CHILD of the Eternal Father,
Bride of the Eternal Son,
Dwelling-place of God the Spirit,
Thus with Christ made ever one;
Dowered with joy beyond the Angels
Nearest to His throne,
They, the ministers attending
His beloved one
Granted all my heart's desire,
All things made my own;
Feared by all the powers of evil,
Fearing God alone;
Walking with the Lord in glory
Through the courts Divine,
Queen within the royal palace,
Christ for ever mine;
Say, poor worldling, can it be,
That my heart should envy thee ?
—G. TERSTEEGEN.
THE Friends now returned again to Herford, where they arrived on a Saturday morning.
"At the second hour we found the Princess and the countess," says friend William, "ready to receive us with much love and tenderness. I observed them to be much lower in their spirits than ever" (this in Quaker phraseology does not mean that they were melancholy, but humble), " and that our former blessed opportunities had had a blessed effect upon them. That afternoon was employed in the narrative of our travels, which they heard with great attention and refreshment, and oh, the reverent tenderness and lowly frame of spirit that appeared in both these ladies !
" After supper we returned to the Princess's chamber, where we stayed till it was about ten at night.
"At parting I desired the Princess would give us such another opportunity next day ; and she answered me, With all my heart ; but will ye not come in the morning too ? ' I replied, Yes, willingly. What time wilt thou be ready to receive us ? She answered, ‘At seven.'
"About seven the next morning we came ; about eight the meeting began, and held till eleven.
" After the people were gone out of the chamber it lay upon me to speak to those two, the Princess and the countess, with respect to their particular conditions, occasioned by these words from the Princess: ‘I am fully convinced ; but, oh ! my sins are great.'
" Whilst I was speaking, the glorious power of the Lord wonderfully rose, yea, after an awful manner, and had a deep entrance upon their spirits."
After dining at the inn, the Friends returned to hold a second meeting at two o'clock, and more of the townspeople attended it.
" After supper," says friend William, " we returned to the Princess's chamber, where we spent the rest of our time in holy silence, or discourse, till about the tenth hour."
The next morning, at eight o'clock, the Friends again repaired to the Court, and were in the midst of their discourse at eleven o'clock, "when," writes Penn, "a rattling of a coach interrupted us.
"The countess immediately stepped out to see what was the matter, and returned with a countenance somewhat uneasy, telling us that the young princes " (probably Prince George, afterwards George I. of England, and his brothers) " nephews to the Princess, and also the Count of Donau" (Dhona), "were come to visit her."
We can imagine the consternation of the young princes, had they found aunt Elizabeth holding a conventicle with the plain Friends. And Elizabeth no doubt remembered but too well the visit of her nephew Charles.
William Penn thought best they should at once return to their inn.
"But we entreated," he adds, "that, forasmuch as we were to depart that night with the post-waggon, we might not be disappointed of a farewell meeting with them, and the rather for that I had a great burden upon my spirit, which they readily complied with, telling me these persons would only dine and be gone.
"As we went to the door the countess stepped before us, and opened it for us ; and as I passed by she looked upon me with a weighty countenance, and fetched a deep sigh, crying out, Oh, the cumber and entanglements of this vain world ! They hinder all good.' Upon which I replied, looking her stedfastly in the face, Oh, come thou out of them then !
The Friends having dined at their lodging, William Penn retired to his bedroom to write a letter " to the professors of religion in Germany." This letter would probably have extended to far more than eight folio pages, but it was interrupted by the arrival of the steward of the Princess, who came to say that she entreated the Friends to return to her at once, for the Count of Donau had a great desire to see them, and speak with them.
The count listened in a friendly manner to the discourse of the Friends, taking no notice of their unceremonious behaviour. "But after awhile," says friend William, "he fell to the hat, &c. This choketh, and the rather because it telleth tales. It telleth what people are ; it marketh men for Separatists ; it is blowing a trumpet, visibly crossing the world ; and that the fear of man (greatly prevalent with too many serious people in that land) cannot abide, starteth at, and runneth away from."
The Friends further explained to the count that the vain custom of taking off the hat was " but a weed of degeneracy and apostasy, a carnal and earthly honour, the effect, feeder, and pleasure of pride and of a vain mind ; that it was no plant of God's planting, and that no advantage redounded to mankind by it ; and being a vain and unprofitable custom, it could not be done, as all things should be done, to the glory of God."
Thus ended the great opportunity which the Friends had had of speaking of Him who had loved them, and given Himself for them, to one who apparently had a ready ear to hear. A second time had the matter of the hat deprived them of the only occasion which was given them of witnessing to that love and grace for which, perhaps, the soul of the poor count was athirst. He probably now regarded them as harmless lunatics, for he took his leave of the Princess and of them " with great civility."
" After he was gone," continues friend William, " the Princess desired us to withdraw to her bedchamber, and there we began our farewell meeting. And in the conclusion of that torrent of heavenly melting love, with which we were all deeply affected, I fell on my knees, recommending them unto the Lord, crying with strong cries to Him for their preservation, and so ended.
After some pause, I went to the Princess, and took her by the hand, which she received and embraced with great signs of a weighty kindness, being much broken. I spoke a few words apart to her, and left the blessing and peace of Jesus with and upon her. Then I went to the countess, and left a particular exhortation with her, who fervently beseeched me to remember her, and implore the Lord on her behalf. From her I went to the Frenchwoman, and bid her be faithful and constant to that which she knew. She was exceedingly broken, and took an affectionate and reverent leave of us."
And so the Friends departed.
Before returning to England the Friends made one more attempt to see the young Countess Charlotte, but they found Dr. Maestricht had laid his plans to prevent their meeting. For five years more she bore patiently with her father's evil ways ; and after his death, in 1682, she married Pastor Arnold Sybel, of Mülheim, and, we may hope, lived a happy life to the glory of God.
When Penn returned to England and related his visit to Herford, George Fox " was moved " to write to Elizabeth, and to send his letter by the hand of his step-daughter, Isabella Fell, and the wife of a Quaker, George Keith. The Princess received the Quakeresses with much love and affection. She was charmed with the sweet face and voice of the young Quaker maiden, Isabella, and talked much with her. She sent back to George Fox by his messengers a characteristic letter :
" DEAR FRIEND-I cannot but have a tender love to those who love the Lord Jesus Christ, and to whom it is given, not only to believe in Him, but also to suffer for His sake. Therefore your letter and the visit of your friends were very welcome to me. I shall follow their and your counsel as far as God shall grant me light, and the anointing of His Spirit, remaining still,
" Your loving friend,
" ELIZABETH."
A few months later she wrote to William Penn :
" DEAR FRIEND—I have received your letter, without a date, but not without the power to encourage my heart to do and suffer the will of God. I can say with truth and sincerity, Thy will be done, 0 God,' because I wish it with my whole heart ; but I cannot sincerely say that I possess that sincerity which is pleasing in His sight. My house and my heart will always stand open to those who love Him. . . .
" I am, your affectionate friend,
" ELIZABETH.'
After this we know little of Elizabeth's few remaining years. Penn's account of the few days spent at Herford gives perhaps the most vivid picture of her which remains to us. He described her later in his book No Cross, No Crown, published shortly after her death.
" She chose," he writes, "a single life, as freest of care, and best suited to the study and meditation she was always inclined to; and the chiefest diversion she took, next the air, was in some such plain and housewifely entertainment as knitting, etc.
" She had a small territory, which she governed well. She would constantly, every last day in the week, sit in judgment, and hear and determine causes herself, frequently remitting her forfeitures where the party was poor or meritorious ; and—which was excellent, though unusual—she would temper her discourses with religion. Though she kept no sumptuous table in her own court, she spread the tables of the poor in their solitary homes. Abstemious in herself, and in apparel devoid of all vain ornaments, her mind had a noble prospect, her eye was to a better and more lasting inheritance than could be found below."
Penn probably refers here to the Electress Sophia, who was accustomed to say, that if she could only have " Sophia, Queen of England," engraved on her tombstone, she would die content. She missed the attainment of her desires by two short months. But to Elizabeth, who delighted herself in the Lord, did He give the desires of her heart, " an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away."
She lived but a short time after Penn's visit. We hear of her correspondence for a while with Malebranche and Leibnitz, the latter of whom writes of her at that time, that she was a princess as distinguished by her learning as by her birth.
We may make a note of this, as disproving a remark of her great niece, Elizabeth Charlotte, daughter of her nephew Charles, who wrote, " I am really becoming quite dreamy, and half-childish, much like old great aunt Elizabeth."
Early in the year 168o Sophia was called to the death-bed of her sister. Elizabeth was now sixty-two years old. Her great niece's description of her, writes Guhrauer, "was not unmixed with mockery, and was no doubt due more or less to the sympathy the abbess had with the ' awakened,' and to her indifference to those things which arc most highly esteemed by the world."
Just as much weight should be attached to Sophia's account of her visit to her sister. She understood the joy and affection which Elizabeth expressed on seeing her to mean that she was delighted to have someone to speak to, less gloomy and depressing than the bigoted fanatics who kept her from all human enjoyment. We know how easily Elizabeth might have chosen friends of another stamp had she desired to do so.
She was truly and deeply mourned by many of the poor and despised with whom she had " chosen to suffer affliction," and should be remembered by us with the love and honour due to one who walked in a difficult and lonely path, and " endured as seeing Him who is invisible."
She was buried in the choir of Herford minster, with a Latin inscription upon her monument, describing her as sprung from the Electors Palatine, and the Kings of Great Britain. But, as it is written on the grave-stone of a Puritan maiden of noble blood, "let us pass over her descent, and remember rather her ascent, to be with Him who will grant to her to sit with Him on His throne, and to appear with Him in glory."