My Saviour, I will never Forget Thy word of grace, But still repeat it ever, Through good and evil days; And looking up to heaven, Till all my race is run, I'll humbly say: "My Father, Thy will, not mine, be done!"

W. HEY, 1828.

FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

Be thou content; be still before His face, at whose right hand doth reign Fulness of joy for evermore, Without whom all thy toil is vain.

He is thy living spring, thy sun, whose rays Make glad with life and light thy weary days.

Be thou content.

In Him is comfort, light, and grace, And changeless love beyond our thought; The sorest pang, the worst disgrace, If He is there, shall harm thee not.

He can lift off thy cross, and loose thy bands, And calm thy fears, nay, death is in His hands.

Be thou content.

Or art thou friendless and alone, Hast none in whom thou canst confide?

G.o.d careth for thee, lonely one, Comfort and help will He provide.

He sees thy sorrows and thy hidden grief, He knoweth when to send thee quick relief.

Be thou content.

Thy heart's unspoken pain He knows, Thy secret sighs He hears full well, What to none else thou dar'st disclose, To Him thou mayst with boldness tell; He is not far away, but ever nigh, And answereth willingly the poor man's cry.

Be thou content.

Be not o'er-mastered by thy pain, But cling to G.o.d, thou shalt not fall; The floods sweep over thee in vain, Thou yet shalt rise above them all; For when thy trial seems too hard to bear Lo! G.o.d, thy King, hath granted all thy prayer.

Be thou content.

Why art thou full of anxious fear How thou shalt be sustain'd and fed?

He who hath made and placed thee here Will give thee needful daily bread; Canst thou not trust His rich and bounteous hand, Who feeds all living things on sea and land?

Be thou content.

He who doth teach the little birds To find their meat in field and wood, Who gives the countless flocks and herds Each day their needful drink and food, Thy hunger too will surely satisfy, And all thy wants in His good time supply.

Be thou content.

Sayest thou, I know not how or where, No hope I see where'er I turn; When of all else we most despair, The riches of G.o.d's love we learn; When thou and I His hand no longer trace, He leads us forth into a pleasant place.

Be thou content.

Though long His promised aid delay, At last it will be surely sent: Though thy heart sink in sore dismay, The trial for thy good is meant.

What we have won with pains we hold more fast, What tarrieth long is sweeter at the last.

Be thou content.

Lay not to heart whate'er of ill Thy foes may falsely speak of thee, Let man defame thee as he will, G.o.d hears and judges righteously.

Why shouldst thou fear, if G.o.d be on thy side, Man's cruel anger, or malicious pride?

Be thou content.

We know for us a rest remains, When G.o.d will give us sweet release From earth and all our mortal chains And turn our sufferings into peace.

Sooner or later death will surely come To end our sorrows and to take us home.

Be thou content.

Home to the chosen ones, who here Served their Lord faithfully and well, Who died in peace without a fear, And there in peace for ever dwell; The Everlasting is their joy and stay, The Eternal Word Himself to them doth say Be thou content!

PAUL GERHARDT, 1670.

For weeks together during her illness Bessie was at times unable to sleep during the night. She was too considerate to her nurses to disturb them for mere sleeplessness. She would then, as we have said, recall to memory music and books which she had heard, and at these times Shakespeare and Sir Walter Scott were a great resource to her. The characters she admired lived for her, and she would try to picture to herself how they would act in circ.u.mstances which she invented for them.

Her knowledge of English history was also a source of interest, and often astonished those around her. One evening in 1884 a young niece preparing for an examination asked in vain for information as to the "Salisbury a.s.size" until the question was put to "Aunt Bessie," who at once explained it.

There were long lapses, as it were, in her life. After the sleepless nights she had to sleep when she could, and her room in the daytime was hushed and silent, all external life and interest excluded. At night she was again fully awake, but it was to find herself alone in the "chambers of her imagery."

One of the two sisters who were her constant companions, and nursed her with unfailing devotion for fifteen years, writes as follows:

All through her illness, with the occasional exceptions when she suffered from deafness, her cheerfulness was marvellous, her patience never-failing, and her consideration and thoughtfulness for those around her very wonderful and touching.

She had a special name of her own for each of her nurses, all of them loved her, and upon several of them the influence of her patience and goodness was strongly marked, and will be of lifelong endurance. Her first sick-nurse came in 1872 and stayed two years.

She often afterwards visited her. She came to see us after Bessie's death, and said with tears, "Oh, I did not do enough for her. I wish I had done more."

Bessie would often arrange little surprises and pleasures for us and give us flowers. She was anxious we should have all the variety we could, and took the greatest pleasure in hearing an account of what we had seen and done whilst away from her. She liked to see visitors when she was well enough, but was often nervous about it, fearing lest the excitement should do her harm, and interfere in any way with what little she could do for the Inst.i.tution.

Perhaps few realised how much she suffered; she was so patient, so bright, so sympathetic that it was difficult to do so. The last few months of her life were full of pain.

No record of Bessie's illness would be adequate which did not speak of the love that lightened every burden laid upon her. Sisters and brothers bound by so strong a bond of family love as the Gilberts are even more closely united by affliction. No day pa.s.sed without its tribute of affectionate remembrance from absent members of the family. Her eldest brother, Mr. Wintle, always spent the afternoon of Sunday with her, when she was able to receive him. The Vicar of Heversham, the beloved "Tom"

of her youth, saw her in London whenever it was possible. Married sisters visited and wrote to her, and a whole cloud of nephews and nieces hovered around her.

She valued highly the friendship as well as the skill of Mr. Sibley, the surgeon who for many years attended her. She depended upon him for almost daily visits. Very little could be done to arrest the progress of her malady; nothing to save her from much inevitable suffering.

Alleviation, not cure, was all that could be looked for, and he was always ready to attempt, and often able to effect, some mitigation of the ills she had to endure.

Among many others who were kind and helpful, ready to aid her work and so to give her almost the only pleasure she could receive, were the Duke of Westminster, Lord and Lady Selborne, Madame Antoinette Sterling, who would sometimes sing to her, and the old and dear friends of the family, Dean and Mrs. Hook. No word can here be said of the two sisters, whose whole life was given up to her; none would be adequate. They knew, and they were known. That is enough. We may not lift the veil under which they pa.s.sed so many years with Bessie in her long agony.

FOOTNOTE:

[9] From _Lyra Germanica_, second series.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE END

"In Thy light we shall see light."

The summer of 1884 in London was hot and exhausting. In Bessie's helpless condition excessive heat caused her real suffering; for she was fixed immovable upon her couch. But if she longed for cool breezes, the scent of flowers and song of birds, she uttered no murmur in their absence.

The slight improvement recognised with so much grat.i.tude in the spring was not permanent, but the "change" she antic.i.p.ated was at hand. "I feel as if there would be a change," she had said.

The autumn showed that she had seriously lost ground.