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402 |
UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR |
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gates of eternity, the black hand and the white hold each other with an equal clasp. He murmured softly to himself, at broken intervals, — |
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" Recordare Jesu pie — |
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Ne me perdas — ille die Quaerens me — sedisti lassus." |
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It was evident that the words he had been singing that evening were passing through his mind, — words of entreaty addressed to Infinite Pity. His lips moved at intervals, as parts of the hymn fell brokenly from them.
" His mind is wandering," said the doctor.
" No ! it is coming home, at last! " said St. Clare, energetically ; "at last! at last! "
The effort of speaking exhausted him. The sinking paleness of death fell on him; but with it there fell, as if shed from the wings of some pitying spirit, a beautiful expression of peace, like that of a wearied child who sleeps.
So he lay for a few moments. They saw that the mighty hand was on him. Just before the spirit parted, he opened his eyes, with a sudden light, as of joy and recognition, and said " Mother I " and then he was gone! |
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