"Thou writest well, that in this most evil age death (or more
truly, sleep) is to be desired by all. And although the
departure of that most dear child has, indeed, no little moved
me, yet I rejoice more that she, a daughter of the kingdom, is
snatched from the jaws of the devil and the world; so sweetly
did she fall asleep in Christ."
So mournfully and tenderly he writes and speaks, the shadow of that
sorrow at the centre of his life overspreading the whole world with
darkness to him. Or rather, as he would say, the joy of that loving,
dutiful child's presence being withdrawn, he looks out from his cold and
darkened hearth, and sees the world as it is; the covetousness of the
rich; the just demands, yet insurrectionary attempts of the poor; the
war with the Turks without, the strife in the empire within; the fierce
animosities of impending religious war; the lukewarmness and divisions
among his friends. For many years God gave that feeling heart a refuge
from all these in the bright, unbroken circle of his home. But now the
next look to him seems beyond this life; to death, which unveils the
kingdom of truth and righteousness, and love, to each, one by one; or
still more, to the glorious Advent which will manifest it to all. Of
this he delights to speak. The end of the world, he feels sure, is near;
and he says all preachers should tell their people to pray for its
coming, as the beginning of the golden age. He said once--"O gracious
God, come soon again! I am waiting ever for the day--the spring morning,
when day and night are equal, and the clear, bright rose of that dawn
shall appear. From that glow of morning I imagine a thick, black cloud
will issue, forked with lightning, and then a crash, and heaven and
earth will fall. Praise be to God, who has taught us to long and look
for that day. In the Papacy, they sing--
'Dies irae, dies illa;'
but we look forward to it with hope; and I trust it is not far distant."
Yet he is no dreamer, listlessly clasping his hands in the night, and
watching for the dawn. He is of the day, a child of the light; and
calmly, and often cheerfully, he pursues his life of ceaseless toil for
others, considerately attending to the wants and pleasures of all, from
the least to the greatest; affectionately desirous to part with his
silver plate, rather than not give a generous reward to a faithful old
servant, who was retiring from his service; pleading the cause of the
helpless; writing letters of consolation to the humblest who need his
aid; caring for all the churches, yet steadily disciplining his children
when they need it, or ready to enter into any scheme for their pleasure.