A HAPPY CHRISTIAN.
FROM the first Marion had been agreeably impressed with Mr. Angus;
though after hearing from Aunt Thankful of his first sermon and his
cry for help after the evening service, agreed with her aged friend
that he must have known real sorrow; sorrow from the effects of which
he could not all at once rally. After hearing his prayers, it seemed
to her impossible to believe that his sorrow was caused by any act of
his own. If so, she was certain that it had been heartily repented
of. The scene so innocently referred to by Ethel took hold of her
imagination. In the solitude of his chamber he knelt, his little pet
by his side, her hand held fast in his, while tears ran down his
cheeks, as he implored forgiveness for past offences. Do what she
Would, she could not shake off the memories of this scene.
Marion was young in years, only twenty-three her next birthday;
but her life had been an eventful one. Blessed with Christian
parents, her opening mind eagerly imbibed the practical truths of
the Bible. Jesus Christ was embraced as her Saviour from sin in this
life, and from the punishment of sin in the life to come. God was
to her a tender, loving Father, to whom she might go at any hour,
with the same freedom as she approached her earthly father.
She realized in an unusual manner His watchful providence, guiding
and guarding her at every step of her young life. When at the age of
seventeen she was bereft of both her earthly parents, she accepted
in all their fulness the promises of God to the fatherless ones,
and never had these gracious promises failed.
Her education being incomplete, her guardian' sent her to New York
City to the care of her father's sister, an amiable but thoroughly
worldly woman. Mrs. Williamson considered her duty accomplished when
she had seen her niece arrayed in the most becoming mourning attire,
had entered her at a fashionable institution, and introduced her to
her own select circle.
But these surroundings, so unlike the quiet refinement of her own
sweet home, instead of weaning the young orphan from the pure
pleasures of a Christian life, left her with such a yearning for the
society of those who sympathized in her dearest joys that she
resolved to spend more time than ever in communion with her Saviour.
Happy indeed are those who, losing Christian companionship,
are driven for comfort to Christ himself. His love can so fill
the soul thus depending on Him as to compensate for the loss
of every earthly solace.
Marion was allowed to choose her own church, and at once joined
a Bible class, where her hunger for instruction so animated her
classmates and so encouraged her teacher that the most happy results
followed.
During the hours in the day devoted to secular studies Marion worked
with all her might. She knew it to be right to do her very best,
and even with the branches of exact science, which were irksome,
she conquered her reluctance and soon made her mark as a scholar
of unusual ability.
Music was, however, her specialty. It was passion with her, and even
before her parents' death, her skill as a pianist as well as her
power with her voice distinguished her.
"How plainly I can see a Father's hand leading me all the way
through!" she used to say. "He gave me the ability to sing, and when
the right time came He allowed me the privilege of using my voice for
the comfort of others."
She alluded to the fact of being invited by a gentleman connected
with her Sunday school to sing for the patients at the "Home for the
Sick." In connection with this first visit she used to say,—
"Never did I know such real happiness as when I found myself able
to comfort those those poor, weary ones, Christ's own sufferers.
When one woman, taking my hand, thanked me with moistened eyes for
the words of cheer, it was an impulse I could scarcely resist to fall
on my knees and thank her for letting me sing for her. 'You have
lighted the path to the grave. I'm not afraid now,' gasped one whose
wings were plumed for her flight.
"Oh!" exclaimed Marion, clasping her hands to her breast as she
recalled the scene. "Who am I, that I should be so blessed?"
During the summer months Mr. Williamson usually travelled with his
family or passed the time at some fashionable resort, and it was his
earnest wish that Marion should accompany them.
But after a week spent at a gay hotel she told her uncle she found it
unendurable; and insisted on going alone, if he could not find an
escort for her, to visit her Aunt Asbury. She arrived when the whole
family were watching the fading away of a young life. Helen, the
oldest daughter, about whom so many hopes had clustered, the light of
the home, the pride of parents and friends, had received a summons to
leave all that had hitherto been so dear and enter on the unknown,—
the infinite. Shuddering with fear, she turned to her parents for
help, but they could only weep and wring their hands. At length their
clergyman was summoned, and from this hour his visits were frequent.
The knitted brow had given way to a calm seriousness, as with
trembling lips she said, "I do believe Christ is my Saviour, and that
He will lead me safely home."
Her parents, too, if not really submissive, were trying to say,
"Thy will be done."
The coming of Marion at such a crisis was indeed a blessing. Her very
first words as she sat down by the bedside, after offering and
receiving a loving embrace, lit up the face of the dying girl with
a ray of Heaven's own light.
"O Helen, how I wish I could change places with you! Going home
to Christ, to be with Him forever, to see the dear saints who have
gone before, to talk to them of what Jesus has done for you, to sing
with them the new song, 'Worthy the Lamb,' to sit down by the beloved
John, to see Peter and hear him repeat the story of his grief at the
denial of his Lord, to talk with Moses and Joseph and Samuel,
to think that you will be forever free from the struggles with sin,
that you will be holy as He is holy. Dear Helen, you are indeed to be
envied."
"Yes, I can thank God now." Helen's smile was radiant.
Tears were streaming down Mrs. Asbury's cheeks, but wholly
unconscious of them, the lady rose and kissed Marion, saying
softly,—
"Thank God you have come! Your visit will do us all good."
Mr. Asbury had not known much of his niece, though he was one of her
guardians. He watched her closely, trying to account for the change
in his household. Every day rendered it more certain that a grim
messenger was hovering about, waiting for an opportunity to enter,
but his approach was no longer dreaded. The chamber where the patient
sufferer lay seemed the brightest in the house. Marion, who had
constituted herself chief nurse, went in and came out with a smile.
Her voice was often heard singing there, not sad, pensive strains,
but notes with a ring of triumph. The names of our blessed Lord,
Jesus, Immanuel, Saviour, were constantly repeated, and dwelt on
lovingly. The very words seemed to give strength, even in the
lingering echoes.
On one occasion, Mr. Asbury, too anxious to remain long absent from
the house, quietly entered the chamber just as Marion began
a familiar hymn. He had often heard it before, but never with such
a thrill as now. Even the dying girl was joining in the singing.
"How sweet the name of Jesus sounds
In a believer's ear,
It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds,
And drives away his fear.
"It makes the wounded spirit whole,
And calms the troubled breast;
'Tis manna to the hungry soul,
And to the weary, rest.
"Weak is the effort of my heart,
And cold my warmest thought;
But when I see Thee as Thou art,
I'll praise Thee as I ought.
"Till then I would Thy love proclaim
With every fleeting breath;
And may the music of Thy name
Refresh my soul in death."
Gazing into that rapt face, so elevated above all the pains and
sorrows of earth, the father could not doubt that the prayer in these
last lines was answered. The soul was refreshed, invigorated, and
made infinitely blessed by the music of that precious name. A prayer
rose to Heaven from one hitherto unused to prayer, "Breathe, O Lord,
into my soul such love for Thee as may fill my heart with peace and
joy when I go down to the dark valley."
The end came at last, suddenly, though long looked for. The messenger
was not unwelcome. He was greeted with a smile so sweet, so rapt,
that all gazed in wonder. Calmly the dying girl put her hand in his,
while Marion in a clear voice repeated the inspired words, "'Though I
walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil;
for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.'"