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92 
THE LADY PILGRIM, 
its native skies ? Why weep that your much¬ 
loved wife is now to make a most happy exchange 
of worlds ? ” 
The form of the strong, stern Puritan seemed 
convulsed with internal agony, and he did not 
make reply. The sweet voice of his wife con¬ 
tinued : — 
“ I have lived a happy life — I am dying a hap¬ 
py death. Most blissful has been my fate! I 
have never made one sacrifice too many in the 
cause of Christ. A little while, and you, my be¬ 
loved, shall test the truthfulness of the promise 
given to those who leave “ father and mother, 
houses and land,” for the Redeemer’s sake. Be 
strong — be firm — be deeply rooted in the faith ! 
Adieu ! We will meet soon in a brighter world.” 
And as she spoke, she pressed her lips for the 
last time upon her husband’s brow. One by one 
the Puritans came up to take her hand, and listen 
to her parting words. When this scene was over, 
she sunk back again upon her pillow, and closed 
her eyes. “ The bitterness of death had passed.” 
In the humble burying ground of the Pilgrims 
they made her grave, and laid her down with 
prayers and tears. One heart-broken mourner 
lingered long above the marble brow, and kissed 
and rekissed the cold lips, before they gave her to 
the dust. In the wild agony of his grief, he at 
first prayed to die. His prayer, it seemed, was 
signally answered, for he survived the wife of his 
