PART VII.
It is a pleasing consideration, that amidst the spiritual darkness whichunhappily prevails in many parts of the land, God nevertheless has apeople. It not unfrequently happens that single individuals are to befound, who, though very disadvantageously situated with regard to theordinary means of grace, have received truly saving impressions, and,through a blessing on secret meditation, reading, and prayer, are led tothe closest communion with God, and become eminently devoted Christians.It is the no small error of too many professors of the present day, tooverlook or undervalue the instances of this kind which exist. Thereligious profession and opinions of some have too much of mere_machinery_ in their composition. If every wheel, pivot, chain, spring,cog, or pinion, be not exactly in its place, or move not preciselyaccording to a favourite and prescribed system, the whole is rejected asunworthy of regard. But happily "the Lord knoweth them that are his;"nor is the impression of his own seal wanting to characterize some who,in comparative seclusion from the religious world, "name the name ofChrist and depart from iniquity."
There are some real Christians so peculiarly circumstanced in thisrespect as to illustrate the poet's comparison,--
"Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air."
Yet this was not altogether the case with the Dairyman's daughter. Herreligion had indeed ripened in seclusion from the world, and she wasintimately known but to few; but she lived usefully, departed mosthappily, and left a shining track behind her. While I attempt a faintdelineation of it, may I catch its influence, and become, throughinexpressible mercy, a follower of "them who through faith and patienceinherit the promises!"
From the time wherein I visited her, as described in my last paper, Iconsidered her end as fast approaching. One day I received a hastysummons to inform me that she was dying. It was brought by a soldier,whose countenance bespoke seriousness, good sense, and piety.
"I am sent, sir, by the father and mother of Elizabeth W---, at her ownparticular request, to say how much they all wish to see you. She isgoing _home_, sir, very fast indeed."
"Have you known her long?"
"About a month, sir. I love to visit the sick, and hearing of her casefrom a person who lives close by our camp, I went to see her. I blessGod that ever I did go. Her conversation has been very profitable tome."
"I rejoice," said I, "to see in you, as I trust, a _brother soldier_.Though we differ in our outward regimentals, I hope we serve under thesame spiritual Captain. I will go with you."
My horse was soon ready. My military companion walked by my side, andgratified me with very sensible and pious conversation. He related someremarkable testimonies of the excellent disposition of the Dairyman'sdaughter, as they appeared from recent intercourse which he had had withher.
"She is a bright diamond, sir," said the soldier, "and will soon shinebrighter than any diamond upon earth."
We passed through lanes and fields, over hills and valleys, by open andretired paths, sometimes crossing over and sometimes following thewindings of a little brook which gently murmured by the road side.Conversation beguiled the distance, and shortened the apparent time ofour journey, till we were nearly arrived at the Dairyman's cottage.
As we approached it, we became silent. Thoughts of death, eternity, andsalvation, inspired by the sight of a house where a dying believer lay,filled my own mind, and, I doubt not, that of my companion also.
No living object yet appeared, except the Dairyman's dog, keeping a kindof mute watch at the door; for he did not, as formerly, bark at myapproach. He seemed to partake so far of the feelings appropriate to thecircumstances of the family, as not to wish to give a hasty or painfulalarm. He came forward to the little wicket-gate, then looked back atthe house door, as if conscious there was sorrow within. It was as if hewanted to say, "Tread softly over the threshold, as you enter the houseof mourning; for my master's heart is full of grief."
The soldier took my horse and tied it up in a shed. A solemn serenityappeared to surround the whole place; it was only interrupted by thebreezes passing through the large elm-trees which stood near the house,and which my imagination indulged itself in thinking were plaintive sighsof sorrow. I gently opened the door. No one appeared, and all was stillsilent. The soldier followed. We came to the foot of the stairs.
"They are come!" said a voice, which I knew to be the father's; "they arecome!"
He appeared at the top. I gave him my hand, and said nothing. Onentering the room above, I saw the aged mother and her son supporting themuch-loved daughter and sister: the son's wife sat weeping in a window-seat, with a child on her lap: two or three persons attended in the roomto discharge any office which friendship or necessity might require.
I sat down by the bedside. The mother could not weep, but now and thensighed deeply, as she alternately looked at Elizabeth and at me. The bigtear rolled down the brother's cheek, and testified an affectionateregard. The good old man stood at the foot of the bed, leaning upon thepost, and unable to take his eyes off the child from whom he was so soonto part.
Elizabeth's eyes were closed, and as yet she perceived me not. But overher face, though pale, sunk, and hollow, the peace of God, which passethall understanding, had cast a triumphant calm.
The soldier, after a short pause, silently reached out his Bible towardsme, pointing with his finger at 1 Cor. xv. 55, 56, 57. I then brokesilence by reading the passage, "O death, where is thy sting? O grave,where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sinis the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory throughour Lord Jesus Christ."
At the sound of these words her eyes opened, and something like a ray ofdivine light beamed on her countenance as she said, "Victory! victory!through our Lord Jesus Christ."
She relapsed again, taking no further notice of any one present.
"God be praised for the triumph of faith!" said I.
"Amen!" replied the soldier.
The Dairyman's uplifted eye showed that the Amen was in his heart, thoughhis tongue failed to utter it.
A short struggling for breath took place in the dying young woman, whichwas soon over; and then I said to her,--
"My dear friend, do you not feel that you are supported?"
"The Lord deals very gently with me," she replied.
"Are not his promises now very precious to you?"
"They are all yea and amen in Christ Jesus."
"Are you in much bodily pain?"
"So little that I almost forget it."
"How good the Lord is!"
"And how unworthy am I!"
"You are going to see him as he is."
"I think--I hope--I believe that I am."
She again fell into a short slumber.
Looking at her mother, I said, "What a mercy to have a child so nearheaven as yours is!"
"And what a mercy," she replied, in broken accents, "if her poor oldmother might but follow her there! But, sir, it is so hard to part!"
"I hope through grace by faith you will soon meet to part no more; itwill be but a little while."
"Sir," said the Dairyman, "that thought supports me, and the Lord'sgoodness makes me feel more reconciled than I was."
"Father--mother," said the reviving daughter, "He is good to me--trustHim, praise Him evermore."
"Sir," added she, in a faint voice, "I want to thank you for yourkindness to me--I want to ask a favour;--you buried my sister--will youdo the same for me?"
"All shall be as you wish, if God permit," I replied.
"Thank you, sir, thank you--I have another favour to ask--When I am gone,remember my father and mother. They are old, but I hope the good work isbegun in their souls--My prayers are heard--Pray come and see them--Icannot speak much, but I want to speak for their sakes--Sir, rememberthem."
The aged parents now sighed and sobbed aloud, utteri
ng broken sentences,and gained some relief by such an expression of their feelings.
At length I said to Elizabeth, "Do you experience any doubts ortemptations on the subject of your eternal safety?"
"No, sir. The Lord deals very gently with me, and gives me peace."
"What are your views of the dark valley of death, now that you arepassing through it?"
"It is _not_ dark."
"Why so?"
"My Lord is _there_, and he is my light and my salvation."
"Have you any fears of more bodily suffering?"
"The Lord deals so gently with me, I can trust him."
Something of a convulsion came on. When it was past she said again andagain,--
"The Lord deals very gently with me. Lord, I am thine; save me--BlessedJesus--precious Saviour--His blood cleanseth from all sin--Who shallseparate?--His name is Wonderful--Thanks be to God--He giveth thevictory--I, even I, am saved--O grace, mercy, and wonder!--Lord, receivemy spirit!--Dear sir--dear father, mother, friends, I am going--but allis well, well, well--."
She relapsed again. We knelt down to prayer. The Lord was in the midstof us, and blessed us.
She did not again revive while I remained, nor ever speak any more wordswhich could be understood. She slumbered for about ten hours, and atlast sweetly fell asleep in the arms of that Lord who had dealt so gentlywith her.
I left the house an hour after she had ceased to speak. I pressed herhand as I was taking leave, and said, "Christ is the resurrection and thelife." She gently returned the pressure, but could neither open her eyesnor utter a reply.
I never had witnessed a scene so impressive as this before. Itcompletely filled my imagination as I returned home.
"Farewell," thought I, "dear friend, till the morning of an eternal dayshall renew our personal intercourse. Thou wast a brand plucked from theburning, that thou mightest become a star shining in the firmament ofglory. I have seen thy light and thy good works, and will thereforeglorify our Father which is in heaven. I have seen, in thy example, whatit is to be a sinner freely saved by grace. I have learned from thee, asin a living mirror, _who_ it is that begins, continues, and ends the workof faith and love. Jesus is all in all: he will and shall be glorified.He won the crown, and alone deserves to wear it. May no one attempt torob him of his glory! He saves, and saves to the uttermost. Farewelldear sister in the Lord. Thy flesh and thy heart may fail; but God isthe strength of thy heart, and shall be thy portion for ever."
Annals of the Poor Page 7
