he peculiar danger, he sent several young men, who were
living in his house, particularly his young brother Andrew, to their
homes; but he himself unterrified began to discharge the duties of his
office. The result, that was foreseen, followed. He also was laid upon
a bed of sickness.

Not for harmony of rhythm, but for the deep inward feeling, which they
manifest, the verses composed by him, after he had become convalescent,
in two different periods of sickness, are truly remarkable. They show
us the sources of his faith and activity, and a character, which even
in view of what appeared to be his last hour, remained true to itself.
An admirer of Zwingli in modern times, still keeping faithfully to the
thoughts, has altered the language to that of our century, and in this
form they may also be admitted here.[1]

_In the beginning of sickness:_

Lo! at my door Yet, if to quench
Gaunt Death I spy; My sun at noon,
Hear, Lord of life, Be thy behest,
Thy creature's cry. Thy will be done!

The arm that hung In faith and hope
Upon the tree, Earth I resign,
Jesus, uplift-- Secure of heaven--
And rescue me. For I am thine!

_When the disease gained strength._

Fierce grow my pains: In Satan's grasp,
Help, Lord, in haste! On Hell's dark brink,
For flesh and heart My spirit reels,--
Are failing fast. Ah! must I sink?

Clouds wrap my sight No, Jesus, no!
My tongue is dumb, Him I defy,
Lord tarry not, While here beneath
The hour is come! Thy cross I lie.

But his vigorous constitution surmounted the disease. About the end of
autumn signs of convalescence began to appear, and he gave vent to his
joy, at the prospect of restoration to life and activity, in the
following stanzas:

My Father God, Though now delayed,
Behold me whole! My hour must come,
Again on earth Involved, perchance,
A living soul! In deeper gloom.

Let sin no more It matters not
My heart annoy, Rejoicing yet
But fill it, Lord, I'll bear the yoke
With holy joy. To Heaven's