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The terrible disease had concentrated itself in his mouth and throat. As he lay there in his tiny domicile, with the roar of the sea getting fainter to his poor diseased ears, and the kind face of Brother James becoming gradually indistinct before his failing eyes, did the thought come to him that after all his work was poor, and his life half a failure? Many whom he had hoped much of had disappointed him. Not much praise had reached him. The tide of affection and sympathy from England had cheered him, but England was so far off that it seemed almost like sympathy and affection from a star. Churches were built, schools and hospitals were in working order, but there was still much to be done. He was only forty-nine, and he was dying.
"Well! G.o.d's will be done. He knows best. My work, with all its faults and failures, is in His hands, and before Easter I shall see my Saviour."
The breathing grew more laboured, the leprous eyes were clouded, the once stalwart frame was fast becoming rigid. The sound of the pa.s.sing bell was heard, and the wail of the wretched lepers pierced the air. ... The last flickering breath was breathed, and the soul of Joseph Damien de Veuster arose like a lark to G.o.d.