Mr. Samuel Warmington was the youngest of a numerous family. He had
enjoyed many religious advantages from early childhood, and had grown up
in the society of persons many of whom were distinguished for their
prudence and piety. His early youth was strictly moral, and gave
promising indications of future worth. He had much simplicity of
purpose, with a remarkable freedom from those moral taints which many
youths imbibe as they rise into manhood. He enjoyed no particular
endowments of mind that might serve to distinguish or raise him above
his fellows; but he possessed those more useful characteristics which
attracted the respect and love of the circle by whom he was best known.
Naturally of a retiring disposition, he avoided many worldly dangers and
temptations, and acquired a salutary acquaintance with his own heart in
private. In due time, God, in infinite mercy, though by a very gradual
process, created him anew in Christ Jesus. This change was seen and felt
by himself and others, not so much in the outward conduct, as by the
flow of feeling and affection towards subjects of the highest
importance. He united himself to the church under the pastoral care of
the Rev. Dr. Newman, about three years since; and from that period has
constantly maintained an exemplary Christian deportment, though
circumstances over which he had no control prevented his fulfilling his
duties as a church member as he could have wished.
He was soon subjected to the discipline of his heavenly Father, who
correcteth every son whom he receiveth. A tender attachment he had
formed for a very accomplished and pious young lady was reciprocated and
mutually cherished, till it became interrupted by her illness and death.
The excitement consequent on the commencement and ripening of this
affection, under circumstances so mournful, gave the first development
of incipient disease. His friends observed its effects with concern, but
not with alarm. In the meantime his mind had been acquiring both
fortitude and dignity. The warmest sympathies of his heart had been
drawn forth on behalf of his fading, dying friend; but, at the same
time, he had been brought so near to the realities of the eternal world
as never to lose the impression afterwards. The beneficial effects this
trial had upon his character was evident to all who observed him. He
mingled again amidst the busy scenes of life with feelings of heartfelt
gratitude for the grace and mercy which had been manifested towards his
late friend, and with renewed devotion to the God who had mingled so
large a share of parental love with the affliction he had appointed him
to endure. He likewise mingled in scenes of family affliction with much
sensibility and a matured judgment. He did his part, with other
brothers, in solacing a mother's dying pillow by his prayers and by
other filial attentions.
And thus it was that he became gradually prepared for the dissolution of
the earthly house of his _own_ tabernacle. Symptoms of disease were
renewed and accumulated, so as to awaken apprehension as to their issue.
He retired from the avocations of business with graceful submission to
the divine will, and zealously applied himself to means for the recovery
of health. Testimonials of respect from his late employers, and his
companions, frequently followed him into retirement, either at his
father's house, or at some distant part of the country. The last journey
he undertook was to Dover, where his stay was short and distressing. He
returned home much worse, and with slight alternations of disease,
slowly sunk beneath its influence.
Under the paternal roof he enjoyed those soothing attentions his case
required; and often mentioned, with touching emotion, his gratitude to
God for giving him so kind a father, and such affectionate sisters, to
alleviate his last affliction. One of these sisters, herself the subject
of long affliction, was frequently detained with him from public
worship, and on such seasons of sacred tranquillity, would read and
converse with him. When too weak to bear either, he would lament his
want of energy; but regarding it as a part of his affliction, desired to
submit to it with acquiescence as the will of God. He would say, "I
depend on the quiet, though powerful, teaching of the Holy Spirit; who
will, himself, impress the truth on my mind." At other times he would
say, "Read one of those sublime chapters at the conclusion of the
Revelations, to draw my thoughts towards heaven." He was fond of the
Pilgrim's Progress, and said of it, "In my weak state, it is the only
book I can listen to with ease or profit, besides the Bible." When he
spoke of the providence of God, it was always with evident satisfaction:
he would say, "I am quite helpless, unable to do any thing for my own
maintenance, or for the benefit of others; but I am so perfectly
satisfied to cast all my care on the kindness and wisdom of God, that I
do not desire to have a choice if I might. If my health be restored, I
know he can direct my pursuits; and for the present, all is infinitely
better than I could have arranged." On another occasion, he said to one
of his sisters, "I should like to know Mr Beale's opinion (his medical
attendant) of my disorder: if he thinks it will terminate fatally, I
hope he will tell me: I am not alarmed at the thought of death." And
shortly afterwards, added, "What a mercy it is that I have not _now_ to
seek the Saviour, nor go to him now for the _first_ time: this is a
season when I need the comfort and support of religion." On the evening
of the same day, he enjoyed great composure of mind; and when referring
to his departure, he said, "He trusted, as a family, we should all meet
again: the separation would not be for long." He frequently requested to
hear the 23rd Psalm read, saying, "Though I can repeat it, I like to
hear it." A few days after confinement to his own room, he said to one
of his sisters, "I shall never go down into the parlour again; I feel I
am sinking; I can hardly describe my sensations of weakness." It was
replied, that should it be so, it would be gain to him. He was asked if
he felt any distress in the prospect, as to the actual pain of dying. He
said, "No, my thoughts go beyond that; I endeavour to keep them fixed on
the bright side--the glory that shall follow." On another occasion he
was assisted to walk to the window of his apartment, and, looking out
upon the garden, he said, "Ah! there is the garden I used to enjoy, it
looks very winterly now, and I shall never walk there again; but I am
quite satisfied." When alluding to his departure, he said, "He hoped it
might be like falling asleep. Oh! to fall asleep, and wake in the
likeness of Jesus!" His bodily sufferings were often very severe;
especially as he drew near his end. On one occasion, when suffering
extreme agony, he asked, "If it was proper to pray for an object
seemingly desirable to ourselves!" The answer implied, there was no
restriction; that we might call upon God in the day of trouble, asking
for any mercy in submission to his will. He rejoined, "Oh! yes; _in
submission to the will of God_, I do desire a little relief from pain;
but," he added, "can you remind me of a _scripture_ example, where this
has been done; for my mind seems so weak, I cannot think?" The words of
the apostle Paul were referred to: "For _this thing_ I besought the
Lord," &c. And also the words of Jesus himself: "If it be possible, let
_this cup_ pass from me; nevertheless, not my will, but thine, be done."
He seemed earnestly to adopt this language, and became more composed.
The same evening he requested his father to pray with him; and being
asked what he most desired, he said, "That I may have patience, and bear
this affliction to the glory of God." He appeared to spend much of his
time in mental aspirations after spiritual support, and the presence of
Jesus. His oft-repeated request to his pious attendants was, "Oh! pray
for complete acquiescence, and for the presence of Jesus." On one
occasion, appearing to be greatly depressed, it was said to him, "Though
flesh and heart fail, God will be your strength and portion for ever:"
he replied, "Yes, he will; that is a mercy." After a pause, he said, "I
am anxious to have the presence of Jesus to the last:" and added, "Does
not Bunyan describe Christian as leaving his garments of mortality
behind him, when he passed through the river? How delightful that will
be!" At another time, when his hand had been lanced and dressed, he
said, "I long to lay my poor hand in the dust; I long to be at rest."
After a minute, he added, "There is a rest purchased and ready for me;
and I shall be put in possession in God's own time." He was exceedingly
grateful to those who attended him and administered to his necessities;
telling them, he wished they might have the same support he felt, when
they should be placed in circumstances similar to his. On an occasion of
bodily infirmity, he very feelingly said, "The righteousness of Christ
will soon cover all our shame." He continued in a state of extreme
debility and suffering for many days, waiting his departure in a
condition of child-like dependance on the mercy and faithfulness of his
heavenly Father, reconciled to him, a guilty sinner, through the
atonement of his blessed Saviour. He longed to depart, and be with
Jesus; and would sometimes ask if it was wrong to pray for this
blessing, hoping he might not be impatient or presumptuous.
On his last sabbath on earth, his medical friend, having felt his pulse,
said to him, "Well, Sir, I think you will soon be where there will be no
more pain and suffering." He replied, "Not on account of anything of my
own; it is purchased by the blood of Christ."
Soon after this, through weakness, his articulation became indistinct,
and dissolution appeared hourly approaching. He lingered, however, till
the following Thursday morning, under the influence of much bodily
anguish, but having his mind calm--often apparently quite happy--as he
passed along the dark valley. It seemed as though a beam of heaven's
glory illuminated his path, to assure his soul of her coming bliss. He
had bid adieu to his affectionate relatives once before, deeming himself
in the last struggle; but again, on the last morning, the mourning
family were assembled around his bed, witnesses of his bodily distress;
and to receive, more by expressive looks than by words, his final adieu.
He faintly said, "Pray for me; pray for the presence of Jesus."
Afterwards, with more distinctness than he had spoken for several days,
he added; "Oh, blessed Jesus! _once more_, I implore thy love." One of
his sisters remarked, "You will soon _rest_ in his love," quoting an
appropriate promise; to which he rejoined, expressively, "That is no
mere speculation." He said no more, but apparently listened to that
verse, commencing--
"Jesus, I love thy charming name," and in a few minutes closed his eyes
on all terrestrial scenes. He died on the 18th of December, 1834, at his
father's house, at Plaistow, Essex, aged twenty-seven years.