IT IS now some few years since I became acquainted with a, young lady, the daughter of pious parents. She was then nineteen, and had received many good gifts, including most attractive manners, and a bright, beaming countenance. Religiously brought up, and anxious to please her parents, she never neglected public worship, and also read the Bible regularly in private. Thus she was esteemed a pious character by all those who are satisfied with a mere outward profession of piety, and do not remember the words of Jesus Christ Himself: “Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” John 3:33Jesus answered and said unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. (John 3:3).
At that time Eleonore was in the bloom of youth. Life smiled on her, and she smiled on all around. She was a frequent visitor at my house; and I can see her before me now, as she once entered it on one of those brilliant spring mornings when all nature appears rejoicing in the pure and life-giving rays of the sun. Her heart was more than usually gay and open, and she related to me numerous details of her life and its pleasures, going on to the inexhaustible subject of, her hopes and expectations. I was seized by an irresistible impression of sadness, and as she suddenly observed my grave expression, she stopped in full career, and, with a slight twinge of vexation, exclaimed, “You are quite silent. I really believe you are thinking of something else all the while I am talking.”
She was right, for my mind was rather absorbed in the future than the present, and I replied, “Eleonore, may I ask you one question?”
“Certainly, as many as you please.”
“You have been talking to me of your joys and hopes. Answer me now before God, who hears you. In spite of them all are you happy—really and truly happy?” and I spoke solemnly and earnestly.
My young friend looked down. A shadow fell on her countenance, and a struggle was evidently going on within. At length she replied, in a tone of forced gaiety and indifference, “Why do you ask me such a question?”
“Listen, and I will tell you. All the pleasures, past, present, and to come, of which you have been speaking, are simply of this world. I myself long sought happiness thus in vain; and I wish to know if your experience has been different Answer me, then, as in the sight of God, are you happy?
Her eyes again fell, and this time they were filled with tears. After a while she replied, “I will frankly tell the truth. No; deep down in my heart I do not believe I am happy; for since the death of my sister, the thought often comes and troubles me, that I too may die, and this I cannot bear.”
There was a pause: I felt the moment might be a decisive one for the soul of this young girl, and my spirit cried to God for help.
“Eleonore,” I said, “let us pray;” and we knelt together and I prayed that she might be led into the path of true peace and joy.
The prayer was heard. My young friend reflected much on what had passed between us, and it resulted in her earnestly seeking the pardon of her sins, and setting her affections on things above.
Eleonore one day said to me, “My heart is now full of a happiness quite new to me.” From that time, while retaining her former buoyancy of spirit, her whole life was changed; for her aims and aspirations were higher, and she rejoiced in God her Saviour. After a while circumstances separated us; but we remembered each other at the throne of grace, and the memory of many pleasant and profitable hours which we had spent together was cherished by both, so that we rejoiced a few years later to find ourselves once more dwellers in the same city. Many duties and occupations, however, prevented much intercourse with my former friend.
Just about seven years after the interview I have described, word was brought to me of the sudden and dangerous illness of my young friend. I hastened to see her, and deeply was I grieved at the change which had taken place in her appearance, and the condition of suffering in which I found her. She was in a burning fever, exhausted by a violent and incessant cough, scarcely able to speak, and evidently on the borders of the grave.
Emotion overpowered me, and for some minutes I could not utter a word; but she turned her expressive, eager eyes on me, and I felt that the same memorable scene of years past was present to each of us. “My dear Eleonore,” I said at length, “how is it with you now? Are you happy? Believing, do you rejoice?” “Oh, yes!” she replied; “I am, indeed, truly happy, for I am sure my sins are forgiven me for Jesus Christ’s sake. Pray with me, and come again soon.” These were the last words I heard from her lips. After praying at her bedside, I pointed upwards to heaven, and took my leave. That evening she became unconscious, and a few hours afterwards Eleonore had passed away from earth. Some days later I was in the cemetery, standing by her grave. It was covered with garlands already faded by the sun; but though sorrowful, I could rejoice in spirit that my young friend was in a land where
“everlasting spring abides, And never-withering flowers.”
Her last words came to my mind with much comfort and power. We were indeed mourning her loss, but “blessed are the dead which die in the Lord.” What happier portion could be desired for her?
Ah! tell me no more of happiness being dependent on outward circumstances. There is but one true happiness for all, be they rich or poor, young or old, and it comes to us through the Lord Jesus Christ. All else is vanity, and must fail us sooner or later.
While all things change, He changes not, Nor e’er forgets, though oft forgot; His love’s unchangeably the same, And as enduring as His name.
ML 12/01/1904