xt7jh98z9d3k https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7jh98z9d3k/data/mets.xml Olmstead, Emily K. 1923  books b92-55-27063053 English The Belle H. Bennett Memorial Committee of Woman's Missionary Council, Methodist Episcopal Church, South, : [Nashville] : Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. Bennett, Belle Harris, 1852-1922. Intimate glimpses of Miss Belle H. Bennett  / by Emily K. Olmstead. text Intimate glimpses of Miss Belle H. Bennett  / by Emily K. Olmstead. 1923 2002 true xt7jh98z9d3k section xt7jh98z9d3k 

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Intimate Glimpses


Miss Belle H. Bennett
  Emily K. Olmstead

           Published by
The Belle H. Bennett Memorial Committee
    Woman's Missionary Council
  Methodist Episcopal Church, South.


        Copyright 1913
Woman's Missionary Council


     Great-Heart is dead, they said-
         Great-Heart the Teacher,
         Great-Heart of Sweet White Fire.
     Great-Heart is dead, they say,
         Fighting the fight,
         Holding the Light,
         Into the night.

     Great-Heart is dead, they say.
         But the Light shall burn the brighter,
         And the night shall be the lighter,
         For (her) going;
         And a rich, rich harvest for (her) sowing.

    Great-Heart is dead, they say!
         What is death to such a one as Great-Heart,
         One sigh perchance, for work unfinished here,
         Then a swift passing to a mightier sphere,
         New joys, perfected powers, the vision clear,
         And all the amplitude of heaven to work
         The work (she) held so dear.

    Great-Heart is dead, they say!
        Nor dead nor sleeping! (She) lives on! (Her) name
        Shall kindle many a heart to flame,
        The fire (she) lighted shall burn on and on,
        Till all the darkness of the lands be gone,
        And all the kingdoms of the earth be won,
        And won.

    A soul so fiery sweet can never die,
    But lives and loves and works through all eternity.

    Note.-The above is a poem from "Bees in Amber,' by John Oxenham. Through the kind
permission of the American Tract Society we are using it as an expression of the meaning of the
great heart of the late President of the Woman's Missionary Council to the women of our Church
and to the world. We make this tribute our tribute to hcr.        E. H.



  As those of us who knew and loved
Miss Bennett read these pages, we
verily feel that once more she walks
among us. These words make her so
vivid that we can all but feel the
magnetic touch of her hand and dream
that once more we look into her loving
eyes; with all the greatness of her
master mind and still more with the
largeness and gentleness of her heart
she lives for us again.
  Therefore, we send forth this little
book with the hope that those who
did not have the privilege of being co-
workers with her may come to appre-
ciate her great personality. It is not
in any sense a biography, and is not
intended to take the place of the biogra-
phy, which is to appear later. It is
intended rather to give to many of our
missionary women a real and sympa-
thetic glimpse into the life of the
woman who has been the master archi-
tect of the great work we all love.


  Miss Emily Olmstead, who for four
years lived in the inner circle, was to
Miss   Bennett  friend and spiritual
daughter. Had it not been for her
untiring devotion, Miss Bennett could
never have given to the church her
last four years of service. When finally
the last weeks of pain and suffering
came, Miss Olmstead ministered to her
with the love and tenderness that only
a daughter can give. Miss Bennett's
last thoughts and desires were often
whispered into her ears, so that when
we read this sketch we are indeed
looking into the very heart life of one
of the great servants of our Master.
May He enlighten our eyes and
strengthen our hearts with a great
and noble purpose-the very God pur-
pose that made her life strong and
sweet and beautiful.
              -Sara Estelle Haskin.

 This page in the original text is blank.


Intimate Glimpses.

     T was in Nashville in i9I5 that
     I first met Miss Bennett. She was
     th guest of Miss Estelle Haskin
     for a day and night in the home
where I was living while a student in
Peabody College. She smiled at me
-and I smiled back. There was some-
thing so irresistible about that smile
that it was little wonder a friend of
hers said, "Miss Bennett is able to
gather more love from the four corners
of the earth than anyone I have ever
known. "
  I shall never forget how she looked
that first night. To me, she was regal
looking in handsome black. Some-
where about her dress, there was a
touch of blue combined with filmy lace
that deepened the blue of her eyes.
Her gray hair was piled becomingly on
top of her head;  er hands and arms
were shapely and free of jewelry of any
kind. As she talked, a little couplet
kept running through my mind: "her

[9 ]



voice so sweet, her words so fair, as
some soft chime had stroked the air."
She was truly a lady "to the manner
born." Generations had given her
that by heredity. The more she talked,
the more my heart kept going out to
  That night, at bed time, I slipped
into her room which adjoined mine;
and encouraged by her smile of wel-
come, I found myself asking permission
to say my good-night prayer with her.
I had no such intention upon entering
the room, and to this day, I do not
know what impelled me unless it was
the heart hunger of one who had been
bereft of a mother as a very young
The next morning I again slipped
into her room to close the windows and
to light the fire, whereupon a sleepy
voice from the bed, called:  "Child,
stop that at once; I learned how to
wait on myself long before you were
ever born. Come over here and kiss me

[ IO ]



good morning, then clear out.'" I
cleared out, but not until I had closed
the windows and lighted the fire.
  After that, Miss Bennett and I were
no longer just acquaintances-we were
friends. Both of us were from Ken-
tucky, our homes being less than i5o
miles apart. We had a number of
friends in common, and she also knew
my mother's people in Lexington, a
neighboring city of Richmond. The
next morning at breakfast, she gaily
announced that she had found another
missionary daughter. Little did that
missionary daughter know then that
some day she would live and work with
  Three years later, the Woman's Mis-
sionary Council, under which I was
serving as a deaconess, appointed me
to Richmond, Kentucky, to assist Miss
Bennett in the work of the Council.
For thirty-five years, she had been
giving her time without any money
compensation, and the work had grown
so tremendously, she could not carry
the burden alone.

               [ II ]



  I shall have to confess that as the
time drew near for me to go to Rich-
mond, I experienced a feeling both of
joy and fear; joy that I was to be
associated with such a personality;
fear that I might not give satisfaction.
Suppose we should not suit each other!
Suppose we should get on each other's
nerves! Living and working together
day after day was quite different from
seeing each other occasionally.  In
a rush of feeling, I realized that Miss
Bennett was one of the greatest leaders
in all of Southern Methodism;   a
woman with a magnificient mentality
who had travelled over much of the
world; a person of whom one might
well stand in awe. Suppose we should
not be happy together! All during
the journey on the train, I was
conscious of vague forebodings. When
I reached the Richmond station, how-
ever, I saw Miss Bennett waving me a
smiling welcome, then she folded me
in her arms and all the mists of fore-
bodings rolled away!

[ 12. ]



  She at once turned to the 'bus driver,
and with as much pride as if she were
introducing me at the court of King
George, she said, "Billy, I want you
to shake hands with this deaconess
who has come to live with me." Billy
obeyed, but his look of adoration was
not bestowed upon me.
  We drove at once to the Glyndon
Hotel where Miss Bennett had been
making her home for more than twenty
years following the death of her
mother. Again in that gracious manner
so inimitable, she introduced me to the
hotel manager, his wife, and a few
friends in the lobby. When we entered
the dining room for a late supper,
every waiter was lined up to "meet the
deaconess who had come to live with
Miss Belle." Could a queen have
received a more royal welcome
  When we went upstairs, and she
threw open the door to her room, I
well recall the cry of admiration that
involuntarily escaped me. The massive
four poster bed with its canopied top,

[ '3 ]



the high, old fashioned bureau, the
mahogany secretary and book case
combined-all bespoke the colonial
architecture.  Afterward, I learned
that the furniture had come down to
her from one generation to another
from the Chenault family who
originally came to Kentucky from Vir-
ginia. On the walls of her room were
steel engravings and elegant paintings
brought from the Orient and other
places where she had travelled. Over
the mantel was a large oil painting of
her father whose gentle, sweet face
was not unlike his laughter's. Every-
where there was an air of elegance and
comfort which set her room apart from
every other in the hotel. Just outside
her room in the hall, were handsome
mahogany book cases containing rare
collections-an almost inexhaustible
  Late that night, she accompanied me
to my room in the hotel. A vase of
flowers and other little personal touches
showing her thoughtfulness, gave the
room a home-like appearance. Turning

[ '4 ]



to me, she said, "Daughter I know
you are tired-so am I-but we must
kneel and ask God's blessing upon us
as we take up life together." t recall
only the opening sentence of that
prayer, but it was impressed indelibly
on my heart. "Lord," she said, and
there was a note of weariness in the
voice, "thou hast heard my prayer
and sent her; already she has lifted
the burden." That night, another
prayer went up to God asking that He
would help me lift the burden every
day, and that we might help each
  Later, I learned how her great un-
selfish heart hungered for companion-
ship and fellowship with those who
loved the things she loved. In her
letters while away, she often wrote,
"How I miss our quiet hour together
each morning; I shall be happy to get
back home."

[ '5 ]



  Immediately after breakfast the next
morning, we went to her room to com-
mence the day's work which varied
very little when she was at home,
throughout the four years of my stay
with her. First, always, the quiet
hour together about nine o'clock. It
was often interruped by some member of
the family connection, sometimes by a
friend needing help or advice; quite
often by a telephone call, but the lesson
was always resumed. Occasionally,
if a friend who was sympathetic
chanced to come in, that friend was
invited to share our devotions. After
the morning lesson, the mail was
opened and read. Sometimes one letter
alone required so much thought, and
often prayer, that much of the morning
wouldibe given to it. When lunch was
over, the work was again taken up,
but when the little cuckoo clock on
the wall struck two, she would invari-
ably look up and say: "Let's lie down
for half an hour; I cannot hold my eyes
open one second longer." One half
hour each day for rest was all that she

[ i6 ]



could spare! The room was always
darkened, and while she stretched
across the canopied bed, I rested on the
couch. Never once was the little ivory
clock forgotten as she propped it up
beside her that she might not oversleep !
She sometimes did, when she had had
a sleepless night, and then she chided
me in a laughing way because I had
not called her at the end of the half
hour. She was an indefatigable worker.
Many times when I was so tired and
worn, I could scarcely sit up, she was
keenly alert and reluctant to stop at six
o'clock. She often remarked that she
had kept up that pace for so many years,
she had become accustomed to it.
Some of her nieces frequently phoned to
take us for a ride through the beautiful
bluegrass country, just to get her away
from her work awhile. She enjoyed
getting out in the open, but if a letter of
importance demanded her attention,
she could not be persuaded to leave.

[ 17 1



  About two weeks after my coming,
she had a telegram calling her to Nash-
ville. Then it was that I learned for
the first time that she locked every-
thing away of any value in her room,
and allowed the manager to rent it
during her absence. When I remon-
strated with her for going to so much
trouble, she told me that in one year's
time she had paid in room rent during
her absences, the equivalent of a year's
college education for some deserving
young man or woman. I have been told
that she had a representative in nearly
every country of the world who had
been helped financially by her. Fortu-
nately, the hotel management was
always careful who was put in Miss
Bennett's room during her absence.
Later, when I learned just what things
to put away under lock and key, on the
eve of departure, she was relieved of
that duty.
On the first occasion of her going
away, she handed me nearly a dozen
keys to be taken care of. I suggested
that we put all of them in the wardrobe,

[ I8 ]



with only the wardrobe key to be
responsible for. She agreed and laughed
when I hid the bunch of keys in a pair
of brand new shoes which she had just
purchased. On her return home, she
phoned me she was unable to find any
of her keys except the one. Strange to
say, we both had forgotten where they
were hidden! After a short search,
however, I found them in the shoes, and
turning to her, I laughingly remarked:
"'Suppose I had died while you were
away; probably you would never have
found your keys,'" whereupon her sense
of humor which was keen, shone out
as she retorted, "Indeed, I would have
found them when I put on my best
Sunday shoes to wear to your funeral,
so there!"  Often at church, some-
thing would occur to provoke a smile,
and I never failed to glance at her from
my seat in the choir; I always found a
responsive twinkle in her blue eyes.
How human she was in every thing!
There was no sanctimonious manner
about her, yet deep down lay the bed-

[ I9 ]



rock foundation of piety and abiding
faith. Often, in the midst of dictating
a letter, she would suddenly exclaim:
'This is a difficult letter to answer;
let's bow our heads and ask for divine
wisdom." The thing that touched me
inexpressibly was the way she included
me in the work from the beginning; she
never used the pronoun I when we could
be substituted. Again and again, she
emphasized the fact that we were
working together in the great cause of
  When the day's work was over, she
sometimes walked home with me, for
soon after going to Richmond, I found
home life preferable to life in a hotel,
especially when Miss Bennett was out
of the city. Her evenings were never
spent in work, and any special delivery
letters or telegrams that came in the
evening were left unopened until morn-
ing. She had experienced too many
sleepless nights when messages were
opened at bed time. We spent many of
the winter evenings together reading
in her room; she generally had me read

[ 2.0]



aloud. In all the years she had pre-
sided at the Council meetings and
meetings of the Home Mission Society,
she had learned the art of being a good
  I can see her now in the big leather
chair, the electric light shining down
on her hair making it a silvery sheen.
Sometimes, there was a light on her
face that made me think, of Moses when
he came down from the mount with
the tablets of stone, and "his face did
shine, tho he wist it not. " Any new
book, periodical and news of interest
were always laid aside that we might
enjoy them together.
  When ever she returned from a trip,
she was eager to tell me of all the hap-
penings, whether it was some great
meeting she had attended, an inspir-
ational speech she had heard, or the
plans of a committee that had laun-
ched a big work.

[I ".]



  Upon her return from Europe in 1919,
where she had been sent as a member of
a deputation of five to open up mission
work in Belgium, her relatives and
friends never listened to a more stirring
account of the conditions in that war
stricken country, as she so graphically
portrayed the suffering among the
Belgians. The address she gave at the
little Richmond Church brought a
hearty response in money and clothing
for the needy Europeans.
  Her heart was always tender toward
everybody in need. One day, soon
after I went to Richmond, word came
to her that a splendid young Negro
fellow, a graduate of Hampton who had
gone from the town to do Y. M. C. A.
work in Africa, had met with a very
tragic end. A huge sea monster had
evidently seized him while in bathing,
as his body was never recovered. The
phone message came from his sister say-
ing that the mother was almost prostra-
ted with grief. Without even waiting
to put on her hat, Miss Bennett hurried
from the room, telling me to follow

[ 2.2 ]



her to the young man's home. When
we reached the place, we found the
mother in the little darkened parlor
sitting on the sofa, wringing her hands
and piteously calling for her boy. With-
out a moment's hesitation; with no
thought of difference in their station
of life; conscious only that a human
being was in distress, she walked
straight to the sofa, raised the bowed
head of the Negro mother and laid it
against her breast, while she stood talk-
ing to her of her boy's Christ-like life
and of the supreme sacrifice he had
made for the people of his own race.
Then in that wonderfully sumpathetic
manner, Miss Bennett said; "Patty, I
want you to know the deaconess; she
is a friend to the colored people for she
has worked among them for several
years, and she is your friend, too.'"
After a little further conversation and
a prayer, the mother's sobs grew more

[ 23 ]



quiet and her heart comforted as she
voiced her gratitude to "Miss Belle"
for coming to see her.
  Walking home together in the gloam-
ing, I could but marvel at the greatness
of the woman beside me. She numbered
among her personal friends many of the
great ones of the earth; yet, she like
the lowly man of Galilee, "walked
with kings nor lost the common
touch. "
  Her devotion to her kinspeople was
always a beautiful thing to see. She
loved her brother, the last one of six,
with all the affection of her great heart,
telling me again and again, how he
made it possible for her to give her
entire time to the work of the church
by taking charge of her business
interests. Whenever her work necessi-
tated a trip to New York, she always
found time to have her brother's two
daughters, students at Vassar College,
as her week end guests. During the
summer vacation and at Christmas, as
many as eight or ten of her nieces and
nephews were her guests at the hotel

[ 2.4 ]



for meals. She declared it was her only
way to visit with them. They were
never happier than when she shared
in some of their pleasures. One young
niece, a freshman now in a junior
college, remarked one day:  "Aunt
Belle, any individuality that I might
have is overshadowed by the fact that
I am the niece of Miss Belle H. Bennett;
and I suppose that if my name ever
appears in 'Who's Who,' it will be
because of the fact that I am the niece
of that distinguished lady." The
greatly amused lady laughingly ad-
monished her young niece to pave
her own way to fame. The love and
affection of her nieces never shone out
more clearly than in the letters they
wrote her during her last illness.

[ S5 ]



  It was during that last illness that
she told me many things I had never
known before; especially, of her Bible
Class among the Negroes in the town,
a class which she taught for more than
a year. She said her heart had been
greatly burdened because our Southern
Methodist Church had not entered
Africa. She had made more than one
appeal to the Board of Missions, but
each time she was told that the way
seemed blocked for lack of funds.
Sitting one day in her room at the hotel,
she agonized in prayer, asking the
Lord to open the door to Africa in some
way, when suddenly a voice seemed to
say, "Why not do something for Africa
at home, in the meantime" So con-
scious was she that it was the voice of
God speaking to her, she turned to the
phone on her desk, called a Negro
minister in the town whom she knew
well, and asked him if there was any-
thing she could do to help hispeople.
In a voice trembling with suppressed
emotion, the minister replied, "Oh,
Miss Belle, my wife and I have been

[ L6 ]



praying every day for nearly a year
that you might -spare us some of your
time, but you seemed so busy." Miss
Bennett said she thought and acted
quickly. She told him to come at once
to her room at the hotel. The result
was, that the following Sunday a Bible
Study class was organized with all the
Negro preachers in the town as her
pupils. Like the Word of God, it grew
mightily. Members from the local
Negro churches, members and preachers
from churches in the surrounding
counties came until the class numbered
more than three hundred.
  At the annual Council meeting which
was held in Washington, Miss Bennett
related this incident, telling the women
that she believed the Lord was ready
for them to enter Africa. When she
concluded her speech, a note was sent
to the chair from a wealthy woman in
California who was present. It read:

[ 27 ]



"Miss Bennett, I am willing to start
the work in Africa with five thousand
dollars." Before the Council meeting
closed, sufficient money had been
appropriated to enter the dark conti-
  A number of similar incidents
seemed fresh in her memory during
those shut-in days of her illness. She
talked a great deal of the work of the
church during its infancy, comparing
it with the growth of the seed: "first
the blade, then the ear, then the full
grain in the ear." Remarking on how
few people were allowed to finish
what they had begun, her face glowed
as she thanked God that she had been
allowed to see the fulfillment of some
of her dreams, and hopes.
  Yes, she had lived to see the little
seed thought of missionary training
for women which God had planted in
her heart thirty-two years before, grow
into a wonderful tree of knowledge
and inspiration;  and out from the
Scarritt Bible and Training School

[ 28 ]



had gone more than a thousand young
women to preach the gospel of Jesus
  She had watered and nurtured the
wee bit of a seed thought of education
for the mountain youths which had
sprung up in the heart of her sister,
until the Sue Bennett Memorial at
London, Kentucky, with its student
body of more than five hundred, had
become a mighty oak, spreading its
branches throughout the counties of
Kentucky, e'en to the uttermost parts
of the earth.
  She had seen her hopes for the women
of Southern Methodism to be repre-
sented in all the councils of the church,
realized, when the women were granted
laity rights; she herself being among
the honored few to be chosen as a dele-
gate to the General Conference.

[ 2-9 ]



  Many achievements that seemed
wholly impossible in the beginning,
passed in panoramic view, as we sat
and talked together in the quiet of
her room.
  The illness which had been gradually
sapping her life for more than a year,
and which resulted in her death, became
very evident early in February; but she
did not stop to measure her physical
strength when the work of the church
called her. Two committee meetings
of importance called her to Kansas City
and Memphis when she was scarcely
able to be out of bed.
  Early in March, she called a meeting
of all the Council women to be held in
Memphis. It was of such paramount
importance that she felt she must not
fail to be there, even if she went at the
risk of her life. On the morning of the
fourth of March, i922, in a fearful
blizzard, we left the hospital where
she had gone for a week's rest, and
boarded the train for Memphis, Ten-
nessee, travelling all day from 8 o'clock
that morning until io o'clock that

[ 30 ]



night. With super-human strength,
and a touch of the old-time vigor and
enthusiasm, she rallied the women.
It was a memorable meeting in many
respects. Upon her return to Rich-
mond, nearly a week later, a physician
and trained nurse were called in, and
her condition pronounced critical.
  Her disappointment was keen over
not being able to attend the regular
Annual Council meeting which was
to be held in San Antonio (the first in
twelve years that she had missed);
also the General Conference to which
she had been elected as a delegate. She
told me she had to spend the waking
hours of the night in prayer that she
might win the victory over self. After
all her years of struggle and hard work
to have the women of the church
recognized in its councils, she like
Moses, was not allowed to enter her

[ 3I I



Caanan.   How    marvellously   she
succeeded in winning this victory was
seen by those who ministered to her;
there was a peace and quietness that
brought to mind the words of the
prophet Isaiah, "In quietness 'and in
confidence shall be your strength."
  When the surgeon a dvised an explora-
tory operation to determine the exact
cause of the disease which seemed to
baffle them, Miss Bennett was willing.
The day we left for Lexington, May
i5th, she was apparently more cheerful
than any of us, coming to the dinner
table and chatting through the meal.
She had been able to answer the mail
up until that time, often dictating im-
portant letters from her sick bed; again,
when she was able to be up and around
her room, the nurse and I took turns
by reading to her the newspapers, the
church periodicals, and other current
periodicals of interest. The quiet hour
was always observed, we, spending
sometimes several hours in Bible
reading and study.

               [ 32.



  The night before the operation, her
self control was remarkable.  She
seemed to feel that she must be brave
and cheerful for the sake of her loved
ones who were so distressed. Only once,
when I kissed her good night, she held
to my hand and whispered, "Daughter,
I am counting on your prayers that
I may do His will, and that I may be
unafraid. -
  The next morning, just before being
taken to the operating room, she smiled
and said, "After the operation is over,
please remember to return the amethyst
cross to dear Mrs. Cunninggim."- I
told her I believed there would be no
need to return it, for I felt that she was
going to get well and wear the cross.
She said nothing, and somehow, I felt
that she knew she would not recover
from the surgical operation.
  I well recall how deeply touched
she had been a couple of months before
when the beautiful amethyst cross had
come to her as a gift from Mrs. Cuning-

[ 33 ]



gim, the wife of the president of
Scarritt.  It was accompanied by a
note saying that as some of the soldiers
in the world war were wearing the
Croix de Guerre and other medals for
bravery and honor, so she fclt that
such a brave soldier of the Cross as
Miss Bennett, who had served so long
and faithfully, should be cited for
bravery; and she wanted her to accept
the amethyst cross as her Croix de
Guerre. Miss Bennett had accepted
it, and had worn it always with the
greatest joy;  but she wrote Mrs.
Cuninggim that when she died, it must
return to the little daughter in the
family, that when she grew to young
womanhood, she might wear the ame-
thyst cross that had been such an un-
selfish thought of her mother's.
  When the operation revealed the
hopelessness of Miss Bennett's con-
dition it was not necessary for any one
of us to tell her; she knew it already.
One day, a few weeks after the opera-
tion, in answer to my question as to
how she had rested the' night before,

[ 34 ]



she replied, "Much better than I
expected, for it isn't easy to go to
sleep when I know that on awakening
I shall not be able to be up and about
my Lord's business; instead, I must lie
patiently each day and await His call
to release me." She spoke truly. It
was not easy for one who had given
nearly every waking hour for thirty-
five years to the great work to which
God had called her, to lie passive.
But through her surrendered life as
she lay on her sick bed, God was able
to make her a benediction to those who
visted her room.
  One of the books which she had me
re-read her, A. J. Gordon's,  "The
Holy Spirit in Missions"  seemed to
have a new meaning to her. When one
of the ministers of the town came to see
her, she told him of it, adding "If I
had just known as a young girl what
I know about missions now, I believe

[ 35 ]



f should be in India today." And the
saintly man who had been helped by
Miss Bennett's inspirational life, replied
fervently, "You are in India today,
Miss Belle; and not only in India, but
in China and Japan, and even the utter-
most parts of the earth, because of
yourlinfluence in the lives you have
sent out."
  Similar expressions of gratitude for
her life of service brightened up the
dark, shut-in days. Letters, including
telegrams and cablegrams, came from
many parts of the world telling what
she had meant in times past.
  Oh the blessed fellows ip that was
ours during those last few weeks of
her illness. Just at twilight each day
was the time for our evening prayer
together. One night, after a day of
much company, she asked that we
repeat in unison, the "Now I lay me
down to sleep" of our childhood days.
At another time when the long strain
had begun to tell on my nerves, and I
sobbed through the prayer, she laid
her hand gently on my bowed head,

[ 36 ]



saying, "Daughter, I never fail, day nor
night, to thank God for you. Dont'
grieve because I am going away; when
I have laid aside this nervous body, I
shall be 'closer to you than breathing,
nearer than hands and feet.' " How
naturally she talked of her Home-going,
and of the joy when she should see her
Saviour face to face.
Just two days before her death, we
had our last prayer together.  The
pain had been unusually severe, and
she was worn from the suffering. In a
rather petulant tone, she said, "Oh,
I wish the Master would come for me;
I am so tired, so tired of waiting.'"
When I tried to comfort her, and to
remind her how brave and patient she
had been through the long weeks and
months, she lifted her voice in prayer,
and the room seemed vibrant with the
Master's presence. When I closed the

[ 37 1



prayer at her request, she asked that we
repeat together First Peter 5:io, the
verse that had been such a comfort to
her at the hospital: 'And the God of
all grace who called you unto His
eternal glory in Christ Jesus, after that
you have suffered for a little while,
shall Himself perfect, establish and
strengthen you  . . . unto the ages
of the ages.''
  In the very early dawn when the
death angel hovered so close, we sat
by her side; and though she seemed to
sleep quietly under the influence of the
medicine that deadened the pain, I saw
her lips move. Bending to catch the
words, I heard her whisper, "First
Peter" and I knew that the Master
was coming to take her unto Himself.
Just forty minutes after the midnight
hour, on July moth, she entered into
the life more abundant. Let us not
grieve because of her entrance into that
life. Did not Christ Himself say to His
disciples, "If ye had loved Me, ye
would rejoice that I go unto the
Father. "

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  We miss her gracious, consecrated
personality, her statesman-like vision,
her sympathetic and tender love in
times of personal need; yes, we miss
the wonderful companionship and
fellowship of such a Spirit filled friend.
But the wo