my body; but as my outward man perisheth, blessed be God my inward
man is renewed day by day. I have passed through deep waters since I
saw you, but they have not been permitted to overflow me; for when
the enemy came in like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord lifted up a
standard against him. The contest is nearly over, the prize of my
high calling is in view, and Jesus, my beloved Saviour, will soon,
very soon, present me faultless before the presence of the Divine
glory with exceeding joy."
"I am happy," said Mrs. Stevens, "to find you in such a calm ecstasy
in anticipation of the coming crisis. You have borne a living
testimony to the truth of religion, and now you can bear a dying
testimony to its excellence."
"My living testimony has been but feeble; it has not been so decided
as it ought to have been; I dare not think of it but with regret and
self-loathing. I have been an unprofitable servant, but I look for
redemption and for acceptance to Jesus the Mediator, whose blood
cleanseth from all sin."
"But it must give you some degree of satisfaction to look back and
see the fruits of your religion, though the fruit may not have been
so rich nor so fine as you could wish."
"It gives me pleasure to know that I have been kept from falling,
and that I shall soon be permitted to bow down in the presence of my
Lord, and offer to Him some expression of my ardent gratitude for
his great goodness to me; but I can derive no satisfaction from a
review of my own conduct. I am a sinner saved by grace."
"You are now," I observed, "near the end of your course, and I
suppose you would not willingly recommence your pilgrimage on earth."
"I would, Sir, cheerfully, if my Lord were to command me, but not
otherwise. I long to be with him. To give up my dear husband and
child occasioned a hard struggle, but I have been enabled to do it;
and now I am going home, and my Father is waiting to receive me."
We committed her departing spirit to the Lord Jesus, and prayed for
her husband and her child; then returned to Fairmount, where the
news of her decease reached us within the space of an hour. After
we left she had spoken but seldom, lying with her eyes closed, but,
from the occasional motion of her lips, it was evident that she was
much engaged in prayer. At length she said, "I feel a change which I
cannot describe--is this death?--how easy it is! The king of terrors
is transformed into an angel of deliverance. I shall soon see the
King, the Lord of hosts in his beauty. I am entering the valley, but
there is no darkness. I see the shadow of death, but feel no sting."
After a short pause, during which her spirit seemed to be gathering
up its strength for the final departure, she embraced her husband
and her child for the last time; and, having solemnly commended them
to God, she reclined her head on the pillow, and expired. Precious
in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints, and their
decease is often precious in the sight of men. Yes, their composure
when bidding farewell to their endeared relatives, and their
joyful anticipations when in the act of passing into the unseen
world, often produce such a powerful effect on the spectators of
their exit, that many who contemn their religious principles, have
retired from the solemn scene, saying, "Let me die the death of the
righteous, and may my last end be like his."
Mrs. Allen's long affliction had so impoverished her husband, that
he was not able to meet the expenses of her funeral; but such was
the esteem in which her character was held, that a subscription
for the purpose was immediately raised. I had often seen the city
funeral, where the simplicity of nature is sacrificed to pompous
show. The mourning coaches, the hearse decorated with plumes, and
drawn by horses clothed in black, the hireling mourners, who make
a mockery of grief--these may, by their sombrous appearance, throw
a momentary gloom over the spirits, but rarely, if ever, produce
a deep moral impression on the heart. I had now to witness, in a
village funeral, a very different scene.
The ancient custom of burying the dead in the evening, which still
lingers in some parts of the country, prevailed in this village. I
left Fairmount, in company with Mr. Stevens and Mr. Lewellin, about
five o'clock, the eighth day after her decease; and we were both
astonished and pleased by seeing Farmer Pickford on the road before
us. When we came up with him I saluted him.
"What, Farmer, are you going to the funeral?"
"Yes, Sir; my mistress wished it, as she mainly liked Mrs. Allen;
and I felt a bit inclined to pay a little respect to her memory,
because I once made sport of her religion; but I am now satisfied
that it is of the right sort."
"It is so. It gives comfort on a bed of sickness and pain, and it
fits a person to die well--to die with a full expectation of going
to heaven; that is, of going home."
"It's a main good thing, and no mistake, when we are turned out of
one home, to have another to go to."
"And that _other_ home _heaven_, which I hope, Farmer, will be your
home at last and for ever."
"The Lord grant that it may be so. I often pray a bit about it; but
my prayers are but poor prayers, worse luck. I can't pray like you."
"You can pray, like the publican, 'God be merciful to me a sinner.'"
"Ay, that's the prayer for me. I can pray that prayer, and feel it
too."
Almost immediately after we had reached the cottage, a neat oak
coffin, bearing the name and age of the deceased, was brought out,
and placed on two stools in the centre walk of the garden. A band
of singers from the church choir took the lead in the procession,
then the bearers of the coffin, two and two, a lad walking on each
side with a stool, to afford an occasional resting; then the chief
mourners--the widowed husband and his little boy; some relatives,
and a few poor friends, walked behind; and many of the villagers
attended as spectators. As the bier entered the vale that divides
the two parishes, the singers sang the following hymn:--
"Hear what the voice from heaven proclaims
For all the pious dead;
Sweet is the savour of their names,
And soft their sleeping bed.
"They die in Jesus, and are bless'd;
How still their slumbers are!
From suff'rings and from sins releas'd,
And freed from ev'ry snare.
"Far from this world of toil and strife,
They're present with the Lord;
The labours of their mortal life
End in a large reward."
The effect was solemn and impressive. As soon as the hymn was sung,
the bier stood still, and the bearers rested; when the thrush
and the yellow hammer, roused by the music, poured forth their
melodious notes, as though anxious to prolong the song. The number
of spectators increased as we advanced; all were serious, some wept;
and when we turned into the lane which led up to the church, another
hymn was sung, in accents more bold, but equally melodious with the
former:--
"O for an overcoming faith,
To cheer my dying hours,
To triumph o'er the monster Death,
And all his frightful pow'rs!
"Joyful, with all the strength I have,
My quiv'ring lips shall sing,
'Where is thy boasted vict'ry, Grave?
And where the monster's sting?'
"If sin be pardon'd, I'm secure;
Death hath no sting beside;
The law gives sin its damning pow'r;
But Christ, my ransom, died.
"Now to the God of victory
Immortal thanks be paid,
Who makes us conqu'rors while we die,
Through Christ, our living Head."
The venerable rector met the procession on its entering the
burial-ground, and walked before it up the pathway leading to the
church, reading, as he walked, the thrilling words of inspiration:
"I am the resurrection and the life." The corpse was taken into the
middle aisle of the church, and placed on a raised platform; the
concourse of people attending seated themselves in the different
pews, and listened with devout seriousness to the appointed lessons
and portions of the Scripture, which Mr. Ingleby read in very
impressive tones. When he had finished, the corpse was carried
forth to the place of sepulture; where, after the rest of the
burial-service was performed, it was deposited till the morning of
the resurrection. When Robert and his little boy looked down into
the grave which had just received the remains of her they loved,
they wept, and returned to their house of mourning, cast down, yet
animated by a hope of a reunion in the celestial world.
I stole away from the crowd, which was pressing round the grave
to take the last look of the coffin, that I might indulge my
reflections in solitude. Death was the theme of my meditation.
Humiliating theme! How calculated to bring down the lofty spirit of
pride, to extinguish the flame of ambition, to hush the contentions
of discord!
A thrilling horror came over my spirit as I anticipated my own
decease. I felt attached to life, and my nature recoiled in prospect
of losing it. The lengthened sickness; the parting tear; the final
farewell; the unknown pains of dying; the solemn anticipations of an
immediate entrance into another world; the interment of my body in
the cold, damp earth; the sighs of my bereaved widow and fatherless
children; all rushed in upon my fancy. Never did the communication
which the Redeemer once made to the mourner of Bethany appear so
beautiful as at this moment: "I am the resurrection, and the life:
he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet he shall live: and
whosoever liveth, and believeth in me, shall never die." It was the
light of life and the vision of immortality bursting in upon the
empire of death; elevating my soul above the desolation around me,
to look for the Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ, "who shall change
our vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto his glorious body,
according to the working whereby he is able even to subdue all
things unto himself."
I did not leave the church-yard till the shadows of evening
reminded me of the lateness of the hour, and of my having left my
friends, who were waiting for me at the rectory. When I entered the
study, the venerable rector said, "I am happy, Sir, to see you once
more on this side the grave; I shall be more happy to see you on
the other side; but before that blessed interview can take place,
two graves must be opened, and we both must pass through the dark
valley of the shadow of death. My grave-yard is much richer than it
was when I commenced my labours in this parish; and in walking round
it, my eye catches sight of monuments which bring to my recollection
some with whom I have taken sweet counsel, and who will be, I have
no doubt, my crown of rejoicing in the presence of the Lord Jesus
Christ at his coming. They are now resting from their labours, and
I shall soon rest from mine; and then we shall appear before the
throne of God together, and serve him day and night in his temple,
and for ever."
"You uniformly speak," said Mr. Stevens, "with confidence of your
final salvation, but every disciple of Christ cannot do so; for I
have noticed, within the limited circle of my Christian fellowship,
great variation of mental feeling as the hour of departure has been
drawing near. Some I have seen in solemn rapture when anticipating
death; a sweet calmness of spirit in others; while in many I have
known hope and fear alternately prevail. And though we may possibly
trace up this varying state of feeling as death approaches, to
physical causes, yet should we not contemplate the sovereignty
of God at this crisis, who gives what portion of consolation he
pleases?"
"I think the sovereignty of God is as conspicuous in the dying
chamber as in the temple of grace; yet the Scriptures lead us to
believe that there is an ordained, if not a natural connection
between an eminently holy life and an eminently peaceful death.
Hence the apostle, after enforcing on his readers the cultivation
of the graces of the Christian character, concludes by saying,
'Wherefore the rather, brethren, give diligence to make your calling
and election sure: for if ye do these things, ye shall never fall:
for so an entrance shall be ministered unto you abundantly into
the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.' I
have a funeral sermon, published by the Rev. Mr. Jay, which I have
read with much satisfaction, particularly the following passage:
'The confidence of the people of God generally increases as death
approaches. Hence Isaiah compares their peace to a river; for as
a river rolls deeper and wider as it hastens to the sea, so their
peace commonly becomes more solid and more extensive as they draw
near eternity. In this view the change which Dr. Goodwin experienced
was remarkable. "Is this dying?" exclaimed he, a little before he
expired. "Is this what, for so many years, I have been dreading? Oh!
how precious does the righteousness of the Saviour now appear!--He
cannot love me better than he does; and I think I cannot love him
better than I do." This is not a solitary instance. How many have
we ourselves seen who wept upon the mountains of Zion, but rejoiced
in the valley of the shadow of death; whose harps, long before
hung upon the willows, were taken down, and delightfully used in
singing the Lord's song in the most strange part of all the strange
land! We cannot always account for things as effects, which yet
we are compelled by observation and testimony to admit as facts.
But the case before us sufficiently explains itself. The love of
life having, from the will of God, no longer now any purposes to
answer, is suffered to die away. By drawing near the better country,
we feel something of its influence, as the perfumes of Arabia the
Happy are blown into the neighbouring provinces. Above all, there
is now more of the simplicity of faith. During life some degree
of legality attaches to all our performances. Doing continually
intermingles with believing; and often, insensibly to ourselves, we
are anxious to make ourselves better, to _entitle_ us to the divine
favour, or to find something in ourselves wherein to _hope_, if not
whereof to glory before God. But all this is now over. What can the
believer do when dying? What qualifications can he then acquire?
What attainments can he then propose? "Let him look back upon a
well-spent life." This is impossible. Every review which he takes
of himself is humbling. The very sins of his holy duties would
drive him to despair. One resource remains--one, only one, which is
always equal to our relief--one whose consolation is only hindered
from flowing in to us by the want of simplicity of mind; it is
looking by faith to the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the
world; it is to commit implicitly the soul to him. He is able also
to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him, seeing he
ever liveth to make intercession for them.'"
"I am fond of visiting the sick and the dying," said Mr. Lewellin.
"When with them, I feel the truth of religion. The terror which
seizes on the spirit of an infidel in his last moments, and the
rapture which glows in the breast of the expiring Christian, are
equally impressive and instructive. I have seen the unbeliever
tremble as the footsteps of death have been heard; his face has
turned pale through fear, or it has been beclouded by despair. I
have heard him utter the most piercing cries; send forth heavy
sighs and groans--the speechless messengers of woe; I have heard
him reproach himself in the strongest language for his folly and
his guilt, in having passed through life an enemy to the faith of
Christ; and I have seen him expire in unutterable anguish. I have
also seen the believer, calm and enraptured. I have heard the music
of his soul becoming more soft and enchanting as the vital spirit
has languished in his frame. I have listened while he has given
utterance to his holy aspirations and blissful anticipations; but I
have never heard one express any regret for his attachment to the
doctrines of the gospel. I have never known one willing to renounce
his faith, or give up his hope, in prospect of death."
"Nor I," said Mr. Ingleby; "and this circumstance is a strong
evidence in favour of the adaptation of the gospel to our moral
condition. Infidelity may contemn the faith of Christ, and hold up
its friends to scorn, but she is faithless; for when her disciples
want her comfort in their last hours, she generally leaves them as
victims whom she has fitted for destruction, that she may mingle
among the gay and the dissipated, to prepare _them_ also for the
pangs of the second death."
It was late before we left the rectory, and in passing the now
desolated cottage, we saw light in the room, and on knocking at the
door, we gained admittance. "Well, Robert," said Mr. Stevens, "you
are not yet gone to bed."
"No, Sir; if I go to bed, I don't think that I shall sleep. I
thought when my wife lay so ill, and suffered so much, that I should
be willing to give her up to the Lord, if he would take her; but now
she is gone, I feel my loss. No man can tell what death is till it
comes. I love to think of her, for she was a good wife, and a good
mother; and I should like to talk to her; but now if I go into the
room, I find that I am alone; and this chills my heart. My boy tries
to comfort me, but, poor fellow, he wants a comforter as well as I;
for he loved his mother."
"But God can support you under your trial; for he has said, 'Call
upon me in the day of trouble: I will deliver thee, and thou shalt
glorify me.'"
"Oh, yes; he does support me, and he has given me a spirit of
resignation to his holy will; but, Sir, nature can't help feeling."
"But I do not suppose you would recall her from heaven, even if you
were permitted."
"Why, Sir, it gives me pleasure to think that while I am mourning
here below, she is happy and at rest in heaven; but if I were
permitted to recall her, I am sure I should be tempted to do it;
for she always tried to make me happy. She is gone, never more to
return. In looking into her drawer, since we came back home, I found
these papers, which I have just been reading."
Finding they were in Mrs. Allen's writing, I afterwards borrowed
them, and having transcribed a copy of one, I here insert it. It was
dated three months before her decease:--
"I have just been favoured with a singular manifestation of the
loving-kindness of my Saviour. He has taken away the guilt of all
my sins. He has removed all my doubts. He has given me peace, and
has enabled me to resign my husband and child to his care. He will
soon take me to himself. As I have felt at times great depression,
and may in my last moments be unable to speak of his doings, I now
record in writing what will not be seen till after I have seen him.
I die a guilty and worthless sinner, depending on his death for
salvation; and can say that I die in full and certain hope of a
joyful resurrection to eternal life.
"SARAH ALLEN.
"DEAR WIDOWED HUSBAND,--Before you see this, I shall have passed
through the valley, and joined the redeemed above. While you are
weeping I shall be rejoicing; yet, if the spirits of the glorified
are suffered to visit their earthly friends, I will often come and
hover over you and the dear motherless child. Follow me as far as I
followed Christ. Farewell, till we meet in glory.--Yours, for ever."
MISS ROSCOE WITHDRAWS FROM GAY LIFE.
As Miss Roscoe was sitting one evening with her parents, the
conversation turned in the following manner:--
"I have just received," said Mr. Roscoe, "an invitation from Mr.
Denham to attend a private ball at his house; and he hopes that you,
my dear Sophia, will accompany me and your mamma. I fear, from some
incidental remarks which you have made at different times, that such
amusements have lost their charm; but I hope that your good sense
has overcome your scruples, and that you will not hesitate to comply
with my request. I ask it as a personal favour."
"Yes, my dear," said Mrs. Roscoe, "I hope you will; your father
and I have had much conversation together on the subject, and we
both think you can do it and be very religious too. You know that
religion is not to deprive us of any enjoyments. Indeed, I think
when such religious people as we have always been indulge ourselves
in these fashionable amusements, we do more to recommend religion
than such austere professors as our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Stevens."
To which Miss Roscoe replied: "I certainly think that religious
people ought to recommend religion by their cheerfulness and their
pleasantry, as well as by their strict moral deportment; but I do
not see how that religion, which requires us to avoid a conformity
to the vain customs of the world, can be recommended by a compliance
with them. If we do as others do, we shall be thought like them; and
I am sure, from my personal knowledge, that those who find pleasure
in balls and theatrical amusements are as averse to the religion of
the Bible as those who openly and avowedly reject it."
"My dear," said Mrs. Roscoe, "I hope you do not intend to say that
all who avail themselves of such recreations are destitute of
religion. I do not like such sweeping charges. You would condemn
some of the most amiable and virtuous persons living!"
"A person may be amiable without being religious, and virtuous,
even while he rejects as fabulous that scheme of salvation which
we admit to be true. If, then, we admit it to be true, does it not
become us, if we wish to preserve consistency, to conform ourselves
to its _preceptive_ parts? And does it not require us to become a
peculiar people? And in what can that peculiarity be manifested but
by an entire avoidance of the habits and customs which the world
sanctions? You know, mamma, that I often acted a most prominent part
in these scenes of fashionable gaiety, and that I intermingled with
the indiscriminate throng, participating in the glow of feeling
enkindled in their breast, and am, therefore, intimately familiar
with the moral qualities and the religious sentiments of those who
derive their highest gratification from such sources; and while I
would proceed with great caution in invading the province of the
heart, yet it is my decided opinion that no person who has ever
felt the transforming influence of divine truth can sanction them."
Mr. Roscoe remarked: "I grant, my Sophia, that a superior mind will
look with indifference on such frivolous amusements, and that many
who resort to them are impelled more by custom than inclination; yet
I do not perceive that they can injure the religious tone of the
mind. I have been as firm a believer in the divine origin of the
Bible, and the mission and death of our Saviour, after my return
from a ball, as before I went, though I confess my time could have
been more profitably occupied."
"And I am sure," said Mrs. Roscoe, "that I have felt as religious
at the opera as ever I felt at church; my heart has been elated
with gratitude to the Almighty for permitting us to enjoy such
recreations."
"I do not suppose, my dear father, that going to a ball or the opera
would shake your belief in the divine mission of Jesus Christ; but I
presume that you do not imagine that He would attend them if He were
on earth! and ought a disciple to go where his Lord would not go?
I grant that _that_ religion which consists only in a speculative
belief may not be injured by such amusements; but I am conscious
that they produce and nourish sentiments and feelings which are
not only unconsonant, but directly opposed to the spirit of vital
Christianity. I could not pass from the gaieties of a ball-room to
anticipate the happiness of heaven, nor retire, after the fatigues
of a lengthened dance, to hold spiritual communion with the Holy
One."
"But where," said Mrs. Roscoe, "is the necessity of being always
religious? Is the world to be turned into a convent, and are we all
to become either nuns or monks--forbidden to taste of any of the
pleasures of life, and doomed to perpetual fastings and prayers?
What! religion every day, and all day long! Why, my Sophia, your
remarks alarm me."