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Give joy or grief, give ease or pain,
     Take life or friends away,
I come to find them all again
     In that eternal day.

He repeated the last line with an emphasis that threw a beauty and force into it which I never saw or felt before. Seeing that he was communing with his own soul, and that spiritual things in the opening light of eternity were rising in bold relief before his vision of faith, I withdrew a short space from him, feeling it was holy ground, “where the good man meets his fate, quite on the verge of heaven.” He then gently laid his hand on his Bible and the daguerrotype that lay near his side, and amid this profound stillness, surrounded by a halo of more than earthly glory, gently as the evening shadows the curtain dropped, leaving nothing visible to us but the cold and lifeless clay, on which a sweet smile rested, as though it had seen the happy soul enter the pearly gates of the New Jerusalem. Thus, far from home and friends, this noble youth fell asleep in Jesus, swelling the long list of the honored dead; but, “though dead, he yet speaketh.” The precious treasure, “The soldier's Bible,” has been returned to the family, and is now one of those valued relics that bind many sad hearts with links of gold to bygone days.

T. S. Chandler, of the Sixth South Carolina Regiment, said, when he realized that he was dying: ‘Tell my mother that I am lying without hope of recovery. I have stood before the enemy fighting in a great and glorious cause and have fallen. My hope is in Christ, for whose sake I hope to be saved. Tell her that she and my brother cannot see me again on earth, but they can meet me in heaven.’ A little before bedtime of his last night he called to his surgeon and said: ‘Write to mother, and tell her she must meet me in heaven. I know I am going there.’

When Captain John F. Vinson, of Crawford county, Georgia, came to die, he exclaimed: ‘All is well—my way is clear—not a cloud intervenes.’ As Lieutenant Ezekiel Pickens Miller, of the Seventeenth Mississippi Regiment, fell mortally wounded on the field of Fredericksburg, he exclaimed: ‘Tell my father and mother not to grieve for me, for I am going to a better world than this.’

‘Can I do anything for you?’ said the missionary, kneeling by the side of a private shot through the neck. ‘Yes, write to ’

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