“‘THANKS for all you tell me. I never tire of any details,” Mrs. G. wrote, replying to one who feared she was wearying her. “The more I can be occupied outside myself the better; and although I cannot write about them, I deeply sympathize, and in my hours of wakefulness it comforts me to pour out all before the Lord. I can no longer dress myself; but come down every day for a few hours. I sometimes lie and think of the city wherein there is no night, in all the details of its attractive loveliness. Sometimes I remind the Lord that He promised to make all my bed in my sickness, and has told me that the everlasting arms are beneath me, and that He Himself is my refuge. Then faith instantly takes up the strain, and tells Him that not one word has failed or shall fail to the end; and of course praise flows forth, and the dark, wearisome night is almost the portal of the Father’s house.
“On Sunday Miss— came to see me; I spoke of the rest of heaven. She thought it happier to contemplate the variety of work one might expect to find there, but the music and the song seemed uppermost in her mind.
‘Don’t you anticipate it?’ she said. ‘It will be passing sweet,’ I replied, but does not so much occupy my thoughts.’ What is your thought, then?’ she said. ‘Going straight to the feet of Jesus,’ I replied, and sitting down there to gaze upon Him forever.’ Ah, yes! they shall see His face.”
Again to the same she writes: “The Lord’s love is wonderful, so I can now say my light affliction, which endureth but a moment! I want you to bless and praise with me. He makes all my bed in my sickness, and fills me with joy unspeakable and full of glory.”
Towards the end of the month she wrote to her two sisters conjointly, seemingly her farewell letter, which was received in England.
“My own darling sisters—I must try once more while in the body, to speak a few words to you. My sufferings and weakness increase now very sensibly day by day. It was hard work yesterday when I was removed to my couch, and today it cannot be attempted. The least nourishment I take produces pain which lasts till I am obliged to take something else―yet I only take liquids―and the wasting nature of the disease increases.
“Well, dear ones, it will soon be all past. There is no more pain in the home―the blessed home, to which I am fast going. The Lord has fixed the time, and I would not hasten His time, no, not an hour. His precious, blessed loving will be done. Amen and Amen.
“My dearest E. will, perhaps, remember how months ago I spoke of that passage, ‘the things which are not seen.’ Well, it seems to me the Lord has been teaching me the meaning of it, and thus blessedly making room for Himself and His own joy. It is wonderful the joy He gives, ‘unspeakable and full of glory,’ so that the indescribable weakness, the poor failing limbs no longer able to bear the emaciated body, make me almost shout with delight as I see how the earthly house is being dissolved. It is all Himself now―there seems no room left for self―hence the deep, deep joy; I must speak of Him, I must tell of His love―His sovereign love―must speak of His faithful word. Yet I cannot speak of lying on the bosom of Jesus as some saints can. Sometimes I find myself nestling there, but down I slip instantly to His dear feet, and lie there to worship and adore. Is not this being in spirit already in the glory? You see I tell out my feelings without reserve because I am so near eternity.
“I fear you will be getting anxious about me, yet I have not felt equal to writing all this time. I am unable to swallow even a soaked crumb of biscuit or bread, yet often there is the longing and intense craving for food.”
After a few more details she continues, “Well, darling, this is one phase of my existence—I know you wish to have such details. This is the daily dying side, the other side is feeding on the Bread of Life, learning the treasure I have in the blessed Son of God. I only live as occupied with Him, all other ties seem to hold but loosely. My soul follows hard after Him, His right hand upholds me. Every evening when I have taken my cup of tea, and daylight has faded away, I nestle down on my pillows, and remain alone with Him who is the chiefest among ten thousand and the altogether lovely. Then, indeed, I live! I am occupied with Him, engrossed, ravished, satisfied! His precious word, His smile, Himself, makes my heaven, and I only await His call, ‘Come up hither,’ and my spirit with one bound shall be ‘absent from the body, present with the Lord.’ Unless, indeed, He shall come Himself to bear us all away, while yet this poor frail body holds on.”