f grace."

When he had sung two verses, he lay still. After awhile he said, "I want
to write."

So they brought him ink and paper, and put the pen in his hand; but
John Wesley's writing days were over.

"I cannot," he said.

"Let me write for you," said one of his friends, "tell me what you want
to say."

"Nothing," replied the dying Christian, "but that God is with us."

In the morning he wanted to get up, and while his friends were bringing
him his clothes, he started to sing:

"I'll praise my Maker while I've breath,
And, when my voice is lost in death,
Praise shall employ my nobler powers;
My days of praise shall ne'er be past,
While life, and thought, and being last,
Or immortality endures.

"Happy the man, whose hopes rely
On Israel's God: He made the sky,
And earth and sea, with all their train;
His truth for ever stands secure;
He saves the opprest, He feeds the poor,
And none shall find His promise vain."
_Hymn 224._

When he was dressed and seated in his chair, he prayed in a very weak
voice: "Lord, Thou givest strength to those who can speak, and to those
who cannot; speak, Lord, to all our hearts."

Then he tried to sing again, but his voice failed him.

He was soon tired of sitting up, and went back to bed. He could not talk
very much; but twice he lifted his hand in triumph, and said so gladly:
"The best of all is, God is with us."

A great many friends were standing round his bed; he took each one by
the hand, and lovingly bade them farewell.

All through Tuesday night, he kept trying to repeat the hymn he had
sung, but could only say: "I'll praise, I'll praise."

Next morning, about ten o'clock, the Rev. Joseph Bradford, who had been
his faithful companion and nurse, knelt down at the bedside and prayed.
Eleven of Mr. Wesley's friends were in the room; they wanted to go with
their dear leader, right up to the gates that divide our life here from
our life yonder.

"Farewell," said the dying patriarch. And then, as some one repeated,
"Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting
doors; and this Heir of glory shall come in," the Golden Gates opened,
and the soul of John Wesley passed through.

Those who were left outside the gates, still stood round the bed and
sang to the departing spirit