LET me introduce you, dear reader, to the sickroom of an aged Christian, and tell you what took place there. Sixty-four winters had whitened her hair, and long-continued ill health had weakened her frame. This day she had been a little better, after a week of more than usual suffering, and had been up for a few hours and in the next room. But now the cold March day had closed in with a heavy fall of snow, and her son had just come home with well-whitened garments. To the surprise of all she did not much notice this, though usually it would have given her some concern. She appeared drowsy, and it was hoped that one of the long sleeps that had so often brought restoration after these frequent turns of distressed and sleepless nights was coming on. The fortieth chapter of Isaiah was read to her, and after there had been prayer, she said, “I should like to see―,” her son-in-law a devoted servant of Christ, then in very feeble health.
It was explained that, the night being so stormy, he dared not venture out in his delicate state. “Well, well,” was her reply, “the Lord Jesus is always in His place.” For more than forty years she had known Him, and had never sought His face in vain. No! she had, since first she believed in His love, seen much sorrow, passed through many trials, but in all she had ever found Him faithful, a present help in every time of trouble, and so now she could turn to Him, as to a tried, true friend. Before retiring for the night her son read to her the hymn ending with the stanza―
“Just as I am, of that free love
The breadth, length, depth, and height to prove,
Here for a season, then above,
O Lamb of God, I come!”
Preparations for the night were speedily made, so that quiet might be secured to favor the sleep so much needed. There were no apprehensions of any change, and though, after a sudden turn of sickness, the one who was to spend the night in her room stood listening to her breathing and again went to listen, she felt no alarm―all seemed to be as she desired. On waking in the night, and again when in the morning the household began to stir, she kept quiet, thinking that all was doing well. And so it was, well indeed. For when at last, alarmed by the continued silence, she knelt oil the bed to ascertain whether her dread suspicion was correct, she found the loved form in that last and blessed sleep “from which none ever wakes to weep.”
Who could speak of death in such circumstances as the “King of Terrors”? There was bitterness to those who were left, in the thought that they had allowed her to go without a parting word. But it was a comfort to know that to her there was not one drop of the bitterness of parting. Some of her friends in the Lord spoke of it as a translation, and wished that in some such way they might depart.
And to more than one this has almost been granted; they have already followed her, peacefully, happily followed her, and are now with her, and with him who loved them, waiting for the morning of the resurrection.
At her funeral were sung these lines: ―
“This name shall shed its fragrance still
Along this thorny road;
Shall sweetly smooth the rugged hill
That leads me up to God.
And there with all the blood-bought throng,
From sin and sorrow free,
I’ll sing the new eternal song
Of Jesu’s love to me.”
Of the first stanza she had fully proved the truth; for the second she waits with Him who shall then “see of the travail of his soul, and shall be satisfied.”
Again a few more years, and a handsome oak coffin was carried into a house in the immediate neighborhood of the one already spoken of. It was carried upstairs into a room where lay the remains of one just entered upon manhood. Lovingly, tenderly, as a nurse laying her infant to sleep, the workmen lifted the lifeless form into its narrow bed. As they lingered over it, arranging everything with the most careful attention, settling the wavy hair over the handsome forehead, they spoke of his amiability and of his kindness, expressing a wonder that such a one should be taken from the earth. He was one, they thought, who could only be a comfort and blessing to those who had to do with him, while so many were left to be only a curse. Much they said in praise of their young master, and feelingly was all echoed by those who stood around. But where was the spirit that had animated that loved and lovely form? Yes, where? Some hearts even weep as they ask the question, for some of his last words, when taking his farewell of those dear to him, had been, “I am going to the Great Unknown!”
Reader, how is it with you? How would it be were you to be found tomorrow morning cold and stiff? Could those who know you call it a “translation” to the presence of a KNOWN SAVIOUR?
Would they know where you had gone? Or would it, to you, be going to the presence of AN UNKNOWN GOD? Oh, God will not bold you guiltless if, to you, His great salvation is unknown. No amiability, no life, however blameless it may appear to others, can justify a sinner in His sight; but He is sending the good news of His salvation far and wide. He is crying aloud, “He, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye, buy and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money, and without price.” The Lord Jesus is saying, “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest”;” Look unto me, and be ye saved, al! the ends of the earth.” How, then, shall you escape if you neglect so great salvation?
H. S.