Year: 1875

1t is said that in the fitful, half-waking
sleep of sickness, he seemed to see, one
morning, tall, majestic stranger enter
his room clad in long cloak, that com
pletely enveloped his figure and his face,
an exceedingly worn and sorrowful one,
only was visible. Taking his seat, un-
masked by the composers couch, he re-
quested him to prepare a requiem for
the dead; it must be ready within a
month-he would return for it-and
slowly and silently he passed, without
a word of farewell, into the shadows of
the twilight


Unable to realize that he had been
sleeping the vision made a powerful i'm
preston on the invalid. He felt that
within q month he must die; that the re-
quinn would be his ownl Floating
through his brain were strangely beauti-
full and sorrowful melodies, voices of
earth-eehoes of the spiritual conflict
passing within him; strains of hope OF
longing, of despair, of death. of resurrec-
ton and of Immortality. And this sad
and thrilling music. that filled his soul,
and "breathed in all his breathing"
T So sat -'fce1f-'11f.a -ssraIld sad anthem
for the dead Day by day the thin, " lite
hands of the composer grew fainter with
mortal weakness, as the requiem gaintd
in power and pathos. In the strans e
! hieroglyphics which lay on the couch b.,
side him, were voiced solemn mystery o.
life and death-the struggle of the passing
soul-the anguish of the mourners-the
anthems of the angels.
A month passed by. The yellow sun
: Hlight-fell warm and bright through the
open window, on the death-like face of
the dying man. 1t was now very tram
quill face, from which all traces of fear
had forever departed, He had given to
the requiem its last touch, breathed into
it the soul of undying harmony, that was
to consecrate it through all time, and
had fallen into a gentle slumber. At
length the light footsteps of his daughter
awoke him. Come hither," he said, my
daughter, my task is done The requiem
my requiem, is finishedr"


"Say not so, dear father!' replied the
| heart-strcken daughter. at must not.
cannot be- You will soon be we'll once
more. Already there is glow of health
on your cheek We will nurse you well
again Let me bring you something re-
freshing!'


DO not deceive yourself my darling"
replied the dying father. This wasted
form can never be restored by human aid.
From Heavens mercy, alone, do | look
for help in my dying hour. You speak
OF refreshments, my Em1lle, take my last
notes, sit down to my piano here, sing
them with the hymn of your sainted
mother. And let me hear once more
those notes which have so long been my
solacement and delight"


Taking the notes from his dying hand,
his daughter sat down, and, with voice
thrilling with emotion, sung the hymn
so often heard from the lips of dying
mother in days gone by


Spirit, thy labor is DER;


The earthly probation is run
Thy steps are now bound tor the untrodden


shore


And the race of immortals begun.


Spirit, look not on the strife


Or the pleasure of earth with regret
Pause not on the threshold of limitless life,


To mourn for the day that is set.


Spirit, no fetters can bind,


There the wicked, like thee-the wretched


shall find


A haven-a mansion of rest.


Spirit, how bright is the road


For which thou art on the wing;


Thy home-it will be with thy Savior and God,


Their loud hallelujahs to sing.


Her fingers fingered moment over
the low melancholy notes of the piece,
till the air seemed laden with their sol
emn harmony. Then she turned toward
the couch of her father for the old smile
of approval. His pale face was calm with
unmistakable repose, and heavenly
smile fingered on the lips from which
life had just departed.