s of philosophy. He had been
the envy of his fellow-disciples in the academic grove for his
profound wisdom and various learning. But had one of those
fellow-students stood there and beheld him, he would have scorned him.
He kneeled on the stone-floor. The dim light of the lamp fell on his
bowed head and long, dark robe, and lit faintly the couch of the dying
beggar. The only sounds to be heard were the voice of earnest,
heartfelt prayer, and the quick breathing which told that life was
ebbing fast with him for whom that prayer was offered with trembling
accents and tears fast falling. But, ah! there was a presence there
better than philosophy, greater than Plato, holier than Socrates,
"higher than the kings of the earth," even of Him "that sitteth on the
circle of the heavens," and saith "To this man will I look--even to
him that is poor, and of a contrite spirit, and trembleth at my word."

The whole night through the young Christian was a patient watcher by
the bed of death. Once he had wasted the midnight oil in the study of
vain wisdom and false philosophy, utterly forgetful that thousands lay
all about him perishing in ignorance and misery. Now how rich was his
reward when the glazing eye opened with a gleam of intelligence, and
the pale lips murmured the sweet hope of pardon, or strove to frame
the language of some remembered promise from the word of God. The
noise of the great city had long ago subsided. Solemn, indeed, was the
stillness; and the spirit of that faithful watcher almost quailed when
the King of Terrors laid hold of his victim with the last, inexorable
grasp. Long did he struggle in that savage hold with agony not to be
described. At last it was over, and he lay calm and scarcely
breathing. The beams of the cold, pale dawn stole in and dimmed "the
ineffectual fire," of the lamp, as the young man bent over that form
to ascertain if life yet lingered in it. As he did so the dying eyes
opened. How full of consolation was that look! He pressed the hand
that still held his; a faint, sweet smile stole over his face, and he
whispered in a tone so low that the eager ear of the listener could
scarcely catch it. "Thanks be unto God who giveth us the victory
through Jesus Christ our Lord!" They were the last words. As the
golden sun rose once more to light the towers and temples of the city,
he sent one rich beam into that humble chamber. The Christian was
alone with the dead now. He had composed the body in