controversy. Popular feeling had no influence over him; nor could he
submit to the opinions of the ancient fathers. His storehouse of
knowledge was limited to the revealed will of God, and there he found
ample material to guide his opinion. His work upon this subject is
called, Questions about the Nature and Perpetuity of the Seventh-day
Sabbath; and proof that the First Day of the Week is the Christian
Sabbath. It is one of the smallest of his volumes, but so weighty in
argument as never to have been answered.
We now arrive at the last year of his eventful and busy life, during
which he published six important volumes, and left twelve others in
manuscript, prepared for publication. A list of these will be found in
The Struggler;[318] they are upon the most important subjects, which
are very admirably treated. We notice among these, The Jerusalem Sinner
Saved, or Good News for the Vilest of Men. It is a specimen of
preaching calculated to excite the deepest interest, and afford the
strongest consolation to a soul oppressed with the sense of sin. Great
sinner! thou art called to mercy by name. Arise! shoulder thy way into
court through any crowd,—‘say, Stand away, devil; stand away all
discouragements; my Saviour calls me to receive mercy.’ In this
treatise, Bunyan has repeated from memory what he had read in some book
when in prison, four and twenty years before. It is a curious legend,
which he doubtless believed to be true, and it displays his most
retentive memory.[319] His poetry, like his prose, was not written to
gain a name, but to make a deep impression. One of his professed
admirers made a strange mistake when he called them doggerel
rhymes.[320] His Caution to Watch Against Sin is full of solemn and
impressive thoughts, the very reverse of doggerel or burlesque. his
poem on the house of God is worthy of a most careful perusal; and
thousands have been delighted and improved with his emblems. One rhyme
in the Pilgrim can never be forgotten—
‘He that is down need fear no fall;
He that is low no pride;
He that is humble ever shall
Have God to be his guide,’ &c.
The careful perusal of every one of his treatises, has excited in my
mind a much livelier interest than any other religious works which, in
a long life, have come under my notice. In fact, the works of Bunyan to
a country minister may be compared to a vast storehouse, most amply
replenished with all those solemn subjects which call for his prayerful
investigation; well arranged, ready of access, striking in their
simplicity, full of vivid ideas conveyed in language that a novice may
understand. They are all so admirably composed that pious persons,
whether in houses of convocation or of parliament, or the inmates of a
workhouse, may equally listen to them with increasing delight and
instruction. No man ever more richly enjoyed the magnificent language
of Job. He called it ‘that blessed book.’[321] The deep interest that
he took in its scenery may be traced through all his writings. His
spirit, with its mighty powers, grasped the wondrous truths so
splendidly pourtrayed in that most ancient book. The inspired writings,
which so eminently give wisdom to the simple, expanded his mind, while
his mental powers were strengthened and invigorated by his so deeply
drinking into the spirit of the inspired volume.
The time was drawing near when, in the midst of his usefulness, and
with little warning, he was to be summoned to his eternal rest. He had
been seriously attacked with that dangerous pestilence which, in former
years, ravaged this country, called the sweating sickness, a malady as
mysterious and fatal as the cholera has been in later times. The
disease was attended by great prostration of strength; but, under the
careful management of his affectionate wife, his health became
sufficiently restored to enable him to undertake a work of mercy; from
the fulfillment of which, as a blessed close to his incessant earthly
labour, he was to ascend to his Father and his God to be crowned with
immortality. A father had been seriously offended with his son, and had
threatened to disinherit him. To prevent the double mischief of a
father dying in anger with his child, and the evil consequence to the
child of his being cut off from his patrimony, Bunyan again ventured,
in his weak state, on his accustomed work, to win the blessings of the
peace-maker. He made a journey on horseback to Reading, it being the
only mode of travelling at that time, and he was rewarded with success.
Returning home by way of London to impart the gratifying intelligence,
he was overtaken by excessive rains, and, in an exhausted state, he
found a kindly refuge in the house of his Christian friend Mr.
Strudwick, and was there seized with a fatal fever. His much-loved
wife, who had so powerfully pleaded for his liberty with the judges,
and to whom he had been united thirty years, was at a great distance
from him. Bedford was then two days’ journey from London. Probably at
first, his friends had hopes of his speedy recovery; but when the
stroke came, all his feelings, and those of his friends, appear to have
been absorbed, by the anticipated blessings of immortality, to such an
extent, that no record is left as to whether his wife, or any of his
children, saw him cross the river of death. There is abundant testimony
of his faith and patience, and that the presence of God was eminently
with him.
He bore his trying sufferings with all the patience and fortitude that
might be expected from such a man. His resignation was most exemplary;
his only expressions were ‘a desire to depart, to be dissolved, to be
with Christ.’ His sufferings were short, being limited to ten days. He
enjoyed a holy frame of mind, desiring his friends to pray with him,
and uniting fervently with them in the exercise. His last words, while
struggling with death, were, ‘Weep not for me, but for yourselves. I go
to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who will, no doubt, through the
mediation of his blessed Son, receive me, though a sinner; where I hope
we ere long shall meet, to sing the new song, and remain everlastingly
happy, world without end. Amen.’ He felt the ground solid under his
feet in passing the black river which has no bridge, and followed his
pilgrim into the celestial city in August, 1688, in the sixtieth year
of his age. There is some uncertainty as to the day of his decease:
Charles Doe, in the Struggler, 1692, has August 31, and this has been
copied in all his portraits. In the life appended to the Grace
Abounding, 1692, his death-day is stated as August 12; and in the
memoir appended to the third part of the Pilgrim, also in 1692, the
date is August 17. The circumstances of his peaceful decease are well
compared by Dr. Cheever to the experience of Mr. Standfast, when he was
called to pass the river: the great calm—the firm footing—the address
to by-standers—until his countenance changed, his strong man bowed
under him, and his last words were, ‘Take me, for I come to thee.’ Then
the joy among the angels while they welcomed the hero of such spiritual
fights, and conducted his wandering soul to the New Jerusalem, which he
had so beautifully described as ‘the holy city’; and then his wonder
and amazement to find how infinitely short his description came to the
blissful reality.
The deep affliction that his church was plunged into led to several
special meetings. Wednesday, the 4th of September, ‘was kept in prayer
and humiliation for this heavy stroke upon us—the death of dear brother
Bunyan; it was appointed also, that Wednesday next be kept in prayer
and humiliation on the same account. At the meeting held on the 11th,
it was appointed that all the brethren meet together on the 18th of
this month, September, to humble themselves for this heavy hand of God
upon us, and also to pray unto the Lord for counsel and direction what
to do, in order to seek out for a fit person to make choice of for an
elder. On the 18th, when the whole congregation met to humble
themselves before God, by fasting and prayer, for his heavy and severe
stroke upon us in taking away our honoured brother Bunyan by death, it
was agreed by the whole congregation that care be taken to seek out for
one suitably qualified to be chosen an elder among us, and that care
was committed by the whole to the brethren at Bedford.’ Thus did the
church manifest that they had improved in wisdom under his ministry by
flying, in their extreme distress, to the only source of consolation.
The saddest feelings of sorrow extended to every place where he had
been known. His friend, the Rev. G. Cockayn, of London, says, ‘it
pleased the Lord to remove him, to the great loss and inexpressible
grief of many precious souls.’ Numerous elegies, acrostics, and poems
were published on the occasion of his decease, lamenting the loss thus
sustained by his country—by the church at large, and particularly by
the church and congregation at Bedford. One of these, ‘written by a
dear friend of his,’ is a fair sample of the whole:—
A SHORT ELEGY IN MEMORY OF MR. JOHN BUNYAN, WRITTEN BY A DEAR FRIEND OF
HIS.
The pilgrim traveling the world’s vast stage,
At last does end his weary pilgrimage:
He now in pleasant valleys does sit down,
And, for his toil, receives a glorious crown.
The storms are past, the terrors vanish all,
Which in his way did so affrighting fall;
He grieves nor sighs no more, his race is run
Successfully, that was so well begun.
You’ll say he’s dead: O no, he cannot die,
He’s only changed to immortality—
Weep not for him, who has no cause of tears;
Hush, then, your sighs, and calm your needless fears.
If anything in love to him is meant,
Tread his last steps, and of your sins repent:
If knowledge of things here at all remains
Beyond the grave, to please him for his pains
And suffering in this world; live, then, upright,
And that will be to him a grateful sight.
Run such a race as you again may meet,
And find your conversation far more sweet;
When purged from dross, you shall, unmix’d, possess
The purest essence of eternal bliss
‘He in the pulpit preached truth first, and then
He in his practice preached it o’er again.’
His remains were interred in Bunhill Fields, in the vault of his friend
Mr. Strudwick, at whose house he died. His tomb[322] has been visited
by thousands of pilgrims, blessing God for his goodness in raising up
such a man, so signally fitted to be a blessing to the times in which
he lived. All the accounts of his decease, published at the time, agree
as to his place of burial. The words of Mr. Doe, who probably attended
the funeral, are, ‘he was buried in the new burying-place, near the
artillery ground, where he sleeps to the morning of the
resurrection.’[323] His Life and Actions, 1692, records that ‘his
funeral was performed with much decency, and he was buried in the new
burying-ground by Moorfields.’ The Struggler calls it ‘Finsbury
burying-ground, where many London Dissenting ministers are laid.’[324]
Bunhill Fields burying-ground for Dissenters was first opened in 1666.
The inscription upon the tomb to his memory was engraven many years
after his funeral. It is not contained in the list of inscriptions
published in 1717. His widow survived him four years. He had six
children by his first wife, three of whom survived him—Thomas, Joseph,
and Sarah. His son Thomas joined his church in 1673, and was a preacher
in 1692. He appears to have been usefully employed in visiting absent
members until December 1718. My kind friend, the Rev. J. P. Lockwood,
rector of South Hackney, recently discovered entries in the register of
Kimbolton, in Huntingdonshire, probably of the descendants of this son,
Thomas. November 26, 1698, John Bonion and Mary Rogers, married: she
was buried, September 7, 1706; and he again married Anne, and buried
her in 1712, leaving a son and two daughters. His death is not
recorded. One of the descendants, Hannah Bunyan, died in 1770, aged
seventy-six years, and lies in the burial-ground by the meeting-house
at Bedford. John Bunyan’s son, Joseph, settled at Nottingham, and
marrying a wealthy woman, conformed to the Church. A lineal descendant
of his was living, in 1847, at Islington, near London, aged
eighty-four, Mrs. Senegar, a fine hearty old lady, and a Strict
Baptist. She said to me, ‘Sir, excuse the vanity of an old woman, but I
will show you how I sometimes spend a very pleasant half-hour.’ She
took down a portrait on canvas of her great forefather, and propped it
up on the table with a writing-desk, with a looking-glass by its side.
‘There, Sir, I look at the portrait, and then at myself, and can trace
every feature; we resemble each other like two pins.’ ‘Excepting the
imperial and moustachios,’ I replied; to which she readily assented. It
was the fact that there was a striking family likeness between the
picture and her reflection in the looking-glass. Another descendant,
from the same branch of the family, is now living at Lincoln. He was
born in 1775, and possessed a quarto Bible, published by Barker and
Bill in 1641, given by John Bunyan to his son Joseph. This was
preserved in his family until the present year, when it came into the
editor’s possession, with the following relics, which were, and I trust
will yet be preserved with the greatest care:—An iron pencase, made by
Bunyan the brazier, with some stumps of old pens, with which it is said
he wrote some of his sermons and books; the buckles worn by him, and
his two pocket-knives, one of them made before springs were invented,
and which is kept open by turning a ferrule; his apple-scoop, curiously
carved, and a seal; his pocket-box of scales and weights for money,
being stamped with the figures on each side of the coins of James and
Charles I.[325] These were given by Robert Bunyan, in 1839, then
sixty-four years of age, to a younger branch of the family, Mr. Charles
Robinson, of Wilford, near Nottingham (his sister’s son), for safe
custody. He died in 1852; while his aged uncle remains in good health,
subject to the infirmities of his seventy-eighth year. On many of the
blank spaces in the Bible are the registers of births and deaths in the
family, evidently written at the time. Those relics are deposited in a
carved oak box. They were sold with the late Mr. Robinson’s effects,
January, 1853, and secured for me by my excellent friend James Dix,
Esq., of Bristol, who met with them immediately after the sale, on one
of his journeys at Nottingham. They are not worshipped as relics, nor
have they performed miracles, but as curiosities of a past age they are
worthy of high consideration. Everything that was used by him, and that
survives the ravages of time, possesses a peculiar charm; even the
chair in which he sat is preserved in the vestry of the new chapel, and
is shown to those who make the pilgrimage to the shrine of Bunyan.[326]
In the same vestry is also a curious inlaid cabinet, small, and highly
finished. It descended from Bunyan to a lady who lived to an advanced
age—Madam Bithray; from her to the Rev. Mr. Voley; and of his widow it
was purchased to ornament the vestry of Bunyan’s meeting-house.
The personal appearance and character of our pilgrim’s guide, drawn by
his friend Charles Doe, will be found at the end of his Grace
Abounding; to which is appended his Dying Sayings—‘of
sin—afflictions—repentance and coming to Christ—of prayer—of the Lord’s
day, sermons, and week days: “Make the Lord’s day the market for thy
soul”—of the love of the world—of suffering—of death and judgment—of
the joys of heaven—and the torments of hell.’
How inscrutable are the ways of God! Had Bunyan lived a month longer,
he would have witnessed the glorious Revolution—the escape of a great
nation. The staff and hope of Protestant Europe was saved from a
subtle—a Jesuitical attempt—to introduce Popery and arbitrary
government. The time of his death, as a release from the incumbrance of
a material body, was fixed by infinite wisdom and love at that
juncture, and it ought not to be a cause of regret. His interest in the
welfare of the church ceased not with his mortal life. How swiftly
would his glorified spirit fly to see the landing of William, and hover
with joy over the flight of the besotted James! He was now in a
situation to prove the truth of that saying, ‘the angels desire to look
into’ the truth and spread of the glad tidings. How he would prove the
reality of his opinion, expressed in The Holy War, of the interest
taken by the inhabitants of heaven in the prosperity of the church on
earth. When Mansoul was conquered, the spirits that witnessed the
victory ‘shouted with that greatness of voice, and sung with such
melodious notes, that they caused them that dwell in the highest orbs
to open their windows, and put out their heads and look down to see the
cause of that glory’ (Luke 15:7-10).[327] So may we imagine that the
happy, happy, glorified spirit of Bunyan would look down rejoicing,
when, a few years after he had yielded up his pastoral cares, the seed
which he had been instrumental in sowing produced its fruit in such
numbers, that the old meeting-house was pulled down, and in its place a
large and respectable one was erected. And again, on the 20th February,
1850, with what joy would he look down upon the opening of a still
larger, more commodious, and handsome meeting-house, bearing his name,
and capable of holding 1150 worshippers. One of Bunyan’s pungent,
alarming sayings to the careless was, ‘Once die, we cannot come back
and die better.’[328] If anything could tempt him, in his angelic body,
to re-visit this earth, it would be to address the multitude at the new
Bunyan Chapel with his old sermon on The Jerusalem Sinner Saved, or
Good News to the Vilest of Men. But we have Moses and the
prophets—Christ and his apostles; if we shut our ears to them, neither
should we listen to a messenger from the New Jerusalem.
When it is recollected that Bunyan received the most imperfect
rudiments of education in a charity school when very young, which were
‘almost entirely’ obliterated by bad habits—that he was a hard-working
man through life, maintaining himself, a wife, and four children, by
his severe labour as a brazier—and yet, by personal efforts, he
educated himself and wrote sixty-two valuable religious treatises,
numbering among them his inimitable allegories, The Pilgrim’s Progress
and Holy War, made a Concordance to the Bible, and conducted important
controversies. Preaching, while at liberty, almost innumerable sermons
on the Lord’s-days and week-days, early in the morning and late at
night. Visiting his flock with pastoral care—founding churches in the
villages, and even in towns and cities far distant from his
dwelling—constantly giving advice to promote peace and good will, and
rendering benevolent aid by long journeys! His whole life presents to
us a picture of most astonishing, energetic perseverance. Every moment
of time must have been employed as if he valued it as a precious trust,
which, if once lost, could never be regained. Who of us can compare our
life with his last thirty years, and not blush with shame!
The finest trait in Bunyan’s Christian character was his deep,
heartfelt humility. This is the more extraordinary from his want of
secular education, and his unrivalled talent. The more we learn, the
greater is the field for research that opens before us, insomuch that
the wisest philosophers have most seriously felt the little progress
they have made. He acknowledged to Mr. Cockayn, who considered him the
most eminent man, and a star of the first magnitude in the firmament of
the churches,[329] that spiritual pride was his easily besetting sin,
and that he needed the thorn in the flesh, lest he should be exalted
above measure. A sense of this weakness probably led him to peculiar
watchfulness against it. His self-abasement was neither tinctured with
affectation, nor with the pride of humility. His humble-mindedness
appeared to arise form his intimate communion with Heaven. In daily
communion with God, he received a daily lesson of deeper and deeper
humility. ‘I am the high and lofty One, I inhabit eternity! verily this
consideration is enough to make a broken-hearted man creep into a
mouse-hole, to hide himself from such majesty! There is room in this
man’s heart for God to dwell.’[330] ‘I find it one of the hardest
things that I can put my soul upon, even to come to God, when warmly
sensible that I am a sinner, for a share in grace and mercy. I cannot
but with a thousand tears say, “God be merciful to me a sinner” (Ezra
9:15).’[331]
The Revs. Messrs. Chandler and Wilson, bear the following testimony as
eye-witnesses to his character:—‘His fancy and invention were very
pregnant and fertile. His wit was sharp and quick—his memory tenacious,
it being customary with him to commit his sermons to writing after he
had preached them,’ a proof of extraordinary industry. ‘His
understanding was large and comprehensive—his judgment sound and deep
in the fundamentals of the gospel. His experience of Satan’s
temptations in the power and policy of them, and of Christ’s presence
in, and by his Word and Spirit to succour and comfort him, was more
than ordinary; the grace of God was magnified in him and by him, and a
rich anointing of the Spirit was upon him; and yet this great saint was
always in his own eyes the chiefest of sinners, and the least of
saints. He was not only well furnished with the helps and endowments of
nature, beyond ordinary, but eminent in the graces and gifts of the
Spirit, and fruits of holiness. He was from first to last established
in, and ready to maintain, that God-like principle of having communion
with saints as such, without any respect to difference in things
disputable among the godly. His carriage was condescending, affable,
and meek to all, yet bold and courageous for Christ. He was much struck
at, in the late times of persecution; being far from any sinful
compliance to save himself, he did cheerfully bear the cross.’ Such was
the character given of him by these two eminent divines, in 1693, while
his memory, in its fullest fragrance, was cherished by all the
churches.
This humility peculiarly fitted him to instruct the young, of whom he
was very fond—
‘Nor do I blush, although I think some may
Call me a baby, ‘cause I with them play;
I do ‘t to show them how each fingle fangle
On which they doating are, their souls entangle;
And, since at gravity they make a tush,
My very beard I cast behind a bush.’[332]
He had friends among the rich as well as the poor. Of this his solid
gold ring and handsome cabinet are proofs. From a letter in the Ellis
correspondence, we learn that Bunyan had so secured the affections of
the Lord Mayor of London, as to be called his chaplain.[333]