“Why do you weep?
I am falling asleep,
And Jesus, my shepherd,
Is watching His sheep.
His arm is beneath me,
His eye is above;
His Spirit, within me,
Says, 'Rest in my love.'
With blood I have bought thee,
And wash'd thee from sin;
With care I have brought thee,
My fold to be in.
Refresh'd by still waters,
In green pastures fed,
Thy day has gone by—
“I am making thy bed.'
“There calmly repose,
While the shades gather round:
I lay, as thou liest,
And hallow'd the ground.
And fear not confiding
Thy spirit to me,
Sweet peace in My presence
Its portion shall be.
"Nor long shalt thou wait,
For the sound of My voice,
To rouse thee from slumber,
And bid thee rejoice;
The dawn of that morning
Unclouded is near,
When, robed in His glory,
Thy Lord shall appear.
“Then thou shalt arise,
In His image to shine,
And, filled with His fullness,
Say, All things are mine!'”
He very much enjoyed the hymn; but he was for a short time a little overcome by his beloved sister's bursting into tears at his bedside; but he said he was quite happy. He asked me to pray that he might have more joy in the Lord. He had always peace, and sometimes joy, in the thought of being with Jesus; and he also wished me to pray that this affliction might be blessed to his brothers and sisters.
I told him that I thought it would be very sweet if he could arrange about the disposal of his little property; he spoke of it with the greatest cheerfulness, "knowing that he had in heaven a better and a more enduring substance.”
March 11.—He had a very disturbed, restless night. His friend D. F— kindly sat up with him. His kind medical attendant, Mr. B—, found him much altered, his face looking so haggard. He was deeply affected, and said to Mrs. Deck, "It is very painful to see a poor lad in that state." She answered, "Yes, it is so indeed; but how beautiful it is to see his resignation to the Lord's will! How happy he is at the thought of death: so happy, that he has no wish to live; and so patient, that not a murmur escapes his lips!" He answered that he had observed it, and that it was indeed remarkable in one so young.
When I returned home from T— in the evening, I found him much altered in his appearance. There was a look about him as if his time here was very short. He received me with his usual tenderness and joy, and said that "it had seemed a long time since I went away.”
After a little while, I knelt down by his side; and having prayed with him, we told him that we thought he would soon have the joy of being with Jesus; and that Mr. B—did not think he would be long here. At first he was a little overcome, and the tears filled his eyes. I said, "You are not weeping because you are unhappy, or afraid to die?" "No, Papa." "Why do you weep, then?" "It was the thought of leaving you all, Papa." I then sought to comfort him by saying that he was only going before us for a little, and that we should soon follow him. It was as if he was leaving this for London by one train, and we were going to follow him by another; we should soon meet in London; and so we should soon meet again, never more to part, in heaven. I told him that we could only rejoice for him for all who loved him would feel far happier in thinking of him as safe with Jesus, than exposed to the temptations and sorrows of this evil world. He soon became composed and peaceful. I asked him whose the loss would be if he were taken from us; he replied, "Yours, Papa;" and whose the gain ' Mine.”
Mrs. Deck then came in, and mentioned how happy she had been that morning in thinking of his being with the Lord; the joy he would have in heaven. I asked him if I should pray with him, that his faith might be increased, and that his mouth might be opened to speak to his dear brothers and sisters, and that the Lord might be glorified in his death. He desired this, and we prayed together. After this, we had some free conversation. Having repeated the latter part of Rev. 7, that beautiful passage which sets forth the happiness and glory of the multitude that no man can number, and their title to it all—" They washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb" —I said that I was glad to see that he had marked that passage in his Bible. He replied, with his usual frankness and candor, "O Papa, I marked many of those passages just for the sake of marking!" “Was that the case with all the passages I" "No; I marked some because I felt them." He had found out and written down all those passages under the head, "Humble against pride," because he had felt pride to be one of his besetting sins. The hymns had been marked lately. He freely confessed that he had needed this affliction; he had become worldly, careless in reading the Word of God, and in prayer. He said that he had felt much more of the love of God three or four years ago, at his first conversion, than of late. In answer to a question of my wife's, he said that he had been very happy during the former affliction of the loss of his eye; and though his peace through faith in the blood of Jesus had never been shaken, he had been tempted to desire to have Christ and the world too, and thus lost much of his happiness and joy. Alas! how many older Christians desire the same, and not only grieve the Holy Spirit, but pierce themselves through with many sorrows! I inquired if during his present affliction it had been a great struggle to have his own will brought into subjection to the will of God, as it now was? He answered, "No; that from the first the Lord had enabled him to submit.”
March 12.—I proposed to Augustus to sit up with him last night, but he would not hear of it. "It would make him unhappy, as I was so tired, and needed rest; our servant Eliza would take care of him;" so I went to bed. At five this morning, I entered his room; he received me with a countenance beaming with joy; he told me he was "so happy.”
He said to Eliza, during the night, "O Eliza, I am so happy, I was never so happy before!" I asked him what made him so happy: he answered, "The thought of being so soon with Jesus in heaven.”
When I lay down by his side, he said, "Papa, have you not a sovereign for me from dear Grandpapa? I have been thinking how I should like to divide it among the servants, for their great kindness to me." They indeed nursed him to the end with the greatest faithfulness and tenderness, for he was beloved by them all.
We received a letter from his uncle Edward, telling us that he should leave London for W—by the half-past ten o'clock train. "Oh, then," he replied, with his usual brightness, "he will be here at half-past four. I wonder we have no Indian letters. Why are they so late? They ought to have come. Tomorrow is dear Mamma's birthday!" I heard a deep groan; I said, "What is the matter, dear Augustus?" Eliza whispered, "He is weeping." I went to his bedside, the tears were gone; it was the thought of his beloved mother, whom he so tenderly loved, that had caused that groan.
On another occasion, when he was anxiously looking for letters from India, I observed that he had been weeping; he said to me, "I have been thinking of my own dear Papa and Mamma. Is it wrong for me to wish to see them again?" I answered, "No; it was quite natural and right to desire to see again the parents who so tenderly loved him, though at the same time he should seek to have his will about it subject to the will of his Father in heaven." This was another striking instance of his earnest wish to have every desire brought into subjection to the will of God.
He told me during the day that he felt such agony in his bowels, that it was sometimes so great he feared he should be convulsed. I sought to prepare him for still greater sufferings, by telling him that it might be the will of God that he should suffer far more pain before he entered into rest; but that we would look to Jesus for grace to enable him to endure all that God might lay upon him, and that the thought of his Savior's sufferings would strengthen him under his own. He most sweetly acquiesced in what I said, and replied "that he was willing to suffer pain if it was the will of God.”
He also told me that he should wish to have a text upon his tombstone; he had not yet fixed upon one, but would think of it. He reminded me of the inscription upon the tomb of Jane B—, a lamb of God's flock, whom he had known at S—, and whose grave he had often visited, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." "I believed, and I rejoiced.”
He asked. Miss P—if she was going into the town; if she were, would she have the kindness to buy some blotting-paper for a writing-case which he wished to make up for Sarah K—, who had so faithfully nursed him through his illness? He also asked her to buy with his poor-money some tea and butter for Samuel C—and Elizabeth D—, two of the Lord's poor children who were sick. Calling me to his bedside, he said, "Papa, I want to tell you what I wish to do with part of the other sovereign which I have; Samuel and Mary are very poor, I want to give them each five shillings of it." His heart seems to flow out with love and kindness to all around him.
His kind uncle came this afternoon. He read and prayed with Augustus, which much comforted him.
March 13.—He passed a bad night, in much pain. I prayed with him that his faith and patience might not fail, but that he might still glorify God.
On asking in the morning if he had been happy, he said, "Yes;" and he had been thinking how sorry he was for having given up eating dry bread, which he once did, and thus losing his poor-money; "for," he said, with his face beaming with joy, " I asked Miss P—to buy out of my poor-money some butter and some tea for C—and Elizabeth D—, and they were so thankful for it. Elizabeth's face brightened up, while she told Miss P—that she had been praying to the Lord to send her some help, and this was the very thing she wanted. "I said," You know, then, the meaning of that word, It is more blessed to give than to receive?'" “Yes, Papa." “What led you to give up eating the dry bread?”
"It was because I so liked to butter my own bread." This was a privilege allowed to our children when they became thirteen years old. I said, “The Lord seems to be leading you to judge all your past ways, Augustus." “I think so, Papa.”
Augustus had often, for weeks together, given up butter and sugar, entirely of his own accord, for the pleasure of bestowing an allowance they called "poor-money," made to any of the children who did so, upon the poor. His heart was always open to their need, and especially to that of the Lord's poor children. The Lord fulfilled to him the promise in the 41St Psalm, "Blessed is the man that considereth the poor. The Lord will strengthen him upon the bed of languishing. Thou wilt make all his bed in his sickness.”
I read to him two hymns, which had been sent me that morning, "Just as I am," and "The Prodigal's Return," which he much enjoyed. He tried to read them himself, but could not; the letters, he said, appeared to vanish from his eyes.
As my desire in this memoir is the comfort and blessing of others, I cannot forbear giving here a copy of these hymns. The first, "Just as I am, "is the prodigal's language when he accepts the gracious invitation," Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out. "The second," The Prodigal's Welcome," was written by a friend, on my suggesting that the manner of God's love in receiving us needed to be known, as well as our way of coming to Him.