THE evening comes, the sun is sunk and gone,
And all things lie in stillness and in rest ;
And thou, my soul, for thee one rest alone
Remaineth ever, on the Father's breast.
The wanderer rests at last each weary limb,
Birds to their nests return from heath and hill ;
The sheep are gathered from the pastures dim—
In Thee, my God, my restless heart is still.
Lord, gather from the regions dim and far
Desires and thoughts that wandered far from Thee ;
To home and rest lead on, O guiding Star ;
No other home or nest but God for me.
The daily toil of this worn body done,
The spirit for untiring work is strong ;
Still hours of worship and of love begun,
Of blessed vision, and eternal song.
In darkness and in silence still and sweet,
In blessed awe my spirit feels Thee near ;
Within the Holiest, worships at Thy feet ;
Speak Thou, and silence all my soul to hear.
To Thee my heart as incense shall arise ;
Consumed upon Thine altar all my will ;
Love, praise, and peace, an evening sacrifice,
And in the Lord I rest, and I am still.
—G. TERSTEEGEN.
HE had no more visits from his beloved friend and teacher Ernest von Hochmann. In the year 1721 the hermit of Wittgenstein had passed from his " home of peace" in the mountain glen to his home of peace with-Christ in Paradise.
His last years had been quiet and peaceful. His thoughts were less occupied with the fall and ruin of the Church on earth, and more constantly with the blessedness and glory of the Church united to Christ in heaven. He had learnt, he said, that it was easy to attack and oppose the Babel of sects and of National Churches, and yet to leave the inner Babel of the heart untouched.
"And many," he said, " leave the sects made by man, to make another, which is moved by the same spirit of popery as the sect of Rome. And many attack the authorities of the Established Churches, because they desire to be under no authority at all, but to follow their own will. And many make a loud boast of having come out of Babylon, and yet they have brought out with them their pride and self-righteousness and self-seeking.
"As for me, I stand fast in the liberty wherewith Christ has made me free ; but in desiring to bring other men to God, I do not now begin with these outside things, but speak to them of true conversion of heart, and repentance from dead works, and lead them to Jesus Christ, the author and finisher of faith, desiring that men should storm and attack the inner Babylon before they trouble themselves about the Babylon outside.
"For myself, I desire to belong to no sect. I am a universal Christian."
We have a little picture of his last days, the childish recollection of a little girl of seven years old, who was taken by her mother to pay him a visit in his " home of peace."
This little girl, with her mother and aunt and several cousins, climbed up the rocky path to the mountain glen, and found Hochmann in his little hut.
" He called to his servant," she writes, " and said to him, 'Have you nothing to eat that I can set before my dear guests ?' The man brought a piece of honey-cake. Just when Hochmann was going to divide it between us, the Countess of Berleburg (Count Casimir's mother) sent from her castle of Christianseck a whole cake and some wine.
"At this he was greatly rejoiced, and praised God, and said, ' Who shall forbid us to eat the Lord's Supper together, just as we are ? The Lord will certainly be with us, according to His promise ?' And hereupon he prayed with such might and power, that it went to the depths of our hearts, and he divided amongst us the cake and wine, and we all joined in singing a hymn of praise. It was no little refreshment to us to have this blessed feast.
"Not long after this first visit, about nine months perhaps or a year after, I was with my mother at Schwarzenau. We heard that Hochmann was ill, and we visited him. And when my mother asked how he did, he answered, 'All vanishes ; only Jesus remains, and in the darkness there is light.' And so the next day he fell asleep.
"I am now (1771) sixty-eight years old, I alone remain of that little company here below, and I hope soon to be with them where they are gone."
Thus far the little maiden's recollections. Others who visited him in his last illness, said that his heart was filled with praise. He made them join him in singing hymns. The mountain sides echoed back the sounds of gladness. Let us listen to his favourite hymn.
"Thou Life of my life, blessed Jesus,
Thou death of the death that was mine,
For me was Thy cross and Thine anguish,
Thy love and Thy sorrow divine.
Thou hast suffered the cross and the torment,
That I might for ever go free,
A thousand, a thousand thanksgivings
I bring, O my Jesus, to Thee !
" For me hast Thou borne the reproaches,
The mockery, hate, and disdain,
The blows and the spitting of sinners,
The scourging, the shame, and the pain.
To save me from bondage and judgment,
Thou gladly hast suffered for me—
A thousand, a thousand thanksgivings I bring,
O my Jesus, to Thee!
"O Lord, from my heart do I thank Thee
For all Thou hast borne in my room ;
Thine agony, dying unsolaced,
Alone in the darkness of gloom;
That I in the glory of heaven,
For ever and ever might be ;
A thousand, a thousand thanksgivings I bring,
O my Jesus, to Thee !"
It is well to take note of these descriptions given by eye-witnesses of Ernest von Hochmann's last days. Histories of him exist written by those to whom that which was highest in him was the most contemptible, and that which was wisest in him was the most foolish.
One of these accounts, after describing his preaching in many places, concludes by telling us that at last he " disappeared altogether from the eyes of the world, and we can only imagine that he was cared for by some pious disciple up to the time of his gloomy death."
Sixty years later, Jung-Stilling, whose early home had been within sight of the mountains of Wittgenstein, wrote his recollections of childhood. " By means of the numberless visits of all sorts and kinds of people, we heard all that went on—we were quite familiar with the chronicles of the awakened.' All the men interested in this movement, their lives, their characters, were described to us so often and so vividly in our rustic little sitting-room, that still, when I recall those scenes, I behold again the pious narrators, the wide forest filled with the singing of birds all around us, seen through the little window, glowing in the golden light of the evening sun."
"And," adds Goebel, after quoting this description, " in order that one of these golden sunbeams may fall upon the pages of our history, I conclude the story of Hochmann in Jung-Stilling's words. Hochmann was, as I remember him, a thoroughly worthy man, always plainly and neatly dressed, and as excellent in character as it is possible to imagine. He was always looking out for opportunities of teaching, whether he could find few or many to hear him. He taught them the purest mysticism' (the word here means simply communion of the soul with God), the need of complete conversion, of a thorough moral change, after the example of Christ, and entire love to God and man. He spoke with astonishing enthusiasm, and with indescribable fire, but without inflated or wild language.
"'He spoke also in the dialect of the people, and of all that he taught he was the living example. He was completely master of his heart and of his passions, humble and gentle in the last degree, and he stole the hearts of all who had to do with him. He went wherever he was invited, and took the lowest place, if possible, amongst the servants. He remained perfectly silent till he thought there was anything to be gained by speaking. In a word, he was a glorious man."
Yet, after all, that which was highest in Hochmann was scarcely to be understood by Jung-Stilling. We must take his description for what it is worth, and sympathize with Gerhardt Tersteegen in the loss of such a friend at a time when he specially needed help and comfort.