A few Remembrances of ANNIE MARY SPRIDGEON, of Lincoln, who died May 4th, 1904, aged 25 years: and of BENJAMIN SPRIDGEON, who died May 26th, 1904, aged 20 years.
BY THEIR MOTHER
It is the desire of many friends that the following account should not be lost sight of. Both Annie and Benjamin Spridgeon were known to us, the former especially, as when in health she met with us at chapel, the parents being members with us. During her illness, we saw her every week, excepting when she was away on visits; we felt it a pleasure to hear her relate the Lord’s goodness to her, and she always felt anxious to hear the Word of God read. Her case was much laid on our minds, and on the minds of she friends generally. We hope the blessed testimony may be encouraging to many.
LINCOLN.
W. B.
Annie Mary Spridgeon.
MY DEAR ANNIE was always a tender and affectionate child, and had, all through her life, one of the sweetest dispositions. She was always spoken very highly of, for attention in the Sunday school, and she attended the means of grace. But we could not see that there was the change of heart, which we so longed and prayed for. Just before she was twenty-one, the Lord was pleased to lay His afflicting hand upon her. She then began to speak of spiritual things, which was a great comfort to us. One day she said, “I do sometimes feel very poorly in business, but these words seem to follow me about: ‘Seek ye first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.’”
She left business, and went to stay with some dear friends in the country, near Deeping, where she heard Mr. F. Tryon preach. At one time she said, “Dear Mr. Tryon preached such a sweet, simple gospel sermon, that even I could understand it.”
She continued to get worse, and a dear friend got her into a Home at Ventnor. She was so delighted at the thought of going, and said one day, “I opened my Bible on those words, mother, Thou shalt come to thy grave in a full age, like as a shock of corn cometh in, in his season.” I said, “My darling, that may have two meanings.” Spiritually it was fulfilled in her case, for “the child” did indeed “die an hundred years old.”
One day, after she came from Ventnor, we thought her almost gone for some time; when she got a little better, she said, “That hymn was on my mind all through”:
“Jesus, engrave it on my heart,
That Thou the one thing needful art;
I could from all things parted be,
But never, never, Lord, from Thee.”
The last time she went to our little chapel, she heard Mr. Hill, of Leicester. She said, “Mother, I wondered how you sat in your seat; I thought it would be too much for you. You must have heard well.” I said, “Well, my dear, since you know it was so suitable for me, I hope you know something about it for yourself.” She then said, “Oh, it has been so sweet to me! I was in tears the whole of the time; to think, as dear Mr. Hill said, the Lord sees us in all those dark places we get into! to think that His eye is upon us! and oh, his prayer! he seemed to know all I wanted.”
Just about a month before she was taken home, she was suddenly taken very ill indeed. I said, “How is the poor mind?” She said, “Quite happy. The Lord says, Fear not, for I am with thee.” When able to talk again, she said, “I was reading the 43rd of Isaiah; the first five verses were so blessed to me, it was more than I could bear.”
About a week after this, the Lord so opened her mouth, that for three hours she continued to bless and praise God in the most beautiful language. She repeated the verse: “Father, I will that they also whom Thou Last given Me, be with Me where I am.” “He wills that I should be there, and I shall be there. I am His child; I shall be there.” She would have us sing, “All hail the power of Jesus’ Name,” herself joining in. When we broke down, she sang the last verse herself:
“We too, amidst that sacred throng,
Low at His feet would fall;
Join in the everlasting song,
And crown Him Lord of all!”
She said, “That is the verse I wanted singing.”
One day she said, “Think of His love to me a poor unworthy sinner like me.” Feeling much the intense weakness of body, she said, “I long to be gone. The spirit is too much for the poor weak body; it wants to fly away. Will it be long, mother?” I said, “No, my darling, it won’t be long.” She said, “It seems so long; pray that I may have patience to wait His time.” A friend sent to inquire how she was. She sent her a message, saying, “I hope to go home tonight.” The next night she said, “I am just as happy, but more contented to wait His time; am afraid I was rather impatient last night.”
Another time, she said, “I have been having a little talk with Jesus.” I said, “What about, my dear?” She said, “Oh, about my going home. He says He will never leave me, He holds my hand. He says, ‘Come now, and let us reason together;’ and when He says, ‘Come,’ we have to come. He says, ‘Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.’ He says He has cast all my sins behind His back into the depths of the sea. He says He will be with me through the dark valley; and it would be dark if He were not there! I don’t want you to think I can see my Saviour with my bodily eyes. I cannot; but I know He is here. He holds my hand, and says He will be with me right through.” She went on to say, “Oh how I needed this affliction to bring me down! I was a hard wretch, but oh! the wonderful love of God to me. If I had strength, what a book I could write on the wonderful love of God. I used to think He was a hard God; how could I think so? But then, I could not see my Surety. He stands before the throne, and shows His bleeding hands. Precious Christ! It is He instead of me is seen. What mercies I am surrounded with and when my Saviour was dying they gave Him vinegar to drink. How I long to go! I long to be there!
“‘Then loudest of the crowd I’ll sing,
Whils’t heaven’s resounding mansions ring
With shouts of sovereign grace.’”
Annie lived a fortnight after this, and went through many changes, both in body and in mind. At one time she said, “What if I should be the one without the wedding garment!” This did not last long, for she soon broke out with: “I shall not be without the wedding garment; for
“Jesus, Thy blood and righteousness
My beauty are, my glorious dress;
‘Midst flaming worlds, in these arrayed,
With joy shall I lift up my head.”
At another time she said, “Oh, mother, how sweet those words are to me: ‘He knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust.’ I am so impatient.” Another time she said, “That verse: ‘Arise, shine, for thy light is come, the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee,’ is very sweet to me.”
Many times we thought her about departing; but coming round, she would say, “Not back again, Jesus; but do give me patience to wait Thy time.” Once she said, “He will soon say, ‘Arise, let us go hence;’ and what a hence! Mother, think of it!”
At a time when much tried, she said, “Satan is a cruel foe. He says I have never really loved the Lord’s people, only because they were kind to me. He began, mother, this afternoon, when Mr. and Mrs. B— came in; and since Mrs. T— came so late tonight, his darts are dreadful.” It was painful to see her distress for several hours; and she often repeated the words: “Cruel foe!” I said, “My darling, those dear friends were fulfilling the law of Christ.” “Oh!” she said, “Satan hates the law of Christ.”
After a time she broke out with: “It is all right; the Lord has so blessed me. He says He has loved me with an everlasting love, and with loving-kindness He has drawn me. I should never have gone after the Lord or His people, if He had not drawn me.”
“‘Twas Jesus and the chosen race
Subsists a bond of sovereign grace,
Which hell, with its infernal train,
Can ne’er dissolve, nor rend in twain.”
“Why Mrs. T— and I are ‘one in Christ Jesus.’”
After this, one day she said, “Satan has his times. He is angry that he has lost the victory, so he sends his darts thicker and faster, but it is different now from what it used to be. One stands between.”
On the Saturday before she died, we were expecting friends from a distance. She said, “If I am living, mother, when they get here, fill the room, and let them all sing, ‘Praise God from whom all blessings flow;’ and if I am gone, do the same.” Later on she said, “Oh, I long to go! I long to be where Jesus is; I long to see my Redeemer as He is. Oh! I long to spend the Sabbath in heaven. You won’t fret, mother, will you, when you think of me or look at my likeness. You must think that I am singing the high praises of God in heaven. I would not have anything different. I am on the Rock, on the Rock of Ages, ‘mother; what shall shake my sure repose?’ Give my love to all my friends,” naming several families. “Tell them how precious the Lord Jesus is to me, tell them ‘None but Jesus.’ Give my love to Mr. B—. Tell him a few minutes with Jesus here makes amends for all; and if on earth, what will it be in heaven?”
On the Sabbath morning, she said, “Let us be alone as much as possible today, mother; I want a day with Jesus. Others don’t hinder Jesus being with me, but it takes away some of the sweetness.” She said very little all the morning, being apparently unconscious; but in the afternoon, she raised her hands up, and dapped them three times, and said, “Precious Christ! oh, the Lord Jesus is so precious to my soul.” Then, in the most beautiful language, she blessed and praised God for all the way He had led her, and for all His mercies to her. I said, “I must call your father and brother; I cannot have all this to myself.” When they came in, her father said, “My darling, you are proving that—
“‘Jesus can make a dying bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are.’”
She said, “Don’t call it a dying bed, dada. Why, it is the beginning of life. I often thought how beautiful for dear Mr. Keeble to be able to say, ‘My inheritance is God;’ but now I can say my inheritance is God.”
I looked at her father, and said, “My dear, this is our Annie.” She said, “Yes, dada, this is your Annie, whom God has so blessed; yes, it is poor unworthy me.” She then quoted
“Not all the blood of beasts,
On Jewish altars slain,
Could give the guilty conscience peace,
Or wash away the stain.
“But Christ, the heav’nly Lamb,
Takes all our sins away;
A sacrifice of nobler name,
And richer blood than they.”
And also:
“No help in self I find,
And yet have sought it well;
The native treasure of my mind
Is sin, and death, and hell.
“To Christ for help I fly,
The friend of sinners lost;
A refuge sweet, and sure, and high,
And there is all my trust.”
She went on to say, “That is dear Mr. Jackson’s hymn.” It must have been about eight years since she had heard him. Later on: “Oh, Christ is so precious to me It is almost more than my poor weak body can bear. I am so full of the wonderful love of God. It may well be said that not one half to mortals has ever been told; they could not bear it. I have longed and prayed for this, and the Lord taught me to open my mouth; now He has filled it. I thought I would say nothing about it, but I am compelled to speak. If I held my peace, the stones would cry out against me. See those beautiful white roses. Man’s hand helped to bring them to perfection; but think of the buttercups and daisies. God attends to them; and see how beautiful they are. I see such a beauty in everything; all is new to me. Oh this precious fountain of life Jesus said, ‘Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him, shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water, springing up into everlasting life.’ How I have wondered what that meant; but I know now. Eternity! I have no fears for Eternity. It will not be long enough for me to praise my Saviour in.”
To her father she said, “There is much going on within, but I have not strength to tell it out.” She then lay apparently exhausted for some time. Then looking at her father, she said, “Satan will be in to the last, dada. He says, ‘You have exhausted your stock, where shall you get your next lot from?’ Why, from the fountain of life! He may well be angry; he has lost the victory, his darts are blunted now.”
My dear child lived three days after this, and enjoyed much communion with the Lord Jesus. She seemed to be actually talking with Him. When not able to speak, she would constantly wave her hand. On reviving again a little, she said, “When I wave my hand, I mean praise the Lord.”
At times she would sing part of that beautiful hymn:
“The sands of time are sinking;
The dawn of heaven breaks.”
At one time she said, “If you have any mourning cards for me, I should like these words on them: ‘By the grace of God I am what I am.’ If anything is said about me when I am gone, I should like it said it was all of free grace. I know, mother, you will like me to base everything nice to the last, but it will make no difference to me; I shall be wearing the spotless robed the righteousness of Christ.”
A short time before she passed away, she said, “I am suffering, mother; but in a sense it is enjoyable. I am so happy; Christ is so precious to my soul.” Her father said, “Can the poor hand still praise the Lord?” Me tried to raise her hand, but was not able; we raised it. and with a sweet smile she moved her fingers. In a few minutes her fetters were broken, so gently, we scarcely knew she was gone. The “Arise, and let us go hence” had come.
I would like to say to all who may read this little account, as my dear child said to me, “Think of the baize;” there is nothing in this world to be compared in one sweet thought of it.
Benjamin Spridgeon
THE illness of our dear boy Ben, began to show itself just before he was 18. Unlike his dear sister, he was very tiresome in the Sunday School, and gave his teachers and his father a good deal of trouble. He grew up a nice respectable youth, very attentive to his business, but would not attend a place of worship.
The first two years of his illness we could see no change in him; when leaving him for the night, I used to say a few words to him. He would say, “That will do, mother; shut the door.”
About three months before his death we could see a great change; he used to be very anxious to hear anything I said to him, and was also anxious for his father’s prayers, which he had before despised. He began to be in great distress about his state as a sinner before God. I could hear him praying often during the night, distress was so great, and his father being away from home, I called in a neighbor, a godly man, to talk and pray with him. This was a great comfort to him. His dear sister, knowing of his distress, used to send messages to him. One time she sent this verse:
“Let not conscience make you linger,
Nor of fitness fondly dream;
All the fitness He requireth
Is to feel your need of Him;
This He gives you:
‘Tis His Spirit’s rising beam.”
Another time she sent him:
“Jesus is a Friend in need;
Jesus is a Friend indeed.”
And: “None but Jesus,” which was her constant theme. In speaking of these messages to his father, he said “Bless my dear sister; she is a comfort to me.”
After this I used to hear him singing in the night, generally that sweet hymn:
“Rock of Ages, shelter me.”
One night he sang it through. If he heard the least sound, he would give over. I used to listen, but did not go in. A few weeks before he died he took hold of my hands, and said, “Mother dear, you won’t think too much of this, will you. It may not be for me. You know I have put these things from me, and got as far from them as ever I could get. I am so ignorant, I don’t even know if it is a verse of Scripture.” I said, “Well, my dear, what is it?” He said, “Oh those words came, and they have made such a change: ‘Him that cometh unto Me, I will in no wise cast out.’ Is it Scripture, mother?” I said, “It is, my dear, and one of the most blessed in the Word of God.”
Once he said, “I felt so happy. All my sins seemed gone; I thought I was going to die, and was going to call you; but it passed away, and I feel so hard again. I am afraid I am deceived.” I said, “Who do you think has deceived you?” He said, “Why, mother, apparently in great distress of mind. One night his who does deceive poor souls? Draw the blinds down. I do not want to see this world again; there is nothing in it compared to a good hope of heaven.”
One time, seeing me in tears, he said, “Mother, dear, don’t fret. But I know what you want; you want what I did for a long time, that is a little comfort from the Lord. You should be glad that I have a little hope, and you know I have a little hope.”
On the Sunday, three days before he died, I read to him the words: “Him that cometh unto Me, I will in no wise cast out.” He said, “Those are Jesus Christ’s own words, and He spake them to me. I am so happy, I should like to die this minute. I have been terrified at death. I thought I should die screaming; but I an so happy, I should like to die now.”
After this, he often repeated or sang hymns; sometimes “Rock of Ages,” and frequently, “How sweet the Name of Jesus sounds.” Once he said, “Is it tears or fears in that hymn, mother?” I said, “I don’t know.” He said, “It does not matter. If it drives away his fears, it drives away his tears.”
Just before he passed away, he looked at me with such a sweet smile, and said,
“God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform.”
From weakness he could not go on. I said,
“He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.”
“I have no doubt He has been riding upon the storm of your affliction, my darling, and now He is about to take you to Himself.” He said, “Bless God, He has taken me, mother.” I said, “What am I to say to your father when he comes home?”
“Say
“I’m a poor sinner, and nothing at all;
But Jesus Christ is my All in all.”
And in a few more minutes his happy spirit left, very gently, its tenement of clay, just three weeks after his dear sister. They were both interred by Mr. Tryon, of Stamford, by my dear daughter’s request.
Very much more might be said, but as I took no notes, and I cannot remember to put it exactly in my dear children’s own words, I leave it. What I have written is as nearly as possible as it was spoken by them.