TRIUMPHANT DEATH OF GEORGE EDWARD DRYER This saint of God went to heaven from Readsburg, Wis., Feb. 1, 1896. His sister, Mrs. Evaline Dryer Green, sends us the following: Dear readers, come with me for a little while as I look on memorys walls. See, there are many things written there! Here is one story, sweet and sacred, almost too sacred to relate; yet as with hushed voices we talk of this, our hearts shall melt and we shall feel that heaven is drawing nigher. I remember my baby brother -- though I was a child of but four years when he came into our home. I well remember that little face as I saw it first. I remember the chubby brown hands when he was a wee boy, always in mischief then. 1 was a frail girl, and he soon outgrew me. Then those sweet years of home life-and later the glad home comings when I was away at school. On my return George was always the first to wave his hand and shout for joy -- perhaps toss his hat high in the air and give a certain whoop and three cheers that I loved to hear. We were right loyal friends, my brother and I. And then -- ah, its here Id wish to draw the vail, and forget. We thought he would accomplish his ambitions -- so strong, so full of life! But we will only glance at those long months of suffering and hasten to the last. Nearly eighteen months of weariness from coughing, and there he lay, the picture of patient endurance, saying from his hearts depths, Farewell, mortality -- Jesus is mine Welcome, eternity -- Jesus is mine! Often he would call me near him and say, Oh, sister, the Lord does so save me! To the doctor, the boys of his own age, to neighbors, and all who came, he testified how Jesus saved him, through and through. The last hours were drawing near. One of the Lords servants came and prayed. George prayed for father, mother, brothers and sisters. A little later in the evening a sweat, deathly cold, covered him. We thought he was going then -- the poor, weak body seemed all but gone, while the spirit grew even more bright. Ah, that picture! That high, marble-white brow, either cheek glowing with fever intense, great, expressive blue eyes, that peered earnestly, joyfully, all about him and upward. Those dear hands were lifted high, while he said, with heaven lighting his face, Angels now are hovering round us. (Even now I feel to say, as I did then, O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?) Again he came back to us -- to spend one more night of suffering on earth, and to work for God and eternity. We watched all night, while he praised God, often saying under his breath, between awful fits of coughing, Precious Jesus! Toward morning he asked a dear sister to sing I Saw A Happy Pilgrim. Finally the morning came; a dark, rainy morning in February. The gray light was just dawning when we all gathered about his bed. We repeated beautiful texts to him, and verses of hymns that he most loved, and encouraged him to the very rivers brink. His last spoken words were, Eva, come on this side. Then, peacefully he closed his eyes and grew so still. And with the morn, those angel faces smile, Which I have loved long since -- and lost a while.
Posted on: Wed, 19 Mar 2014 07:25:57 +0000
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