THE HOME GOING.
Flash from our eyes, the glow of our thanksgiving,
Glad and regretful, confident and calm,
Then thro’ all life, and what is after living,
Thrill to the tireless music of a psalm.
Yea thro’ life, death, thro’ sorrow and thro’ sinning
He shall suffice me, for He hath sufficed,
Christ is the end, for Christ was the beginning,
Christ the beginning, for the end was Christ.
MYERS, _St. Paul_.
His thoughts again turn to the brevity of life, and he naturally
questions himself as to how much longer he will be able to go on with
the work he loves. These young souls in his care, whom he is trying
to nurture as a wise and tender shepherd, will they remain faithful?
He listens to the noise of war and strife, and prays for the time
when peace shall come to India and Christianity will have many loyal
witnesses, and the people will depart from darkness and see the light
of life.
“How much longer,” he writes, “God may permit me to occupy my station
is known to Him alone. My times are in His hands. He has heard my
unworthy prayer that I may not become quite useless in old age....
A few months ago I seemed standing on the banks of eternity, being
suddenly seized with a painful oppression on my chest. I consider it as
a summons from my Lord to hold myself in readiness at whatsoever hour
He may come.... I look upon this sudden illness as a kind monitor to
teach me that my gracious Lord will soon call me away. May I be able
to say, ‘Come, Lord Jesus!’ You see then that I shall soon quit this
world. A blessed eternity is now the daily subject of my meditations.
How awful is this change! Blessed be God Who hath sent us a Redeemer,
who has borne our sins and purchased eternal happiness for all who,
being sensible of their sins, ‘flee to Him for refuge.’ If we are
reconciled to God by that blessed Redeemer we have no reason to be
afraid of dying and quitting this world. Our whole life ought to be a
preparation for death. May God give us grace to die to sin and the evil
of the world, and to live to His glory, that when He calls us away, we
may be prepared for that great change! To look up to the glorious state
of the blessed in heaven is, and will be, a strong preservative of a
true Christian.”
Such thoughts as these are common to people, especially the old, as
they look heavenward.
The golden evening brightens in the west,
Soon, soon to faithful warriors cometh rest;
Sweet is the calm of paradise the blest.
When Henry Martyn was travelling in India in 1811, a Captain Kinsey,
who had been brought up by Schwartz, told him: “It is said that
Schwartz had a warning given him of his death. One clear moonlight
night he saw a light and heard a voice which said to him, ‘Follow me.’
He got up and went to the door, here the vision vanished. The next
day he sent for Dr. Anderson, and said, ‘An old tree must fall.’ On
the doctor’s perceiving that there was nothing the matter with him,
Schwartz asked him whether he perceived any disorder in his intellect,
to which the doctor replied, ‘No.’ He and General Floyd (now in
Ireland), another friend of Schwartz, came and stayed with him. The
next fifteen days he was continually engaged in devotion and attended
no more to the school; on the last day he died in his chair.”
He wrote his last letter to the Secretary of the Society for Promoting
Christian Knowledge on the 4th September, 1797, in which, with his
clear, business-like attention to details, he speaks of the stores
and presents, and gratefully thanks the good friends in England for
all the generous support they had given to the work, and this he does
for all the brethren who are his comrades and fellow-workers in the
field. God had graciously preserved their lives and health so that he
was still able to go through his accustomed work, though with less
vigour than heretofore. He added that should his life be prolonged, he
intended to give a full account of the mission at the end of the year,
and concluded with a prayer that God would prosper the work of their
revered superiors. He evidently looked forward later on to a detailed
report of his stewardship, and the position and future prospects of the
mission. But God disposed otherwise.
A month after dispatching this letter he was taken ill with hoarseness
and a sudden cold, and his old friend, Dr. Kennedy, hastened to his
side and gave him all the relief possible. But his sickness was
very distressing, and he had to endure much pain. It was a comfort
to him that his colleague, Mr. Kohlhoff, was present during this
indisposition, and on the 4th November, 1797, he was further cheered by
the unexpected arrival of the Rev. J. D. Jaenické, his beloved helper.
Although greatly weakened and sometimes suffering so much that he cried
once: “If it be the will of the Lord to take me to Himself, His will
be done. May His name be praised!” He never showed any impatience,
and his mind was at peace. He was able to sit up still, and asked
that the Sunday School children should gather in his parlour and
sing their hymns to him, and then he gave them a little talk on some
Bible subject, and commended their young hearts and lives to God in a
touching prayer. This was the usual practice every evening, and when
the native children had gone home he called the English boys and girls
to come near to him to read their chapter, and then join in singing
their favourite Watts’ hymns. One of which he was very fond, and called
his beloved hymn, began with the words:
Far from my thoughts, vain world, begone,
Let my religious hours alone,
Fain would mine eyes my Saviour see,
I wait a visit, Lord, from Thee.
At other times the natives came in to see their friend, and with much
earnestness and love he begged of them to forsake all their heathen
gods and wickedness, and turn to God, Who alone could give them peace.
They listened deeply affected, and sometimes they tried to cheer
and interest him by speaking of the latest news in the town and the
wonderful things which were happening. But the old man said, “The
most wonderful thing is that after hearing so often the doctrines
of Christianity and being convinced of the truth of it, you are
notwithstanding backward to embrace and obey it.”
A distinguished Indian came to see him and inquire after his health,
but the sick man exhorted him also to renounce his idolatry, beseeching
him as he went away to repent, and bidding him farewell with the words
of solemn warning, “I have often exhorted and warned you, but you have
hitherto disregarded it, you esteem and honour the creature more than
the Creator.” But among these touching interviews a special interest
attaches to the occasion when Serfogee Rajah came to visit his old
friend. He had arrived at a time when Schwartz was feeling seriously
ill, and the visitor was brought into the room with the sense that the
invalid was not going to remain long. This greatly upset the heart of
the visitor, who loved Schwartz more than he loved any living man,
for he was indebted to him, not only for his position on the throne
of Tanjore, but for many kindnesses and words of wisdom. In broken
language, and very feebly, Schwartz gave what he felt was his dying
charge to the young ruler. His closing admonition was in these words:
“After God has called me hence, I request you will be careful not to
indulge a fondness for pomp and grandeur. You are convinced that my
endeavours to serve you have been disinterested. What I now request you
is, that you will be kind to the Christians--if they behave ill, let
them be punished, but if they do well show yourself to them as their
father and protector.
“As the due administration of justice is indispensably necessary
for the prosperity and happiness of every state, I request you will
establish regular courts, and be careful that impartial justice be
administered. I heartily wish you would renounce your idolatry and
serve and honour the only true God. May He be merciful and enable you
to do it.”
Before Serfogee left his presence he was implored to make the Bible
his guide and friend. He lifted his hands to heaven, and with great
solemnity uttered slowly these words: “My last and most earnest wish
is that God in His infinite mercy may graciously regard you and lead
your heart and soul to Christ, that I may meet you again as His true
disciple before the throne.”
This last visit and its fatherly and pathetic counsels would never be
forgotten. When December came the two doctors consulted as to the best
remedy, and decided to give the patient tincture of steel and infusion
of bark, and this had the desired effect. For a time there seemed
signs of improvement, and his friends congratulated one another on the
chance of his recovery. On the first Sunday in Advent the Sacrament
of the Holy Communion was administered to him to his great profit
and blessing. It was, however, a sorrow to find that while his more
painful symptoms had abated it was only too evident that his illness
had affected his memory and enfeebled his mind. Things relating to
this world had become of lessening interest, while eternity became
nearer and more real. One of the favourite books with Schwartz had been
Young’s “Night Thoughts,” and these poems were a refreshing memory to
him now. He now busied himself with putting in order his papers, and
amongst them was an old letter which awakened afresh his interest in
missions. His comment to his friends was:
“Early this morning I happened to meet with a letter of my late pious
friend--which he addressed to you in 1788, and which was then forwarded
to me. He says in it, ‘Ought not my son to be a missionary? O, how
ardently do I pray that God will not forsake His work now that he
has opened to our times a wider field than heretofore! If God cause
His Spirit to rest on both my sons they shall hereafter prove active
labourers in His vineyard.’
“Now, if this son of my deceased friend has natural gifts and grace--if
he have a desire to preach Christ among the heathen, I beg you to send
him out at my expense. And if I should be called away by the Lord
before his arrival, my brethren will make it good out of the property I
leave. The mission is my heir. Our hope standeth in the Lord, Who made
heaven and earth. May He be merciful to us and provide His work to His
own glory.... I feel my weakness more and more--how long the Lord will
yet preserve and use me rests with Him. My times are in His hands. May
He be merciful to me and grant me at last a blessed end. Amen.”
On the 2nd February, 1798, Mr. Jaenické felt it his duty to write to
the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge informing them that
his friend and venerable colleague was now very seriously ill and
would never preach again. The time of his departure was evidently
drawing near. Looking round upon the faces of the old friends who
one by one were gathering at his bedside, he smiled saying, “God is
good. If we were left destitute of His help what should we do? We poor
worms of the dust! Our times are in His hands; He alone can preserve
or destroy life. Hitherto He hath endured our manners with truly
paternal tenderness, hath spared us in the midst of all our sins and
provocations, and crowned us with loving kindness and tender mercies.”
At another time the conversation turned upon the mercy of God in having
called him to be a missionary, which he said was the most blessed
service in the world. “True,” he added, “a missionary must bear the
cross; but this, my brother, is salutary, the heart is thereby drawn
nearer to God, we are kept humble; without such trials the self-willed
and proud heart of man would soon exalt itself. The good we receive
at the hand of the Lord far exceeds the evil. When I consider all the
way which God hath hitherto led me, the distresses from which He hath
delivered my soul, and the riches of His goodness and forbearance and
long suffering, I feel compelled gratefully to exclaim, ‘The Lord be
magnified!’ Believe me, it is a privilege and happiness far beyond
all description to enjoy in Christ the remission of sin. Ah, how much
hath my Saviour done for such a poor sinner as I am! Look at this poor
Christian (he pointed to one sitting at the gate), how poor he is in
the things of this world, whilst I have every needful supply, and even
many a comfort! What is my superiority over him? Suppose he should have
committed one thousand sins, I am conscious of having committed ten
thousand, and yet my God still bears with me. And should I ever think
myself entitled to despise a poor man like this?”
Schwartz was the beloved of his people. When during a temporary
improvement in his condition he was able slowly to enter his Church
once more, which he had built in his garden, the native Christians
received him with raptures of joy, running up to him, eager to hold
his hand and look into his face again. When Mr. Caemmerer had to say
good-bye in order to resume his work, Schwartz embraced him with much
tenderness. “I will detain you no longer, my brother,” said he; “set
out on your journey in the name of God, and may He be with you! As to
myself I commit all my concerns to our gracious God. Whether I live, I
live unto the Lord; or whether I die, I die unto the Lord. Salute the
brethren most cordially. The God of peace be with them. Not knowing
how long it may please God to preserve our lives, let us be up and
doing. Though we should not always be privileged immediately to see the
success of our labours let us still persevere, so long as God may allow
us to work in His vineyard.”
The disease in his foot, which had been for years a trouble to him,
was causing him great pain, but a native doctor, in the absence of his
English physician, used some poultice remedies which gave the patient
relief. For this he was very grateful, and gaining a little strength
he was able to say a few parting words to his friend, Mr. Holtzberg.
“Remember me affectionately to all the brethren and tell them from me
never to lose sight of the _main object_, and strictly to maintain the
fundamental doctrines of Christianity. I shall now soon depart to the
Lord Jesus. If He will receive me, and forgive my sins and not enter
into judgment with me, but deal with me according to His tender mercy,
all will be well with me, and I shall praise Him. He might reject us
for our very works’ sake because sin cleaves to them all.” It was a
source of thankfulness to him that in this last hour of his life he
was surrounded by his beloved brethren, who he said so much comforted
his spirits. Again and again at his request they sang verses of his
favourite hymns, one of them being,
“Allein zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ,”
of which the two closing verses are, in English:
And of Thy grace on me bestow
True Christian faith, O Lord,
That all the sweetness I may know,
That in Thy cross is stored,
Love Thee o’er earthly pride or pelf,
And love my neighbour as myself;
And when at last is come my end,
Be Thou my friend,
From all assaults my soul defend.
Glory to God in highest Heaven,
The Father of all love,
To His dear Son, for sinners given,
Whose grace we daily prove;
To God the Holy Ghost we cry
That we may find His comfort nigh
And learn how, free from sin and fear,
To please Him here,
And serve Him in the sinless sphere.
His friend, Mr. Jaenické, goes aside to note down some of his dying
instructions, a touching memorandum of an affectionate and breaking
heart.
“When I spoke to him on the subject and expressed a hope that God might
yet restore him to health, he said, ‘But I should not be able to preach
on account of my teeth.’ I replied, ‘If you only sit here as you do
at present and aid us with your counsel, all things would go on quite
differently from what they would if you were to leave us.’ But when I
next saw him, he said as soon as I entered, ‘I think the Lord will at
last take me to himself.’ I spoke to him a great deal on the subject,
but he remained silent, settled some pecuniary matters with me, and
gave me some money for Palamcotta. All this troubled me much. I prayed
and wept, could get no sleep for several nights, and lost my appetite
and strength, for various thoughts how things would go on after his
departure made me very wakeful. The physicians say there is no danger
as yet, but it now appears to me that our dear father will soon leave
us. O, if God would graciously strengthen him and spare him to us yet a
little while! If he depart to his rest what shall we both do?”
He was not to come back, already voices were calling from the other
side of the river. One thought only filled the sphere of his dying
moments, to be with Christ, which is far better. He wakes up from a
brief slumber with these words on his lips:
“My whole meditation is the death of Jesus, that I may be like Him. The
whole world is a mask. I wish to be where all is real.”
The English physician is leaning over him and catches his whisper,
“Doctor, in heaven there will be no more pain.” In a quiet tone he
replies, “Very true, but we must keep you here as long as we can.”
There is a pause, and then the earnest voice speaks again, “O, dear
doctor, let us take care that we may not be missing there!”
And now they gather round once more, and at his request they sing, with
such voice as they could command amid their sobs, his favourite hymn:
“Christus der ist mein Leben.”
With clasped hands they hear him commending his soul to God. “O, Lord,
hitherto Thou hast preserved me, hitherto Thou hast brought me, and
hast bestowed innumerable benefits upon me. Do what is pleasing in Thy
sight. I deliver my spirit into Thy hands, cleanse, and adorn it with
the righteousness of my Redeemer, and receive me into the arms of Thy
love and mercy!” A little group of native servants softly sing a German
hymn, one of Paul Gerhardt’s, the words of which he had taught them in
that language:
“O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden.”
O Wounded Head! Must Thou
Endure such shame and scorn!
The blood is trickling from Thy brow,
Pierced by the crown of thorns.
Thou who was crowned on high
With light and majesty,
In deep dishonour here must die,
Yet here I welcome Thee!
The sunset of a winter afternoon shines on the windows of the chamber
where the watchers stand, their hands clasped behind them, and their
eyes full of tears. But there is light in the face on the pillow, the
breaking of a day beyond the horizon of time.
Tenderly raised a little in the arms of a friend, he murmurs a
parting blessing, “I wish you many comforts,” and is gone. On the day
following, the 14th February, 1798, they carried him to his grave in
the garden. Serfogee, crying like a child, hurried to have one last
look at the face of the one who had been more than father to him, and
covers the body with a cloth of gold. It was intended to sing a hymn as
the funeral made its way, but the lamentations and wailing of the great
crowd of poor natives made this impossible. The solemn burial service
was performed by Mr. Jaenické, and when this was over and the Europeans
had retired, the natives who filled the sacred building remained
praying and singing hymns. They begged of the minister to speak of
their departed friend, but his own heart was too full to give any
address. To use his own words, “I could hardly utter even a few words,
and was obliged to summon up all my resolution to read the service. The
servant of the deceased stood near me, and said, almost as if fainting,
‘Now, he who was the desire of us all is gone!’ This exclamation went
to my heart, but this is not the language of one but of many, old and
young, great and small, near and afar, Christians and heathen.”