribute of our respect."

At his grave a plain marble monument is erected, with a brief inscription. It was not known to his friends at the time of its erection, that, although he had left but few records of his life, yet he had left, in his own handwriting, the following inscription for his tombstone, prepared probably when he was in the meridian of his days :—

"An epitaph to be put upon my tombstone.

«

"Here Lies The Dust Of A Poor Hell-deserving Sinner, Who Ventured Into Eternity Trusting Wholly On The Merits Of Christ For Salvation.

In THE FULL BELIEF OF THE GREAT DOCTRINES HE PREACHED WHILE ON EARTH, HE INVITES HIS CHILDREN, AND ALL WHO READ THIS, TO TRUST THEIR ETERNAL INTEREST ON THE SAME FOUNDATION.

"LEMUEL HAYNES,"

"who Died"
September 28th, 1833.»

LOVE IN DEATH.

"I love my wife, I love my children, but I love my Saviour better than all."—Dying testimony of Rev. Lemuel Haynes.

The following lines were kindly furnished for this volume by Miss A. D. Woodbridoe.

'Twas silent all around that dying bed,

Tho' to its deepest source the fount of thought

Within each heart was stirred.

Prostrate there lay

The man of God, who to his Master's work
Had gone unceasing forth, while time rolled on,
Full half a hundred years. Ay, longer still,
He had not ceased to cry, to lift the voice,
And show the people their transgressions all;
And then to point to Jesus as the way,
The truth, and life, for erring, sinful man.

'Twas silent all! for there was heard no voice
Of wailing or remorse: No half-formed prayers
For mercy, slighted long—no fruitless plea
To the destroying angel. Not a sigh
Escaped those lips; and on that reverend brow
No cloud was darkly brooding. No! his eye
Was bright, e'en now, as if it caught a ray
Of heavenly glory; and his ear seemed turned
To catch the rustling of that angel's wing,
Who came to bear him to his far-off home,
Where God unveils his glory;—where the hosts
Of blissful spirits bow, and strike with joy,
With bliss unutterable, their golden harps!

He knew that soon the messenger would come—
He felt his work was ended. On his soul
Press'd heavily the weight of fourscore years:
And soon, ah! soon, he knew the silver cord
Of life would part asunder. Yet, e'en now,
He felt his anthor sure, and calmly he
Had laid him down to die.

'Twas silent all!

Save now and then a stifled sob of grief,
Or half-check'd sigh, told of the swelling hearts
Who formed that sorrowing group. They press'd around
To gaze once more, as if upon the wreck
Of their long-cherished hopes :—to meet once more

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