hymns, which, as I could leave her only for a moment, I did not write down.
Twice she repeated, and seemed to feel the full force of, that beautiful
and sublime stanza of Watts,--

'Jesus can make a dying bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are;
While on his breast I lean my head,
And breathe my life out sweetly there.'

"One who stood near her said, 'O Death, where is thy sting? O Grave, where
is thy victory? The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the
law.' With animation she exclaimed, in addition, 'But thanks be to God,
which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.' Mr. Allen said
he hoped the Savior would be with her as she walked through the dark valley
of the shadow of death. 'If this,' she said, 'is the dark valley, it has
not a dark spot in it--all is _light_, LIGHT.'

"I said to her, 'My dear, your sufferings are great.' 'Don't,' said she,
'don't mention them; they have been nothing--nothing.' After a severe
spasm, that seemed to convulse her whole frame, she exclaimed, 'O the
pains, the groans, the dying strife! The spirit seems to be struggling and
fluttering to get free from this cumbersome body.' She had, during most of
her sickness, bright views of the perfections of God. 'His awful holiness,'
she said, 'appeared the most lovely of all his attributes.' At one time
she said she wanted words to express her views of the majesty and glory of
Christ. 'It seems,' she said, 'that if all other glory were annihilated,
and nothing left but his lone self, it would be enough--it would be a
universe of glory.'

"The day before her death she was asked if she wished to see her child.