WESLEY APPROACHING THE CLOSE OF LIFE.
THOUGH persecution and opposition followed John Wesley from the day he
lifted up a standard of holiness within the classic walls of Oxford to
the hour that God's chariot bore him to the city of the Great King, he
never faltered in his purpose nor abated his zeal for an hour. As his
end drew near, the opposition which had been so relentless began to give
way. In many places it became greatly modified, and in others nearly
extinct. That a great change had come began to be manifest in public
opinion and feeling. Mob violence, which once swept everything, had
entirely subsided, and towns and cities which once welcomed him with
brickbats and rotten eggs now hailed him as the greatest of modern
evangelists. Many who bade him depart out of their coasts as a crazy
fanatic now thought it an honor to welcome him as a man of many virtues
and unparalleled labors. In 1789, visiting Falmouth, Mr. Wesley says:
"The last time I was here, above forty years ago, I was taken prisoner
by an immense mob, gaping and roaring like lions. But how is the tide
turned! High and low now lined the street, from one end of the town to
the other, out of stark love, gaping and staring as if the king were
going by."
Wesley outlived all his early colaborers. He saw them fall one by one,
until he stood alone of them all, waiting and watching, but pressing
toward the mark for the prize.
The first to fall was the zealous, deeply consecrated, and profoundly
intellectual Walsh, at the age of twenty-eight, one of the best biblical
scholars of his day. His last words were, "He's come! He's come!" and a
cloud received him from human sight. Of him Wesley said: "Such a master
of Bible knowledge I never saw before and never expect to see again. If
he was questioned concerning any Hebrew word in the Old, or any Greek
word in the New, Testament, he could tell, after a little pause, not
only how often the one or the other occurred in the Bible, but also what
it meant in every place."
Next to follow him was the earnest, fearless, honest Grimshaw,
exclaiming: "I am happy as I can be in this world, and as sure of heaven
as though I were there. I have my foot on the threshold already."
Next fell Whitefield, in America, one of the most eloquent and effective
preachers that ever lifted up his voice among men, by which Wesley was
greatly moved.
Then followed the amiable, venerable Perronet, of Shoreham, whom Charles
Wesley was wont to call "the Archbishop of Methodism."
Then fell the most saintly man of his time--a real translation--the
seraphic Fletcher, shouting, "God is love! O, for a gust of praise to go
to the ends of the earth!" Mr. Wesley says of him: "For many years I
despaired of finding an inhabitant of Great Britain that could stand in
any degree of comparison with Gregory Lopez or Mons. de Renty. But let
any impartial person judge if Mr. Fletcher was at all inferior to them.
Did he not experience deep communion with God, and as high a measure of
inward holiness as was experienced by either one or the other of those
burning and shining lights? And it is certain his outward light shone
before men with full as bright a luster as theirs. I was intimately
acquainted with him for thirty years. I conversed with him morning,
noon, and night, without the least reserve, during a journey of many
hundred miles, and in all that time I never heard him speak an improper
word or saw him do an improper action. To conclude, within fourscore
years I have known many excellent men, holy in heart and life, but one
equal to him I have not known; one so uniformly and deeply devoted to
God, so unblamable a man in every respect I have not found either in
Europe or America. Nor do I expect to find another such on this side
eternity."
[Illustration: THE ROOM IN WHICH WESLEY DIED.]
Next came the sad tidings of the death of his brother Charles, but
little, if at all, inferior to Whitefield as a preacher, and whose
sacred lyrics will live so long as human hearts are melted and charmed
by the power of song. Just before the silver cord was loosed he
requested his wife to write--it was his last:
"In age and feebleness extreme,
Who shall a sinful worm redeem?
Jesus, my only hope thou art,
Strength of my failing flesh and heart:
O could I catch one smile from thee,
And drop into eternity!"
At the very moment that Charles was bidding adieu to earth John was at
Shropshire, and the congregation was engaged in singing:
"Come, let us join our friends above
That have obtained the prize,
And on the eagle wings of love
To joys celestial rise.
Let all the saints terrestrial sing,
With those to glory gone;
For all the servants of our King,
In earth and heaven, are one.
"One family we dwell in him,
One church above, beneath,
Though now divided by the stream,
The narrow stream, of death.
One army of the living God,
To his command we bow;
Part of his host have crossed the flood,
And part are crossing now."
Thus friend after friend departed, but Wesley pressed forward with a
zeal which knew no abatement until eighty and seven years had passed
over him.
On his last birthday he writes: "This day I enter into my eighty-eighth
year. For above eighty-six years I found none of the infirmities of old
age; my eye did not wax dim, neither was my natural strength abated. But
last August I found almost a sudden change--my eyes were so dim that no
glasses would help me; my strength likewise quite forsook me and
probably will not return in this world. But I feel no pain from head to
foot, only it seems nature is exhausted, and, humanly speaking, will
sink more and more till
'The weary springs of life stand still at last.'"
He attended and presided at his last Conference, held at Bristol, July
20, 1790. Anxious to devote every hour and moment to the service of the
Master, he visits Cornwall, London, and the Isle of Wight, and then
returns to Bristol. He is again in London, and then he is seen standing
under the shade of a large tree at Winchelsea, preaching his last
outdoor sermon. Though unable to preach longer in the open air, he still
continues to preach "the glorious Gospel of the blessed God." At
Colchester rich and poor, clergy and laity, throng to hear him in
wondering crowds. At Norwich, where once mob violence swept everything,
he is received as an angel of mercy. At Yarmouth the house is thronged.
At Lynn all the clergymen in the town, save one who was lame, came out
to hear him.
Again he is in London preaching in all his chapels, and even making
preparations to visit Ireland and Scotland, but these last visits his
failing strength will not allow. Well does Tyerman call him "the flying
evangelist."
The shadows are lengthening, and he seems conscious that his end is
near. He preaches his last sermon at Leatherhead, Wednesday, February 3,
1791, from Isa. lv, 6: "Seek ye the Lord while he may be found, call ye
upon him while he is near." He concluded the sermon by singing one of
Charles Wesley's hymns:
"O that without a lingering groan
I may the welcome word receive;
My body with my charge lay down,
And cease at once to work and live!"
On that day fell from his lips a Gospel trumpet which had sounded the
word of life more frequently and effectually than was ever known to have
been done by an uninspired man.