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Jesus, who, like his master, would leave his footprints on time, and his impressions on the world—the laborer in the field must work if he would glean the harvest—he must, like the racer, stretch every nerve to reach the goal if he would win the prize and take the crown—so thought this humble servant of the Most High. He lost no time whatever; to wear out was his motto, to rust out never. He knew, as he often said, his days were few, and he would spend them to the best advantage and to the glory of his God. He had a presentiment that his day was well spent, and the night of his death was at hand. Thus we find him only living to live again in regions of light, life, and immortality beyond this vale of tears, this land of suffering and toil. It is said by one of the remaining few left from those long years—long fled in the past, that each succeeding Sabbath as early as 6 o'clock in the morning would Mr. Gloucester come and stand at the corner of Seventh and Shippen Sts., and there, by a hymn of praise which few could sing so sweetly as he, draw together a large concourse of people; then, taking advantage of the circumstance, would take some passage of Scripture and preach the Word of life to the people; and such was the moral influence acting upon the minds of the persons keeping dram shops in the neighborhood for the sale of that soul and body destroying agent, ardent spirits, that they would not open their groggeries until meeting, as they called it, was over, and Mr. Gloucester retired. I do not presume too much when I say that from the time he first commenced his labors in Philadelphia to the time when that fell destroyer of ministers, consumption, laid hold upon his vitals, and which terminated his useful life on the 2d May, in the year 1822, he labored with the same zeal and diligence as made him
