7. I was called, on another occasion, to visit a friend, a brother
skeptic, who was sick and likely to die. I had often visited him when he
was well, and we had managed, on those occasions, to interest or amuse
each other; but now we were helpless. Both were in sorrow, and neither
could console his brother. And there we were, looking mournfully on each
other in the face of death, speechless and comfortless. I am horrified
when I think of the dreadful position in which I was placed on those
solemn occasions. It seemed to me as if I had been enchanted all those
dreary days by some malignant demon, and made the sport of his infernal
cruelty. My friend, like myself, had been a Christian in his earlier
days, and had rejoiced in the assurance of God's love and favor, and in
hopes of future and eternal blessedness; and now he was passing away in
utter cheerlessness and hopelessness. He died, and I followed his
remains to the grave. I spoke; but I had no great comforting truths with
which to cheer the sad hearts of his weeping kindred. I looked down,
with his disconsolate widow, and his sorrowing children, into the dark
cold vault, but could say not a single word of a better life. We
sorrowed as those who have no hope.
8. While I was in Nebraska my mother died.
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