DIED in Paris, Me., Aug. 1st, of Consumption, Sister Harriet A. Hastings, daughter of Bro. Leonard Hastings, of New Ipswich, N. H., in the 21st year of her age.
In early life, she sought and found the Saviour, and the doctrine of his soon coming was a most joyful one to her. She loved to anticipate the joys of heaven, and talk of the beauties of the earth made new; and earnestly did she long for that glorious time when the saints will all meet to share those joys and part no more forever.
About the 1st of November last, she was attacked with the Typhoid fever, and many long weeks of suffering succeeded. In the Spring, having partially regained her health, she left home for this place, hoping to be benefited by the journey. A short extract from a letter written about this time, will express the state of her mind. She says:—"If ever I longed for home, it is now. I am weary and tired of earth. My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth for the courts of the Lord. My trust, I think is wholly in the Lord. O, he is indeed precious to my soul." She arrived May 10th, having tarried some weeks by the way. From this time she failed steadily and was never able to return to her father's family.
During her last illness, which she bore with great patience, she was sustained and comforted by the Christian's hope, and entered the valley and shadow of death fearing no evil. With her dying breath she dictated messages of mingled exhortation and consolation to each member of the absent family. Very sweetly she thanked us for our love, and joyfully assured us that she should sleep but a little while, and we should be re-united soon. The prospect of eternal life grew brighter as death approached, and with the fullest confidence that all was well, this dear one went to rest.
By this Providence, a circle of deeply afflicted younger brothers and sisters, together with their bereaved father, are called the second time to mourn. But they are comforted in view of the near approach of that joyful hour when those dear departed ones shall be restored to them again beyond the power of the enemy.
Thrice blessed hope! the dying saint to cheer,
And beam in gladness from the closing eye;
Thrice blessed hope! to dry the mourner's tear,
And point to pleasures that can never die.
Hope of re-union in the promised land,
Where all these farewells and these tears are o'er;
Look up! dear children, on that deathless strand,
Mother and sister are thine own once more.