IN early youth Mary G. was brought by God’s Spirit to see herself a helpless and guilty sinner in His sight, through a wore addressed to her by the superintendent of her Sunday school. She said little in reply, but she was brought into deep soul-trouble till the Lord was pleased to bless the words of another teacher in the school to point her to Christ. Her life ever afterward bore the savor of true godliness in a quiet, modest and heavenly walk, which testified that she was indeed a child of God.
Last year she had a serious illness, during which her parents had the grief of parting with their only son, whose dying testimony was so glorious that all in the house seemed buoyed up above the sorrow of losing one so dearly loved. Mary was kept in peace, but, as her call was not come, her brother’s dying joy seemed to leave her a little in the shade. This outburst of joy in Frank, who had been always so reserved, was very remarkable. His friends and his teacher had lac doubt about his safety, yet no one anticipated that in the great pain he was suffering he would have any power to rise above the anguish of the dying body, and it was earnestly hoped that so bright an instance of the way in which God can fill the heart by the Holy Ghost with joy and peace in believing might have a lasting effect on those of his schoolfellows, who visited his dying bed. Mary was spared, and rallied so much that her life seemed likely to be granted to her sorrowing parents, but in course of time she was again laid low; not to rise again.
Her joy was unchanging, and her love for and delight in her delightful to witness. She said she must have it always at her side to read as much of it as ever she could, for it was so precious to her, “And you know,” she added, “my time is short, and I want to know more of its precious truths while I am spared.”
At length Mary became too weak and suffering to speak to her friends, until the day before her end, when she revived very much.
Mrs. T., a Christian friend who came to help her mother in nursing her, drew near the bedside, and Mary said, “Sit down, for I have so much to say to you. I want you to know how precious Jesus has been to me in my illness, but I must tell you first how precious He was to me in the workroom, when I was well, and in my walks to and from my work. I always kept my little Testament in my pocket, and found it such a help to me. How sweet His company was! I was such a sinner before I knew Jesus: I used to do so many wrong things. I thought He never could save me, but He has washed me quite clean. I do so want to go to Him, not because of the pain, for that would be wicked, but because I want to see Him—that would be lovely.”
Mary continued, “The Lord comes to me when I am not thinking of Him. Sometimes I feel I can put my hand out and touch Him. He is close to me, and it is so beautiful to be quite alone in the night. He is so lovely then!”
When the doctor came, Mary asked him to tell her how long he really thought it would be before she should go.
“Go where?” he asked.
“To my blessed Jesus,” she replied. He said, “Not long.”
She said, “Oh, that will be beautiful.” She then said, “I should like to send Mr.— (the superintendent) the hymn I love so much—
“One there is, above all others—
Oh, how He loves!”
The next day the doctor came again, and Mary asked him to tell her plainly how long it would be, saying, “I am not afraid to die, because all my sins are washed away in the blood of Jesus.” He told her it could not be long now. She spoke to him of her joy, and how she longed for the moment to come! She hoped that on the day that she was buried they would praise God and sing over her grave, and that some poor sinner might be saved. Speaking to Mrs. T., she said, “Have I told you how very precious Jesus is to me when quite alone? I don’t mind suffering more if it is His will. I think the Lord is coming for His dear ones?” This she repeated several times. “Do you not think that the reason why I suffer so much is to make the glory brighter?”
At half-past ten the last conflict set in. “It will not be long now before Jesus calls you to Himself, Mary,” said her friend, and then the hymn, “Forever with the Lord,” was repeated. “Yes, yes, yes!” answered the dying girl.
Then she revived a little, and said, “What have I to do?”
“Nothing, dear. His appointed time is not yet come.”
Then Mary said, “Do not speak now. I want to look at Him.” She said she was going, and asked if she should cough again. She asked who was in the room. She looked round, and said, “Papa, mamma, Mrs. T., and Jesus.” She was asked if the valley of death was dark. “Oh, no,” she replied, “not at all. It gets brighter and brighter.” We gave her a little water. She said, “I want nothing now: no—nothing but Jesus.” She asked if we had put the light out. We told her we had not. She said she could not see us—all was dark, and she was so cold. Mrs. T. said, “Your natural sight is gone.” Then a silence reigned for a short time—not a sigh—not a groan, but a perfectly calm and peaceful countenance. Then Mary said, “We need no candle there; Jesus is the light thereof,” and so she sweetly fell asleep.