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How Mozart Died W OLFGANG MO ZART , the great composer, died at Vienna, in the year 1791. There is something very already claiming kindred with immortality. After giving it its last touch and breathing into it that undying spirit of song which was to consecrate it through all time as his “ Circean strain,” he fell into a gentle and quiet slumber. At length the light footsteps o f his daughter awoke him. “ Come hither,” said he, “ my Emilie. My task is done— the ‘Requiem’—my ‘Requiem’ is finished.” “ Say not so, dear father,” said the gentle girl, interrupting him, with tears in her eyes; “ you must be better—you look better, for even now your cheek has a glow on it. I am sure we shall nurse you well again— let me bring you something refreshing.” “ Do not deceive yourself, my love,” said the dying father; “ this wasted form can never be restored by human aid. From Heaven’s mercy alone do I look for help in this, my dying hour. You spoke of refreshment, my Emilie— take these last notes— sit down at my piano here— sing with them the hymn of your sainted mother— let me once more hear those tones which have so long been my solace and delight.” Emilie obeyed, and with a voice enriched with ten- derest emotion, sang the following stanzas: Spirit, thy labor is o’e r ! Thy term o f probation is run, Thy steps are now bound for the untrodden shore, And the race o f immortals begun. Spirit! look not on strife,),. Or the pleasure of earth with regret— Pause not at the threshold of limitless life, T o mourn for, the day that is set. Spirit! no fetters can bind, No wicked have power to molest;; There the weary, like thee— the wretched shall find A haven, a mansion o f rest. Spirit! how bright is the road For which thou art now on the wing, Thy home it will be with thy Saviour and God, There loud hallelujah to sing.
As she concluded she dwelt for a moment upon the low, melancholy notes o f the piece, and then turning from the instrument looked in silence for the approaching smile o f her father. It was the still and passionless smile which the rapt and joyous spirit leftS-with the seal of death upon those features. Moody, a Factor in American History A TE ST IM ONY to Dwight L. Moody’s work appears in a most unlikely quarter. The following is taken from an article by George Mansfield in The New Age, of recent issue: “ What Americans of the past half century stand out in your mind ?” asked an American historian o f his English colleague some time ago. The answer was prompt: “ Edison, Barnum, Bryan, Roosevelt, Ford, Wilson and Dwight L. Moody.” “ But why Moody?” was the American’s surprised question. “ Because,” came the reply, “ I believe Moody was a real factor in shaping American .character. Probably you forget the turbulent and rowdy spirit of America of the Civil War period, in the time of the draft riots, the feuds and Western bad men and the undisciplined communities of later generations. Perhaps it requires someone outside of America to properly value Dwight L. Moody and his remarkable revivals, which in a sense tamed America. He was a very powerful influence, even in England. It may have escaped you that he is the real father o f the Y . M. C. A. system, and brought about cooperation and good will between the various religious sects for the first time in American history. I will even go further and say that he started the American social conscience to work. . Some day Moody will be valued properly—both because o f his influ ence on American character and because of his extreme picturesqueness and personal flavor.” Stairways Are Obstacles What is a stairway but a series o f obstacles? Yet you rely on the stairs to help you mount to a higher place. If the life-road had no obstacles to surmount, who would ever get up? No one can climb on thin air.
touching in the circumstances o f his death. His sweetest song was the last he sang— “ The Requiem.” He had been employed on this exquisite piece for several weeks, his soul filled with inspirations of the richest melody and
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