“I REMEMBER once being called to see a sick girl,” said Henry Ward Beecher, “who was, perhaps, seventeen or eighteen years of age. A gentleman informed me that she had been sick for twelve months, and that she had become quite disconsolate. He said: ‘She has the sweetest disposition, and she is the most patient creature imaginable. And you ought to hear her talk; one can hardly tell whether she talks or prays. It is heaven to go into her room.’ I wanted a little more of the spirit of heaven, so I went to see her. I was engaged in the special labors of a revival of religion at the time.
“She said: ‘I hear of what you are doing, and of what my companions are doing, and I long to go out and labor for Christ; and it seems very strange to me that God keeps me here on this sick bed.’ ‘My dear child,’ said I, ‘do you not know that you are preaching Christ to this whole household, and to every one who knows you? Your gentleness and patience and Christian example are known and read by all. You are laboring for Christ more effectually than you could anywhere else.’ Her face brightened; she looked up without a word; and doubtless she gave thanks to God, and angels sang more sweetly than before.”