living God" and intent to awaken them from the sleep of the soul, would repeat with solemn intonation, some old Saxon verses:— "Ere the pilgrim soul go forth On its journey, far and lone, Who is he, that yet on earth All his needful work hath done? Who foreweighs the joy or scathe Seals his dcom, for weal or woe ?" In repeating one of the forms of his devotion, the petition, "leave us not orphans," tenderly affected him, and he burst into tears. Remembering, without doubt, how the God of the fatherless had been his protector from his youth, he continued for some time weeping, and pouring out his soul in voiceless prayer, while all around were dissolved in tears. Often he said, with thankfulness, "God scourgeth every son that he receiveth." In the view of his approaching departure, he quoted the words of Ambrose, "I have not so lived, that I should be unwilling to live longer among you; but neither do I fear to die, for we have a merciful God." On the last day but one of his life, he continued to teach and dictate to his pupils, with his usual cheerfulness, occasionally quickening them with the injunction, "Learn your best to-day: for I know not how long I may last, or how soon my Maker will call me away." Then they perceived that he felt his end approaching. That night he lay down, but slept not, and passed its restless watches in prayer and thanksgiving. At dawn, he called his scholars and bade them lose no time in writing the task he had begun with them. Thus they were employed until nine, when all left him for their other duties, except one, who said, "There is still, my dear Master, one chapter wanting, to complete the translation, but I must not ask you to dictate any more, on account of your weakness." "Nay," answered the dying saint, "it is easy to me. Take your pen and write quickly. There is no time to lose." This he did, and the work was nearly done, when at three in the afternoon, Bede directed the few valuables which he possessed to be brought to him, that he might distribute parting gifts among his friends. While thus employed, he begged his pupils to remember him in their prayers, which they readily promised. "It is now time," said he, "that I should return to Him who created me. I have lived long, and my Merciful Judge hath well provided for me, the kind of life that I have led. I feel the hour of my pardon at hand. I desire to be released, and to be with Christ." He passed the fleeting hours, in peace and holy joy, and as evening drew on, a pupil reminded him, that there remained only one sentence of the Gospel of St. John, untranslated. "Write quickly, then," said the teacher, giving him the closing words. "It is finished, dear master," said the youth, laying down his pen. "Thou hast well said, It is finished. Support now my head, between thy hands, and let me, while I sit, look toward the holy place where I was wont to pray, that though I can no longer kneel, I may still call upon my Father." Shortly after, he sank from his seat to the floor; uttering his last hymn of praise, "Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost." With these last words, his meek soul gently breathed itself away. Thus died a man who devoted his great learning to the instruction of others, and laid all earthly honors at the foot of the cross. His memory is reverently cherished in his native realm. The rude, and massive oaken chair on which he was accustomed to sit, is still shown at Jarrow. His grave at Durham is marked by a plain stone, with an epitaph as unostentatious as his life. "Here rest the bones of Venerable Bede." 1320 JOHN GOWER. JOHN GOWER was descended from a distinguished family, and born in Yorkshire, England, in the year 1320. His mind was of the precocious order, and his love of study conspicuous. He maintained a high reputation for scholarship, while at Oxford, and after leaving the University took up his residence in London, and commenced the study of the Law, the profession for which he had been designated by his parents. Here, as well as at Oxford, he secured some intervals of leisure, for the researches of literature, and the charms of poetry; for the Muse had revealed herself to his young heart, and bowed it to her sway. Still, with a self-denial |