"Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God." Often had these two
been in that sick-room, comforting the aged saint as she neared "the
valley of the shadow of death."
To-day they had come again on the same Christlike errand, and for the last
time; for all could see that she stood on Jordan's very brink, its cold
waters already creeping up about her feet.
Mr. Dinsmore, Mr. Travilla, and Elsie were present; also, a little
withdrawn from the others, Aunt Chloe, Uncle Joe, and a few of the old
house servants who were Christians. "The rich and the poor meet together;
the Lord is the Maker of them all."
It was a sweetly solemn service, refreshing to the soul of each one there;
most of all, perhaps, to that of her who would so soon be casting her
crown at the Master's feet. "I am almost home," she said with brightening
countenance, her low, sweet voice breaking the solemn stillness of the
room; "I am entering the valley, but without fear, for Jesus is with me. I
hear Him saying to me, 'Fear not; I have redeemed thee; thou art mine.'"
"He is all your hope and trust, dear friend, is He not?" asked her pastor.
"All, all; His blood and righteousness are all my hope. All my
righteousnesses are as filthy rags; all my best services have need to be
forgiven.
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