MRS. CLARKE was known in the neighborhood where she lived as a God-fearing widow, and Christian friends felt it a privilege to visit her little cottage, for she had a fresh heart, and in her busiest hours there was always a sweet savor of Christ about her. Widow Clarke supported herself and invalid daughter by little laundry business, yet, however busy, she had some time to bestow on others. Her cottage had a peaceful aspect―it stood back from the London thoroughfare, its little garden wore a neat and thriving appearance, and pretty creepers grew upon the cottage wall. She let her two upper rooms, and this was one of her opportunities for furthering her Master’s cause.
On one occasion the rooms were standing empty, and much prayer was made to God by the widow that He would send tenants to whom she might be made a messenger of Christ. The quiet situation attracted the attention of a young man in delicate health―there was a touch of country peace about it, just what he wanted, and Henry, with his parents, were soon settled in the rooms.
Mrs. Clarke found in Henry a young man of a naturally fine and generous disposition. His love to his mother had restrained his desire for adventure, and his father being somewhat indolent, the young man kept the home together.
Henry worked in a gutta-percha factory, the confinement and heat of which acted unfavorably upon his constitution, and his tall frame and handsome countenance were marked with disease; this Mrs. Clarke observed, and from first acquaintance she took deep interest in his soul, but as every allusion to divine things was distasteful to Henry, she was led the more to prayer for his conversion to God. After a short time, troubles threatened her new lodgers. Henry broke a blood-vessel, and though he battled manfully against the disease, when the winter came, with exposure to cold, and damp evening air, he very reluctantly fell upon his club for support. No one felt more deeply for him than Mrs. Clarke, but in vain did she put before him his need as; sinner. When she spoke of Christ, he would often leave the room; and every request for him to hear the gospel preached, met with a positive refusal. This made her more carries than ever, and not content with her own pleadings, she gathered a few Christian friend! together for special prayer on Henry’s behalf.
The fatal disease was making slow but evident advance, and Mrs. Clarke felt no one had yet spoken plainly to the invalid about his state; she had endeavored to do so, but had never got at his heart. After much prayer, the help of one who was specially powerful in her plain and solemn warnings to the unconverted was sought, and Mrs. Clarke introduced her friend to Henry’s sick room. “Do you read your Bible?” inquired the visitor “No,” replied Henry. “Have you one? Yes, but I have not read it, neither do I mean to.” “Let me see it,” said the lady; and finding it was not in the room, she asked the mother to fetch it. “I shall now read to you out of your own Bible where God has said you will go, if you die as you are.”
Though Henry was angry at such plain speaking, he did not interrupt as scripture after scripture was read, declaring the awful and eternal misery of the unbeliever who diet in his sins. Not one word of her own die the lady add to the solemn statements of God’s Word. While Henry heard of the certainty of everlasting punishment, of the wrath of God, of the worm that dieth not, of the fire that is not quenched, of the weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, God spoke to his soul, with a “thou art the man.” For the first time in his life his heart was broken under the sense of sin and the fear of coming wrath and tears rolled down his face. His feeling! of anger were forthwith changed into deep gratitude towards the friend who, in love for his soul, had not feared to tell him of his sun and hastening doom should he still reject the Saviour and persist in his unbelief. The lady’s visits were welcome indeed from this time, and Henry anxiously listened to the way of escape that God had made in the redemption by His Son.
Sometimes comforted with a glimpse of Christ, then pressed down with the weight of his sins, so as to feel he should never be saved, Henry would often say that he should not mind what he suffered in his body did he but know that his sins were forgiven, and that he was safe for eternity and thus passed the long winter.
Another Christian visitor was used by God for Henry’s deliverance from fear and bondage. Having just heard from Henry the doubts and the fears that troubled him, he said, “Like a drowning man, you are struggling to save yourself. But suppose a rope thrown out, and the man told to cease struggling, and to trust himself to the rope alone, he would then be saved by another. Henry, give yourself up as perishing and helpless, and trust to the Saviour, who comes to you with a finished salvation; believe on Him, and you shall be saved by His strength; and then, instead of fearing, you shall know yourself safe in Christ, who sits at God’s right hand in glory.” God opened Henry’s eyes to see Jesus as his salvation; he received Him in his heart by faith, and from that moment peace in believing took the place of gloomy doubts and fears.
At first he had a desire to recover, not for the sweetness of life, but that he might tell others―and especially the men in the factory―what God had done for his soul. However, he soon saw that this was not his Father’s good pleasure. Intense longing filled his soul to be with that precious Saviour, who had so loved him, and had washed him from his sins in His own blood. One day, his end appearing very near, he told Mrs. Clarke, to whom he now felt the tenderest affection, that before the clock struck twelve again, he hoped he should be with Christ; indeed, his daily desire was that on the morrow he might see his Saviour.
Unable to enter into his joy, Henry’s mother showed too unmistakably that his lingering sickness wearied her; but “Mother does not know what I suffer” gently said, was all that he would say of her. The Master’s word, “Abide in Me, and I in you,” was his comfort, just simply resting in Christ, and in His faithful love. “Persons have told me,” he once remarked, “that I should pray when in much pain, or repeat hymns, but I cannot do so. It seems so sweet to know that I have only to rest in Him, and that He is thinking upon me, when I am too weak to think myself.”
After a day of especial suffering, Mrs. Clarke asked him whether he did not think that his desire would very soon be granted, when, to her surprise, he answered, “I do not know I have given up thinking.” “Given up thinking of being with Jesus, dear Henry! what, then, do you do to comfort yourself?” “Oh!” replied the patient sufferer, “I have thought too much, I fear. I have wished too much to depart and be with Him. I now trust Him, and leave all to His will.” The last lesson in God’s discipline was learned.
“What shall we pray for today asked Mrs. Clarke, the next morning.
“That the Lord may take me; and mind that you say, ‘Thy will be done.’” That day a heavenly calm rested on the little company who watched Henry as he lay gently breathing himself away to bliss. None seemed able to speak or move, so sacred and solemn Wai that dying stillness; and as we watched, with eyes dimmed with tears, Henry looked up to heaven and smiled, and with rapid utterance cried, “I see Him! I see Him!” His mother whispered, “Whom do you see, Henry?” “see Jesus. He is coming―He is coming for me―coming to take me to Himself!” He gazed upward adoringly for a moment, and then gave his last kiss and last good-bye to his dear ones, adding “Say ‘good-bye’ to father; God bless him. Tell him to come, to Jesus.” And then he shut his eyes, and his breathing grew softer and softer, until all was still. We looked one upon another and whispered, “He is gone.” R. W.