"Over the space that parts us, my wife,
I'll cast me a bridge of song:
Our hearts shall meet, O joy of my life,
On its arch unseen, but strong."
"Unkind and domineering husbands," he said, "ought not to pretend to be
Christians, for they act clean contrary to Christ's commands."
Mr. Spurgeon once said of home, "That word _home_ always sounds like
poetry to me. It sings like a peal of bells at a wedding, only more soft
and sweet, and it chimes deeper into the ears of my heart."
Concerning beer-shops he wrote, "Beer-shops are the enemies of home, and
therefore the sooner their licences are taken away the better.... Those
beer-shops are the curse of this country; no good ever can come of them,
and the evil they do no tongue can tell.... I wish the man who made the
law to open them had to keep all the families that they have brought to
ruin."
Again he writes, "Certain neighbors of mine laugh at me for being a
teetotaller, and I might well laugh at them for being drunk, only I feel
more inclined to cry that they should be such fools."
Mrs. Spurgeon's "Book Fund"[1] is well known. In the summer of 1875 Mr.
Spurgeon published the first volume of "Lectures to My Students." His
wife, feeling that they would do great good, desired to place them in
the hands of ministers. Speaking to her husband about it, he said. "Why
not do so? _How much will you give?_"
She had been keeping for years all the crown-pieces which came in her
way; and on counting them, found that she had just enough to send away
one hundred copies of the book. Others learned of this work, and were
glad to aid it.
During the fifteen years since the Book Fund was started, up to 1890,
there have been distributed by Mrs. Spurgeon to needy ministers of all
denominations, a hundred and twenty-two thousand one hundred and
twenty-nine volumes, largely Mr. Spurgeon's sermons, "The Treasury of
David," and other works. The books of other authors have also been used.
Besides books, clothing and other needed things have been sent to
ministers whose salary was the meager sum of sixty-five pounds per
annum, or less. One village pastor for twenty years had received but
sixty pounds yearly, and sometimes only forty-five pounds. Some had not
purchased a new book in several years, and wrote back most thankful
letters.
The money for this work has been furnished by the very poor as well as
the rich. After the death of a woman who had had a struggle to support
herself by her needle, more than two pounds, all in three-penny pieces,
were found wrapped up in a drawer "dedicated to the Lord's work under
the hand of Mrs. Spurgeon."
Mr. Spurgeon had suffered from rheumatism for many years, and had been
obliged sometimes in winter to go to Mentone, in the South of France. In
the middle of May, 1891, he had an attack of _la grippe_, from which,
after a serious illness, he seemed to rally; but this was only
temporary.
On all sides there was the greatest interest and sympathy. The Prince of
Wales, Gladstone, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Chief Rabbi Hermann
Adler, and scores of the highest in the land, all religious sects, all
classes, sent letters or telegrams, to hear about the distinguished
sufferer. Gladstone wrote of his "cordial admiration, not only of his
splendid powers, but still more of his devoted and unfailing character."
And Spurgeon added to the letter sent back by his wife, July 18, 1891,
these lines, "Yours is a word of love such as those only write who have
been into the King's country, and have seen much of His face--My heart's
love to you."
Mr. Spurgeon was always an admirer of Mr. Gladstone, which was heartily
reciprocated. In the year 1880 the former took, for him, an unusually
active part in politics. Having to preach for a friend, the Rev. John
Offord, Mr. Spurgeon said to him, "I should have been here a quarter of
an hour sooner, only I stopped to vote."
"My dear friend," said Offord, "I thought you were a citizen of the New
Jerusalem, and not of this world."
"So I am," was the reply; "but I have an old man in me yet, and he is a
citizen of the world."
"But you ought to mortify him."
"So I do; for he's an old Tory, and I make him vote Liberal," replied
Spurgeon.
In the autumn of 1891, the month of October, the preacher started for
Mentone, his friends singing the Doxology as he left Hearne Hill
Station, London. "Baron Rothschild's private saloon-carriage was placed
at Mr. Spurgeon's service to travel in throughout France to Mentone."
Mr. Spurgeon grew better in the warm climate for a time, and wrote back
letters to his church. He soon failed, however; and on the last day of
January, 1892, on Sunday, at five minutes past eleven at night, at Hotel
Beau Rivage, he passed away. At half-past three he had been unable to
recognize his wife, or other friends. He grew weaker, and the end was
painless.
The next day the body was almost hidden from sight by the flowers sent
by friends. It was embalmed, sealed up in a leaden case, and this was
enclosed in a coffin of olive-wood. On it were the last Scripture words
uttered by Mr. Spurgeon to his secretary, Mr. J. W. Harrald, before his
death, "I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have
kept the faith."
After service, Thursday, Feb. 4, at the Scottish Church at Mentone, the
body was taken to London, where an immense crowd awaited its coming.
Through all of Tuesday, Feb. 9, the body lay in state in his beloved
Tabernacle. Friends had been requested not to send flowers, but to use
the money which they would have expended thus, for the Stockwell
Orphanage. Yet the body was covered with flowers notwithstanding the
request. Wednesday was spent in memorial services, the Tabernacle being
crowded until after midnight.
At eleven o'clock Thursday, the 11th, the public funeral service was
held. Deputations from sixty religious associations were present.
Members of the House of Commons, the Baroness Burdett-Coutts, bishops
and laity, all came to honor the distinguished preacher.
The boys of Stockwell Orphanage sang the last hymn announced by Mr.
Spurgeon before he became ill,--
"The sands of time are sinking,
The dawn of heaven breaks,
The summer morn I've sighed for,
The fair sweet morn awakes."
Dr. A. T. Pierson of the United States delivered an earnest address, and
the coffin was borne down the aisle, while the great congregation rose
and sang,--
"There is no night in Homeland."
Through four miles of streets, crowds lining the way, the large mourning
procession passed,--forty coaches and a vast number of private
carriages. Flags were at half-mast, bells were tolled, and houses were
draped with black.
At Stockwell Orphanage, on a raised platform covered with the emblems of
mourning, five hundred boys and girls, who had loved the great man, once
as poor as they, saw the solemn procession pass to the grave. Norwood
Cemetery, where none had been admitted save by ticket, was already
thronged. After a brief service, the Bishop of Rochester pronounced the
benediction, and the sorrowing crowd went back to their homes.
More than two years afterwards, March 21, 1894 the Rev. Thomas Spurgeon
was called to succeed his father at the Metropolitan Tabernacle.
The manifold work of Charles Haddon Spurgeon will go on forever,
through his books, and through those whose steps he has turned
heavenward.
Say not his work is done;
No deed of love or goodness ever dies,
But in the great hereafter multiplies:
Say it is just begun.