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Updated: May 5, 2025
Brinsmade and Anne had gone upstairs to the sickbed, these were the tidings the Major told Virginia, who kept it in her heart. The reason he told her was because she had guessed a part of it. Nevertheless Mr. Brinsmade drove to the Arsenal with her that Saturday, in his own carriage. Forgetful of his own grief, long habit came to him to talk cheerily with her.
We don't know all he does, for he never speaks of it, only every once in a while something leaks out. I know that where there is a sickbed and a quarryman on it, there you will find Champney Googe as watcher after his day's work and tender in his ministrations as a woman.
He was baptized on his sickbed it was an affecting scene a sense of the presence of the Lord was felt on the occasion by all present, by the peace and grace that accompanied the administration of the ordinance. The answer to the sick penitent's fervent prayer, seemed like that given to the poor repenting thief on the cross when he cried, "Lord remember me" it was immediate.
"My son did not come near my sickbed, and I have not seen him since that unhappy day. He has visited the house daily, and shut himself in his room for several hours. How he occupies his time, I cannot imagine, but am sure that it is only in studying or practising evil." "Possibly I may throw some light on that mystery," said Marcus.
His only greeting was to point with the gold head of his long staff towards the peaked black hat, that never left his head, even beside the sickbed, and asked in a curt, hurried tone: "When will Meister Peter come home?" "In an hour," replied Maria. "Sit down, Doctor." "Another time. It will keep me too long to wait for your husband. After all, you can come with me even without his consent."
He did not look as if he had come from a sickbed. He came in as jaunty as a boy, limping just a little from his accident. He was greeted by his colleagues with tender solicitude, solicitude, I fear, completely wasted on him. "Devilish silly thing to do to get run over," he said. "I was in a brown study when a cab came round a corner. But I don't regret it, you know.
This physician who was one day to tend the sickbed of the Nation in her agony; whose large hand was to be on her feeble pulse, and whose knowledge almost divine was to perform the miracle of her healing. So was it that, the Physician Himself performed His cures, and when work was done, died a martyr. Abraham Lincoln died in His name
Now in a workshop, now at a sickbed, now with a Greek, now with a Jew, and, in every case, not discussing politics and cursing the weather, not living his holidays over again and hearing of all the approaching marriages, but testifying to all men in his own incomparably winning and commanding way repentance toward God and faith toward the Lord Jesus Christ.
On Fastern's E'en when we war fou. Scots Song. The night which sunk down on the sickbed of Ramorny was not doomed to be a quiet one.
Angela sat down at a little distance from the sickbed and watched the wounded man. His face was drawn with pain. His eyes were closed. But he was not sleeping. His fingers locked and unlocked. His lips moved He opened his eyes and looked at her. "You need not stay here," he said. "Would you rather I didn't?" asked Angela, rising. "Why did you bring me here?"
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