Then her sorrow and anxiety for Rose were great, and all the more because,
Mrs. Travilla being then at the worst, she could very seldom leave her for
even the shortest call at the Oaks.
In the afternoon of a sweet bright Sabbath in March, a little group
gathered in Mrs. Travilla's room. Her pastor was there: a man of large
heart full of tender sympathy for the sick, the suffering, the bereaved,
the poor, the distressed in mind, body, or estate; a man mighty in the
Scriptures; with its warnings, its counsels, its assurances, its sweet and
precious promises ever ready on his tongue; one who by much study of the
Bible, accompanied by fervent prayer for the wisdom promised to him that
asks it, had learned to wield wisely and with success "the sword of the
Spirit which is the word of God." Like Noah he was a preacher of
righteousness, and like Paul could say, "I ceased not to warn every one
night and day with tears."
He had brought with him one of his elders, a man of like spirit, gentle,
kind, tender, ever ready to obey the command to "weep with those that weep
and rejoice with those that do rejoice," a man silver-haired and growing
feeble with age, yet so meek and lowly in heart, so earnest and childlike
in his approaches to our Father, that he seemed on the very verge of
heaven.
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