John Wesley: Man Who Revolutionised Britain in the 17th Century
James Joseph Ellis
Table of Contents
The Life Story of John Wesley.
CHAPTER 1
FEN MEN BUT FIREMEN.
“I'm small, but I am growing
As quickly as I can;
A working boy like me is bound
To make a useful man.”
“His pious course with childhood he began,
And was his Maker's sooner than his own.”
“FIRE! Fire! Fire! The dreadful word rang through the empty street, rousing the sleepers and carrying terror into the quiet parsonage of Epworth.
“Fire! Fire! Fire!" The rector thrust his head out of the window at the cry, but quickly withdrew it as he realized that his own dwelling-house was in flames.
“Susannah! " he shouted to his wife,” go you and take Emilia at once into the street; I will see to the other children.”
He rushed off as he spoke and burst in the nursery door. Little Hetty, frightened by the heat, which had aroused her, had just discovered that burning pieces of the roof were falling at her feet. She called the maid, and the girl, catching up the baby, reached the doorway as the rector rushed in.
“All right! all here!" he asked hastily.
“All here, sir," replied the girl, and the frightened company hurried downstairs into the hall.
Here they found the rest of the family completely shut in by a roaring, hissing cage of flame. The key of the door was upstairs; in a very few minutes the staircase would be on fire.
“Quick, Samuel," said Susannah Wesley to her husband, as he rushed through the blinding smoke over the creaking boards.
“The staircase will be in flames before he can return I" exclaimed the wife, anxiously. "God take care of him! Thank God, here he is!” “Stand back a moment," said Wesley, as he thrust the key into the lock and opened the door. As he did so the strong north-east wind drove in the flames, so that the fugitives were driven back.
“Through the window!" exclaimed the rector; wait not a moment, Susannah."
“I can't get through the window," exclaimed his wife. "Three times the flames have driven me back.”
“Run for it, wife, while I see to the children," exclaimed her husband. "The danger is very great.”
“God help me, then! I will," answered Susannah Wesley, and rushed into the burning furnace. Happily she sustained no serious injury, and her husband likewise escaped unhurt.
“Thank God, all safe! One, two, three! All the children safe! Yes, four, five; all here," said the father.
“John! John! where is our little John? O Samuel, is he there?”
“Who has John?" shouted the father, anxiously. "Have you, Biddy?”
“No, sir," replied the nurse; "he was asleep when we started, I just remember. In the flurry I quite forgot about him.”
“In the midst of the flames! Oh, my poor boy!" sobbed Susannah Wesley, sinking to the ground: "What shall I do?”
“I'll try to save him!" exclaimed the distressed father, and he rushed back into the house.
Three times he tried to rush towards the staircase, but was beaten back by the flames each time. Kneeling in despair upon the floor, he cried for the child whom he supposed to be dying. "O God! save the boy! Save my boy! Take him to Thyself if he must die! But, I beseech Thee, spare the child!”
His wife was getting anxious for her husband's safety, and, hearing her cries for him, Samuel Wesley stifled and smarting from the blinding smoke, came out into the yard again.
As he did so the boy appeared at the window of his own bedroom. John was standing upon a chest in the room, his head and shoulders showing clearly upon the glaring background of flame.
“Fetch a ladder! Quick! A ladder!" shouted a bystander.
“No time for that," replied another. "Here, stand against the wall; I will mount upon your shoulders, and we can perhaps reach him.”
No sooner said than attempted. But the top man slipped, and an agonized groan burst from the mother's heart. There was not a moment to be lost. The flames were raging with an awful fury; the roof would soon fall in.
“Try again," said the brave man. "Stand fast. Now then!”
“Hurray! He has got him! Thank God!" shouted the father, rushing forward to clasp his boy in his arms.
As he spoke the roof crashed in, and the tongues of flame dashed higher with more awful force.
“All gone! books, goods, money! But the children are safe!" exclaimed the rector. "Thank God they are all safe. We are rich enough, wife. Let all the things go so long as we are all spared to each other." The children were all taken to neighboring houses, and their parents found shelter among some of the people of the town.
The next day the rector, walking among' the ruins with his wife, picked up a charred fragment of paper.
“Look," he said, "a leaf of my Polyglot Bible! It cost me a large sum of money. All my books gone! Oh my books!
There is a sentence still legible," replied his wife." Read it, husband.”
“Vade, vende omnia que habes, et attolle crucem et sequere Me.”
“What's that in English?" asked his wife. "My father, though he had me taught French, did not believe in women learning Latin.”
“Wise man he was," laughed her husband, "therefore fitting father to so wise a daughter. However, co more joking. ‘Go, sell all that thou hast, and take up thy cross and follow Me.'" “We have no more than Adam and Eve when they began housekeeping, "replied his wife." Never mind, let us take up our cross.”
But the Wesleys in the Isle of Axholme that 9th of February, 1709, found that not one but many crosses had to be carried.
A year or two later the parsonage had been rebuilt; bricks took the place of wood and plaster, and a more spacious dwelling arose upon the foundations of the old parsonage.
Thither one day came a visitor from London, the brother of the rector.
Dr. Westley—for he did not drop the "t" from his name as did his brother—sat stiffly looking over the family assembled round his brother's table. Round a smaller table the little ones sat at dinner under charge of a servant. Those of the children who were able to manage a knife and fork sat with their parents. But not a child spoke; only twice during the meal did one address the other, and then in a quiet voice.
“They don't chatter; that's one good thing," observed the visitor.
“No; their mother does not permit them to do so," answered his brother. "She begins their education almost as soon as they are born, and you might never know that there were children in the house.”
“How much money hast thou put away for them?" inquired the doctor, sternly.
“Nothing, brother, nothing. Out of ₤200 a year there is little to be saved when the cost of stocking the glebe and rebuilding the house is paid for.”
“But it is every man's duty to save for his family. You ought to have done so, Samuel. It seems as if you have always been in trouble, and never will be other than penniless.”
“Perhaps not, but I shall never taunt a relative with what he could not prevent; nor shall I ever refuse to do a kindness when it is in my power," replied the rector.
“But you ought to have saved money. I regularly put so much money away," replied his brother." If I do it, who am not married, you ought to do so who are the father of so many children.”
“Your income is many times larger than mine," answered the rector." You know not what expenses I have.”
“Curtail, man, curtail," replied the other." You ought to provide for your children, and not leave them for other people to bring up.”
“Please God, I never shall. But, brother, this strip of Lincolnshire, some ten miles long and four miles broad, contains 10,000 of the wildest people you ever saw. They are lawless and addicted to evil customs, and they would not be reproved.”
“You should try to please them. If you spent some of the time you waste over your books trying to make things agreeable for the people it would be better for you. As a doctor I try to please everybody, and see where I am now.”
“I never willingly angered anyone," replied Samuel," but I have spoken out when I saw sin, for I am not here to please people, but to preach the Gospel. I dared to vote as I pleased at the election, and the people of these parts differed from me in politics. They threatened my children, telling them that they would be compelled soon to beg from door to door. Three cows, upon which we depended for food, were killed, and the men even tried to break into the house to harm us.”
“Nonsense; they would not harm you. You imagine things; you often misjudge people; you are too sensitive.”
“They hammered and drummed under the window of the room where my sick wife lay, firing off guns and making hideous noises all the night through. The din was so great that none could sleep in our house. In the morning the servant overlaid the new-born baby, and when she awoke it was dead! Then they fired my house; for I am certain that the second fire was caused by malice.”
“Have you had two fires, then? "asked the doctor." Seven years before, a spark fell upon the thatch, and a third part of the dwelling was consumed. Then, we had to rebuild, but I did not feel it so much, for so many misfortunes had come to us that I did not feel so distressed. But the gaol was the worst trouble that I had.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, before that I was burned out of house and home, my enemies had me arrested for debt. There was plenty of stock in the farm, but they stopped me coming out from a service in the church, and demanded instant payment. They hurried me off to Lincoln Castle, and did their utmost to ruin me. My wife sent me all the little jewelry she possessed, including even her wedding ring. Of course I sent it back to her, but I rejoiced in the love that spared me help out of what little she had.”
“Your friends, I suppose, helped you with the debt?”
“Yes; and many said, ' Seek another parish,' but I resolved to stay here at all cost. But we had a fearful time of persecution, until they burned our house down.”
“Well, fen men they may be, but it was a dastardly deed to set fire to a dwelling house, when the inhabitants were asleep. But I am sure you are at fault. I never get into trouble, and I never want money.”
“Perhaps not, but you are not our judge, brother," replied the rector." Rich relatives are often harsh to those who are not so favored in respect to gold, but I would not exchange my position for yours. I suppose that I require so much trouble to counterbalance the joy I have had in my family. But, brother, you cannot sit in judgment upon me, without injustice. Let us not further discuss the question.”
Before he passed to his reward, Samuel Wesley conciliated his angry parishioners, and when he at last concluded his ministry on earth, he was mourned for bitterly in the place where they had set fire to his house.
Chapter 2
GOWNSMEN BUT GODSMEN; THE HOLY CLUB.
“When a kindred soul I find,
Oh, never, never, let us part.”
“Hope must brighten days to come,
While memory gilds the past.”
“GLAD to see you, Mr. Whitfield! Come in, dear friend! Welcome to the Holy club!
I congratulate you upon daring to be associated with the despised Methodists.”
The speaker, John Wesley, now a fellow of Lincoln College, Oxford, advanced to meet the young man who came timidly into the room. Poor and despised by many who had no claim to notice but their wealth derived from others, George Whitfield glanced from face to face, and the kindly welcome that he read upon each countenance at once put him at his ease.
“You know my brother, Charles; Mr. Henry, you know," said John Wesley. "Come, friends, to breakfast! George Whitfield will soon feel at home with us.”
But, noticing that the new corner was silent and slightly reserved, John Wesley addressed him kindly.
“Friend George, it is twenty-six years ago since, by God's mercy, I was taken like a brand from the burning. I well remember awaking and seeing the light of the flames; I thought that it was morning. I can recall the whole scene as vividly as if it were only yesterday. But I have had many mercies since that period.”
“I should like to hear of them," said Whitfield. "I have a long time wished to know you intimately.”
“In 1714 I went to London," said Wesley, "and entered as a gownboy at the Charterhouse. Dear old school, how I loved it! The pictures on the walls; almost every stone of the building was precious to me. But the elder boys served us little folk badly. They took our food, so that for nearly four years I had scarcely any food but bread; and no bad food either and more than I deserved. I think it was because of this abstinence, and of my obeying my father's command to run round the school garden three times every morning, that I am as well as I am now. I came to Oxford in 1720, and one incident taught me a lesson. My father had rendered a service to the much-talked-of Dr. Sacheverell, and I called upon the great man, at my father's wish, to secure his interest. He was as tall as a Maypole, and as proud as a peacock. He looked upon me with contempt, because I was small in stature. He said, You are too young to enter the University. You cannot know Greek and Latin yet. Go back to school.' I looked at him and thought, If I did not know Greek and Latin better than you do, I should go to school indeed."'
“What a pity that people should take pleasure in giving pain!" remarked Whitfield. "But one often sees that kind of spirit in those who might be a great help to others!”
“I was far from strong then," continued Wesley, his expressive features beaming kindly upon his new friend." Upon one occasion my nose bled so profusely while out walking, that I could only stop the bleeding by taking off my clothes and plunging into the river. I was very poor in spiritual life; very poor 1 Alas! I had not yet attained to my hope in Christ. I well remember the porter of our college coming to my room and wishing to talk with me. I laughed at him, and bade him go home and get another coat. I have no other coat, but I thank God for this,' said he. Well then,' said I, go home and have your supper.' I have had but a drink of water all day,' replied the man. 'Thank God for that.' 'What would you do if you were locked out,' continued L Thank God that I can lie upon the dry stones,' he said. Why' said I, was there ever such a fellow? You thank God when you have nothing to eat, little to wear, and no bed to lie upon. What else do you thank God for?' But, oh, it was good to hear that man say, I thank God that He has given me life and being; and, especially, that I have a heart to love Him and a desire to serve Him.' I felt that there must be something in the man's religion to yield him such solid peace under such distressing circumstances.”
“I have observed," remarked James Henry, "that the poor, so far as worldly things are concerned, are often eminent for piety; indeed, I have sometimes thought that the more God takes away from us, the more enjoyable what mercy He leaves becomes.”
“In 1725," continued Wesley, "I began to study Thomas a Kempis and Taylor's ' Holy Living,' and much increase of spiritual desire I experienced from the influence of the two books. It was while I was seeking light for myself that God permitted me the joy of leading a friend to a saving knowledge of Himself. We stood together watching a funeral; and it was laid upon my heart with power to speak to him about his soul. Thank God I did not speak in vain.”
“Would God that we were all more faithful in speaking to our friends and acquaintances," put in Whitfield, timidly. "Oh, to be bold for Christ! “Amen!" said Wesley. “We should be so. Our very calling means this. When in 1725 I was ordained a priest, Dr. Hayward, the Bishop's chaplain, said to me: Do you know what you are about? You are bidding defiance to all mankind. He that would live as a Christian priest ought to know that whether his hand be against every man or no, he must expect every man's hand against him.'”
“You found it to be so?' remarked Broughton, another member of the Holy club.
“Yes, I did," continued Wesley. "After I became a fellow of my college, in March, 1726, I experienced much divine help. I longed to do God's will, but it was difficult to be a Christian in Christ Church. When I became a fellow here I found myself among quite another set. It was a fresh start in serving God. In August, 1727, I went for two years to Wroote, near Epworth, but I was called back here, as you know, to my fellowship. I took pupils then to eke out my income, but since my return from Lincolnshire I have been greatly delighted with the society of these dear brethren.”
“In 1730 we began the visitations of the poor and prisoners," said Kirkham. "Morgan, you were our leader in this good work.”
“And a blessed enterprise it has been for us," said Wesley." Who among us regrets surrendering his own comforts for the benefit of the poor? I had one lesson from a poor girl we supported at school. ‘Have you no other covering than that thin linen gown?' I asked her. None, sir,' she replied. How her thin white face was pinched with the cold What right have I to spend God's money upon my own comfort when what has covered my hall would have kept this poor creature from the cold?”
“Would that all Christians would regard their wealth as a loan, for which they must give an account to God," said Berridge; "only a talent lent to be used.”
“To be of use is the chief thing in the Christian life," observed George Whitfield. "One man may by his money serve God; others must help in other modes. I think that to attempt the form of usefulness possible to us is the chief thing after all.”
“That is so," replied Wesley. "For that reason I refused to go to Epworth. When my father was becoming too feeble for his work he much wished me to come and take the rectory and keep the house, which for forty years had been our home. But I felt that it was of greater importance to sweeten the fountain than any subordinate streams. So I decided to stay here.”
“He died only last year, did he not? asked Kirkham." How old was he?”
“Seventy-two," replied Wesley. "'The inward witness,' said he to me, when visiting my dear father for the last time; 'the inward witness, son, the inward witness; this is a strong proof of Christianity.' To Charles he said: The weaker I am in body, the stronger and more sensible support I feel from God.' I asked him, Sir, are you in much pain I' With a smile he replied, God does chasten me with pain; yea, all my bones with strong pain. But I thank Him for all; I bless Him for all; I love Him for all.'
“Do you remember, brother John, what he also said to me?" said Charles Wesley. "Be steady,' said he, ' be steady. The Christian faith will surely revive in this kingdom; you shall see it, but I shall not.'”
“Pray God it may speedily," said Whitfield; "for belief in God seems quite died out in England. No one believes in the Gospel, and the wickedness of the people is fearful.”
A few months after this conversation at the Holy club, John and Charles Wesley sailed as missionaries to Georgia. On the 21st October, 1735, they left the shores of England for America. The voyage was to be of the deepest importance to the travelers and to the Church of God, but, as yet, neither of the Wesleys knew why or whither God was leading them.
The long period of barrenness was to be succeeded by a return of rain; the Elijah was to be trained for the encounter with Ahab and the priests of Baal
Chapter 3
HELPERS BUT HATED; “THAT VAGABOND WESLEY.”
“The sacred bow he so divinely drew,
That every shaft both hit and overthrew.
Strange were the charms of his sincerity,
Which made his action and his words agree.”
“BROTHER CHARLES, I am sorry to hear about your illness," said John Wesley, as he entered his brother's lodging. "I had got to Oxford when I heard how unwell you were.”
“Yes, brother, I am unwell," replied Charles; "but as I have been lying here, I have been reviewing my past life, and how I have been led to rejoice in Christ as my Savior.”
“Let us thank and praise Him," returned John Wesley." When we started for Georgia, you remember what awful storms we had during our voyage. The Moravian Brethren on board had no fear of death whatever. We are not afraid to die,' they said; and I felt I had not attained to their happy faith.
“After I landed in America, a Moravian minister asked me, ‘Do you know Jesus Christ?'
“I know Him to be the Savior of the world,' I replied.
“Do you know He has saved you? ' he Inquired.
“hope He has died to save me,' I answered.
“Do you yourself know?’
“I said Yes.'
“Then after I returned to England, Baler met me and said, My brother, my brother, that philosophy of yours must be purged away.'”
Thank God, it was purged away I and on the 24th May, 1738, John Wesley burst out, "I feel that I do trust in Christ, in Christ alone for salvation; and an assurance is given to me that He has taken away my sins; even mine and saved me from the law of sin and death.
“Let us sing together, brother John," said Charles Wesley.
“With all my heart," replied John; and filled with the deep joy of new love in Christ, the brothers, now linked by a new bond, sang—
“Oh how shall I the goodness tell,
Father, which Thou to me hast showed
That I a child of wrath and hell,
I should be called a child of God;
Should know, should feel my sins forgive;
Blest with this antepast of heaven.”
In 1739, John Wesley was talking with his brother upon the awful condition of England.
“Our bishop," he said, "declares that an open disregard for all religion is the chief characteristic of this age; and I believe him, brother Charles. Freethinkers' clubs seem all the fashion now Not four members of Parliament, I hear, attend divine service.”
“Brother John, in London the condition of things is far worse. I hear that every sixth house is a grog. shop. I am weary of seeing the notice hung outside grog shops, that ' a man can be made drunk for a penny, and dead drunk for twopence, and have clean straw to lie upon until he becomes sober without charge.' Oh, what a sink of wickedness this London is!”
“I feel sure that God is about to visit us," replied John. "Whitfield writes me that in Bristol the clergy have shut him out of all their pulpits, and yet the blessing of God is resting upon him wonderfully. He urges me to come to help him, and I shall go at once.”
“Do so, brother John, and God go with you," replied Charles. "When you require help, send for me.”
When Wesley visited Bristol, he was delighted to find Whitfield having wonderful success.
“Ten to twenty thousand come to hear me, Wesley; and still the crowds increase! They forbade me to preach in the churches, but I took to the open-air, and their hatred has not hindered the work of grace. It was a splendid sight to see the rough colliers listening to the preaching of the Gospel, and to see the tears trickle down their grimy faces. Thank God, hundreds of them have been saved by grace.”
“I do not like this new way of preaching in the fields," said Wesley; but before many days he himself was constrained to preach to three thousand people in the open-air, and so began his wonderful open-air ministration.
During six weeks he continued to preach in Bristol, and there he laid the foundation stone of the first Methodist chapel. At last had come the awakening which his father, Samuel Wesley, had expected. Under the preaching of Wesley and Whitfield, and their helpers, a new reformation was to commence.
There were, it is true, many strange scenes which cannot be fairly judged, if viewed in a cold, unsympathetic spirit. Under a vivid sense of the reality of divine things many cried out in agony; nor is it to be wondered at, when the nature and guilt of sin are at all realized. To a spirit absorbed in money-making or pleasure, it may appear ridiculous to be distressed with terror at the consequences of sin; but has the holiest reader of these sentences realized adequately the sins of the most holy day, the most acute distress of mind and body, until the anguish of the convicted soul finds rest in Christ? Hast thou ever been convicted of sin? If not, why dost thou add to these offenses that of hardened contempt?
In 1739, Wesley obtained the Old Foundry in City Road, London, as a preaching station chapel. In that year the errors of the Moravians necessitated a withdrawal from them, and on the 20th of July, Wesley publicly separated from his former associates, and with those who shared his evangelical beliefs met in what is now called the City Road Chapel.
“It is a wrench, brother John," said Charles, "but it ought to have come before. God could not bless us while we were associated with those who were teaching such false doctrines.”
“Yet I hoped by gentleness to change their minds," said John. "But it cannot be, so we must go forward with the work God has given to us and save all we can.”
On the 23rd July, 1740, the first Methodist Society was formed in the Foundry Chapel, and during the following year the work of uniting the converts into a community of societies was consolidated.
“Strengthen ye one another," said Wesley. "Talk together as often as you can, and pray earnestly with and for one another, that you may endure to the end and be saved.”
The class meeting, which has been so remarkable a feature of Methodism, arose, like many other useful agencies, as an afterthought, and from financial necessity.
On the 1st February, 1742, a debt remained upon the Wesleyan preaching-room in Horse Fair, Bristol, and it was decided to attempt to pay it off.
“I love not debt," said John Wesley." Pay your lawful debts. It is as much a sin for churches not to pay what they owe promptly as for a man to delay paying his baker's bill.
A Captain Joy stood up in the meeting and said, "I suggest, sir, that every member of the Society give a penny per week until the debt is paid.”
“There are many of our people who cannot afford so much," objected a member.
“Then put eleven of the poorest with me," replied Captain Joy. "If they can pay anything, well and good. I will call upon them weekly. If they give nothing I will pay for them as well as myself.”
“That is good-counsel,' said John Wesley." Let it be as Captain Joy says.”
“And let all the others do the same," urged Captain joy, and all agreed to the suggestion.
After a while these collectors reported that some of their friends were not living in accordance with their religious profession.
“The very thing I wanted. There is the organization we need to look after our people," exclaimed Wesley. "Let those who collect the weekly money make inquiry into the spiritual condition of their subscribers.”
This was done, and Methodist class meetings were developed. But the progress of Methodism was like every other good work: it grew up by the beneficent effects of adversity. Its leader was once termed by a clergyman "That vagabond Wesley.”
The new effort to save souls was bitterly opposed by many Christian persons, who ignorantly hated those whom they should have helped. Happily they have seen their mistake long since.
Chapter 4
ITINERANT BUT RESTFUL; OR, "ALL THE WORLD IS MY PARISH.”
“To distant lands the apostles need not roam,
Darkness, alas I and heathens are at home!”
“Who hath praise enough? Nay, who hath any?
None can express thy works but he that knows them.”
“GLORIOUS accounts of my son John. He is doing a wonderful work for God in Newcastle. Oh, it is marvelous-indeed it is The speaker was Wesley's mother; tall, comely, and winsome even in her old age. She was sitting with a relative in the drawing-room of her son's house, New City Road Chapel, London. Outside the room door stood a handsome clock, still preserved; just within the room a spacious bookcase occupied almost the whole side of the apartment. It was filled with choice volumes, the special favorites of John Wesley, “It is, let me see, three years since I have made my home here," said Susannah Wesley." I came here in 1739, and I thank God that John's doctrine, though several oppose it, is the teaching I heard from my dear husband's lips. My eldest son died that year, and angry indeed was he with me because I had gone to hear John preach in the open air.”
“But Mr. Wesley himself did not always believe in open-air preaching," remarked her friend.
“No; he believed that souls could not be saved except in a church. But prejudiced as he may be, John Wesley will always surrender his prejudices when he sees them to be wrong.”
“Have you heard from him lately?" asked her friend.
“Yes. I had a letter this morning, by a special messenger, who told me himself much that made my heart rejoice and feel proud too.”
“No wonder! it is indeed honorable to be the mother of such a man as John Wesley. They may love him elsewhere, but nowhere can they love him as we Methodists in London do.”
“He knows it, he knows it," replied Mrs. Wesley. "But would ye like to hear what he says?”
“I had rather you told me about him," answered her friend.
“I will pleasure you willingly. You know that soon after I came to him here, he began to reflect upon the awful state of England. He wrote to James Henry about the matter, and, said he, 'I look upon all Me world as my parish.' Yet he said again and again that he was loath to strike a blow that he could not follow up, But see how wonderfully God has led him step by step. He went into Leicestershire to visit his dying friend, Miss Cowper. Thence he went to Bristol, and on the 28th of last May he journeyed to Newcastle. Lady Huntingdon had begged that the colliers of the North might share the blessing so wonderfully given by John's preaching to the colliers of Bristol.”
“To me it is very remarkable that a man so learned and elegant as Mr. Wesley should be able to preach so that colliers can understand him. Why, my little children even can follow and remember his sermons.”
“Therein is his talent; but very few can be so plain as he can. When he reached Newcastle at seven o'clock on the Sunday morning, he and John Taylor his traveling companion went to the poorest part of the town and began to sing a hymn. Three or four people came out to see what the neat meant, and before the service had ended nearly fifteen hundred people were assembled to hear the word of God.”
“What was his text?”
“‘He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon Him; and by His stripes we are keeled.'”
“Just like him; one of his favorite texts.”
“True; and he spoke with such wonderful unction, that the people stood gaping at him thunderstruck. He said, ‘If you want to know who I am, my name is John Wesley. By God's help, at five o'clock this evening, I design to preach here again.' At five o'clock the hill was covered from top to bottom with people, all eager to hear the Word of God.
“So it was at each place on his journey until he returned to our old home at Epworth. Forty years long his father labored in the gospel there, and saw but little fruit; still I know that he did not live in vain.”
“He would not have done so had he only trained John Wesley; but no doubt your husband prepared the way for his son.”
“It was seven years ago since John had visited Epworth. He supposed now that few would care to know him again, for fear of the odium that the reception of the new doctrines involves. But he found friends, and spent a happy evening with them. The next day being Sunday, the church was thronged by people who had come hoping to hear him preach. But the drunken curate (who is not a little indebted to our family) not only refused John the pulpit, but preached against the son of his benefactor.”
“Shame upon him!" said the other; "and yet, poor man, it's no wonder. It is natural for an Unconverted man to hate the gospel”
“At six o'clock in the evening such a throng tame into the churchyard as had never been seen in our quiet little town before. Standing upon his father's tombstone, John preached the gospel to them. Glory to God for such a son! But the opposition was not stayed. In a neighboring town a wagon load of his new converts were carried off to the justice's.
“What evil have they done?' asked the magistrate.
“Oh!' said an old man, please, your worship, they pretend to be better than other people, and they pray from morning to night.'
“'But have they done nothing else?' inquired the judge.
“Yes, sir,' replied the speaker; but please, your worship, they've converted my wife. Till she went among them, she had such a tongue! Now she is quiet as a lamb!'
“Cart them all back! cart them all back!' said the magistrate, and let them convert all the old scolds in the town.'”
“Thank God for that escape from persecution then," remarked her friend." I remember once my husband was in great distress. While walking with Mr. Wesley he told him about his griefs. I cannot see my way through them all,' he said. 'Oh, what a dark future!' Mr. Wesley made no answer, bin stopped, and pointing to a field near, he asked, Do you see that cow?'
“The cow?' said my husband, 'looking over the wall.
'" Yes.'
“' I see her.'
“'Now, friend, why does that cow look over the wall?'
"I don't know.'
“Because she can't look through it.'
"My husband got to look above his troubles; and what a happy life he lived after that lesson!”
“John tells me about one man who was in great distress of mind.
“'Are you a sinner?' John asked. 'Sinner enough.' the man replied, with a deep groan. Now he is rejoicing in a sense of sins forgiven.”
A few weeks after this conversation, John Wesley returned from the North, just in time to see his revered mother die.
“Children, as soon as I am released, sing a psalm of praise to God," were her last words; and they did as she requested.
The three months following her death Wesley spent between London and Bristol. Afterward he went down again to Newcastle.
In June, 1743, he was at Wednesbury, when he encountered his worst danger from a mob.
He was writing quietly in his house, when a raging mob gathered round the door, shouting wildly, "Bring out the minister. We want the minister.”
“They want my life," said Wesley. "Bring their leader in to see me.”
They did so, and in a few moments Wesley's gentle speech disarmed the angry savage.
“Bring one or two of the worst men in also," said Wesley. They were in like manner subdued.
Taking a chair with him, Wesley now went out to face the mob.
“What do you want with me?" he asked.
“Come to the magistrate," they yelled.
“With all my heart," said Wesley. "But, friends, remember that you must stand before another judge, and give an account of the deeds done in the body. Oh, my friends, flee from the wrath to comet”
"The gentleman is honest enough," cried a voice in the crowd. "We will shed our blood in his defense.”
“Let no blood be shed for me," said Wesley. "I will go to the magistrate.”
Through the darkness and the rain the rioters dragged him to the magistrate's house, more than a mile distant.
“What has he done?" asked the magistrate's son. "Why, an't please you, these Methodists sing psalms all day: ay, and make folks rise at five o'clock in the morning!”
“It shall be seen to, good people. The king will not have honest folk served so," replied the dignitary. "Go home! go home! and wait until we are able to do what is fitting.”
But upon their return journey a fresh mob assaulted the company. A fierce encounter now ensued, in which Wesley was pulled about and roughly handled.
“Knock his brains out! Down with him! Kill him at once!" cried some.
At length he found shelter; after being for five hours in the hands of the unruly savages who raged for his blood like wild beasts.
Several times a man struck at him with a large oaken stick; but without harming him. Another lifted his hand to give Wesley a blow, but for some, to him, inexplicable reason altered his mind, and stroked Wesley's head saying, "What soft hair he has!”
“What looked you for?" asked Wesley of one of his companions, when speaking of their recent ill-treatment.
“To die for Him who died for us," replied the other.
“So did I," answered Wesley. "But God has spared us. Let us seek the salvation of the men who are raging for our blood I Let us pray!”
Upon the floor of the house in which they had taken refuge the two knelt and prayed Stephen like for those who sinned ignorantly, not knowing what they did.
Like scenes were enacted in every place; for the devil, before he went out, did all the injury possible.
Yet, through all opposition and suffering, Wesley preserved his gentle, calm demeanor, and often, by his tact and tenderness, disarmed his enemies. A great love for sinners inspired and sustained him, and, to the glory of God, he found that the world had become his parish.
Chapter 5
MARRIED BUT HOMELESS; "GRACE MURRAY, YOU HAVE BROKEN MY HEART.”
“He asked for bread, and he received a stone.”
“If she slight me when I woo
I will lightly let her go.”
“FRIEND NELSON, I like not the duty. It is the most unpleasant task I have ever under-taken. It must be done, though," said George Whitfield, turning from the window with a sigh. His companion, Nelson, sat by the fire in the large room of the chief inn in Leeds, and they were conversing about a lady, Grace Murray, who had been engaged to marry Wesley, but had broken off her engagement, and of which they were about to inform him. Nelson rose from his seat and replied: “True, sir, but John Wesley is a brave, brave man. He has had much trouble in his love affairs, but this will go nigh to break his heart. Did you know about his former ones?”
“Yes, Nelson, yes," answered Whitfield. "While at college he was much attached to Betty Kirkham, the sister of his college friend, who also was one of the early Methodists.”
“But how was it that they were not married? Did not the lady return his affection?
“I think that she did," answered Whitfield. "But I do not know all the circumstances. For some reason or other, however, the engagement was broken off. One thing I am certain of is that Wesley bitterly felt the disappointment.”
“There are some girls, Mr. Whitfield," said Nelson, "who take a remarkable pleasure in playing with the finest, deepest feelings of the heart. A thoughtless, beautiful girl no doubt is proud of her influence and loves authority, but 'tis a pity that she should cloud other people's lives by heartless flirtations.”
“I agree with you," answered Whitfield." But all people do not feel as acutely as Mr. Wesley. He has a deeply affectionate spirit, and, I am sure, would be happy in a home if he were only suitably married. Poor fellow, he was also badly treated by another girl while he was in Georgia, though he made a fortunate escape from that frivolous, worldly person.
“Never shall I forget my first interview with John Wesley. I walked from St. Paul's to his home with him that I might enjoy his delightful society. It was to me an indescribable pleasure. When we parted he took my hands, and, looking me full in the face, said, with an expression of affection that I can never forget, Oh be careful, Friend Nelson; be careful not to grieve the Spirit;' and when we went together into Cornwall we had but one horse between Mr. Wesley, John Downes, and myself. Poor Downes fell sick of a fever. For three weeks Mr. Wesley and I lay upon the floor, having no bed. Mr. Wesley had my greatcoat for a pillow; I laid my head upon a book. But Mr. Wesley was happy and merry with all our hardships. At three o'clock one morning, I remember, he turned over and said to me with a laugh, as he clapped me on the side, Brother Nelson, be of good cheer; 1 have one whole side yet.' The skin had been rubbed off the other side of the body.”
“Ah, Nelson, we must have no nestling," said Whitfield. "We have all known hardships enough; but thank God for the souls we have won through our sufferings." "I remember, too, another day, during that same visit to Cornwall," continued Nelson. "After preaching no one offered us a meal, and we went hungry and faint out of the village. Mr. Wesley stopped to pick the blackberries off the hedge, and as he ate them he said to me: 'Brother Nelson, we ought to be thankful that there are plenty of blackberries, for this is the best country that I ever saw for getting an appetite, but the worst that ever I saw for getting food. Do the people think that we can live by preaching, and need not bread or meat?' I answered that a man had given me a little barley bread and honey, so that I was not so hungry; but poor Mr. Wesley was very faint for want of food.”
“Let me see; it was the April of this very year, 1749, that Charles Wesley was married," said Whitfield, as if meditating." John remarked to me, ‘It was a solemn day, such as became the dignity of a Christian marriage.' Poor fellow, he hoped to have soon enjoyed a like happiness himself with Grace Murray.”
“Who was this Grace Murray, Mr. Whitfield?" asked Nelson.
“She was born in Newcastle," answered Whitfield, "but went to London at the age of eighteen. When twenty years old she married a sailor, who was not a godly man. God used the death of her baby to incline her to thoughtfulness. How anguished she was, and how bitterly she grieved! Nearly distracted with grief, she went to hear Mr. Wesley preach. In the course of his sermon he said: 'Is there anyone here heart-sore and weary? Anyone who is bowed down with sorrow? Is there one here who hath a true desire to be saved by Jesus?' and she replied, in the deep silence, Yes, I have.' Then she went as a young widow to superintend the orphan house at Newcastle. When Wesley asked her to marry him, she replied, This is too great a blessing for me. I cannot believe it. That is all I could have to wish for on this side of heaven."'
“And yet she flirted with this Bennet she has now married! What a pity that she did not know her own mind Poor Mr. Wesley.”
“She behaved very badly. She sent Mr. Wesley's letters to John Bennet, and when he heard of it, and bade her take Bennet if she wished and could be happy with him, she ran to him, weeping bitterly, and begged him not to leave her else she would die. 'I love you, Mr. Wesley,' she sobbed, 'a thousand times better than ever I loved John Bennet. I wouldn't marry him if every hair of his head were hung with gold, and yet, if I don't marry him I'm afraid he'll go mad.' Then she begged Wesley to marry her immediately for fear she should alter her mind. But John Wesley wished to consult his brother, and not to be guilty of an unkindness to Bennet, so the matter was deferred though they were once more solemnly engaged. Now she has gone off and married Bennet!”
“But hush, here comes Mr. Wesley," interposed Nelson. "Oh, Mr. Whitfield, what will he say when he knows that Grace Murray has treated him so?”
Very painful was the interview as Wesley learned the tidings, and when his brother Charles arrived the next day with Bennet and his wife, Wesley was not at all cordial in his reception of his brother. He knew that Charles had done his utmost to break off the marriage, and said: "I renounce all intercourse with you, but what I would have with a heathen man and a publican.”
“I did my utmost to save you from throwing yourself away," replied Charles.
The entreaties of Whitfield and Nelson at length reconciled the brothers. But Wesley had received a severe wound. "Grace Murray," he said to his former lover, "you have broken my heart.”
Two years afterward, Wesley married a widow lady, Mrs. Vizelle. Very unhappy was the gentle John during the thirty years of his wife's lifetime. One of his preachers said of her: "I once went into a room in the North of Ireland, and there I found Mrs. Wesley foaming with rage. Her poor husband was lying upon the floor. She had flung him down, and had been pulling him about the room by the hair of his head. Oh, sir! I knew not how to restrain myself when I saw her set upon the holy man and tear the venerable locks from his head in her mad fury.”
More than once she left him. In 1781 she died at Camberwell.
“She was perhaps not quite right in her mind,” said John Wesley to his brother. "At any rate, had I been blessed with a happy home, I might not have been so eager to betake myself to the fields to preach the gospel”
“Oh, John! do you remember the day when she shut us both up in a room?" asked Charles. "She would not let us out, but abused us through the door. I answered her, do you recollect, by repeating Latin poetry.”
“Whatever her faults, brother Charles," answered Wesley, "she has gone to her account. May God give us grace to avoid her sins. I trust to learn the benefits of a meek and quiet spirit from what I have suffered from the contrary spirit.”
Much has been the ridicule cast upon Wesley for his famous entry in his journal: "I did not forsake her; I did not dismiss her; I will not recall her." It is probable that a full knowledge of all the facts would elevate our estimate of Wesley; perhaps help us to forgive the unhappy wife.
Wesley's own advice to his preachers might perhaps, with the emphasis of his own experience, be urged upon others not yet married, but hoping to marry: "Take no step towards marriage without solemn prayer to God, and consulting with your brethren.'
Chapter 6
PRESIDENT NOT BISHOP; OR, "KEEP MY RULES, NOT MEND THEM.”
“Heaven waits not the last moment; owns her friends
On this side death, and points them out to men.”
“All his prospects brightening to the last,
His heaven commences ere this world be past.”
“HAVE you heard the news from America?' asked one preacher of another, as they met for conference in the Foundry, then as now the Mecca of Methodism.
“About Whitfield's death, do you mean? I am heartily sorry, for Whitfield was all afire to save souls and serve Christ. So humble and loving too! How John Wesley will miss him!”
“Yes, he is much cut to the heart by the tidings, but I did not refer so much to Whitfield," said his friend. "I mean that it is reported that the American Methodists have appointed one of their preachers to be a bishop.”
“Indeed! Who is he'”
“Asbury. And Wesley has written to them: 'I study to be little; you study to be great. I creep; you strut along. I found a school; you found a college. Oh beware Do not seek to be something. Let me be nothing, and Christ be all in all! How can you—how dare you—suffer yourself to be called a bishop? I shudder, I start at the very thought. Men call me a knave or a fool, a rascal, a scoundrel, and I am content; but they shall never, by my consent, call me a BISHOP!’ ”
“Yes, he loves to cleave to the Church. Are you going to take tea with John Wesley in his house to-night? You know that he invites a few preachers to do so.”
“No; I went last evening; but, do you know, as we sat round the great teapot, holding nearly a gallon, I felt so stupid I could not look at him, and kept reading the grace, which is, as you know, printed upon the sides of the teapot in blue lines upon the white ground, and kept saying over to myself:
“Be present at our table, Lord;
Be here and everywhere adored.
These creatures bless, and grant that we
May feast in paradise with Thee.'
Just then he turned the teapot round, and as a sign that we had finished, pointed to the grace printed on the other side of the big teapot:
“' We thank Thee, Lord, for this our food,
But more because of Jesus' blood;
Let manna to our souls be given,
The bread of life tent down from heaven.'
“One of our preachers now spoke up, and said he: ' Mr. Wesley, Mr. 'Wesley! if we are to live in harmony, brethren must not find fault.'
“What is the matter, John?' asked Mr. Wesley.
“Oh,' said he, pointing to me, Joseph has been telling me of this and that; I can never please him. What have my faults to do with Joseph?”
“What did Wesley say?”
“He smiled sweetly and quietly said: If any brother sees any fault in me, I'll thank him to tell me of it.' John said nothing, and I felt so relieved that the matter was ended.”
“Just like him. John Wesley is the man to heal a difference. A true peacemaker I am sure he is.”
“But come, make haste; we shall be late for the conference," said one of the two, and they both hurried along to take their seats.
“Dear brethren," said Wesley, the president, after all the members of the conference were assembled," I pray you be in earnest. I well remember Dr. Lufton saying that his father once, while visiting one of his dying parishioners, said to him, Thomas, where will your soul go to when you die?' My soul, sir?' asked the man. Yes; you know what your soul is?' Ay, surely, sir; 'tis a little bone in the back that lives longer than the rest of the body I' So much had he gained from forty years of sermons, and of good sermons tool Be plain, brethren; I will be plain with you. Are you each saved? Are you each relying upon the finished work of Christ for salvation? Let no man in the least trust in his office, or his relations, or in anything but the blood of Christ. It is faith in the atonement that saves the soul, and faith alone! Let every man search his own heart. I, for one, trust alone in Christ.”
After the deep silence which ensued as each man was looking into his own secret thoughts, Wesley broke silence by saying—"Our beloved brother, Fletcher of Madeley, is about to visit us. He is very ill in body but as holy as ever. Here he is.”
The assembly rose as Fletcher entered the large room—pale, emaciated, and feeble—leaning heavily on the arm of a friend. Wesley hastened to meet him, and led him to the top of the room.
The apparently dying man looked upon the company of preachers for a few seconds, and, with tears running down his thin, wasted cheeks, said—“Oh, beloved brethren, when we come to draw as near to the heavenly world as I am now, earth's toys and prizes are seen to be empty and vain. Live in Christ, I charge you. Preach Christ and feast upon His word. Oh, the delights that I have known while communing with Him in the solitude of my chamber! How sweetly near hath He been to me! How my heart hath been ravished by His love, and how tenderly bath He healed my wounds! Such sins! Such unbelief! But, oh, what grace and what abounding mercy! Beloved, there is naught but Christ worth living for; but, oh, what a treasure Christ is in Himself! We must go into deep trouble, sickness, or pain to be able to appreciate the sweetness and value of His love, but how His comforts increase when we have no other friend! I charge you that you make Him your first thought; that in all things you seek to live so as to praise Him and to bring glory to His name. Oh, my Christ I when shall I see Thee face to face? When shall I see Thee as Thou art? Come, Lord Jesus! yea, come quickly!”
Fearing that the excitement might prove too much for his friend, Wesley knelt upon the floor. All present followed his example and the president began—
“O Lord our God, have mercy upon us! Thou art our hope and our salvation! We thank Thee for our beloved friend Fletcher. We pray Thee to spare him to us a little. We need him, O Lord our God. Think of the unbelief, the worldliness, the sin, the vileness of the earth, and make bare Thine arm, O Lord! Arm of the Lord, awake, awake! Bestir Thyself, O our God, and raise us many preachers for England! If it please Thee, spare Fletcher to the good work of salvation; spare his life and raise him up speedily.”
Then after a moment of thrilling silence, Wesley burst out into a rapture, and cried— “He shall not die, but live and declare the works of the Lord.”
All sprang to their feet and united in singing the verse which has often given vent to united Christian joy—
“Praise God from whom all blessings flow,
Praise Him all creatures here below,
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host,
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.”
Fletcher of Madeley did not die, but for eight years after continued his gentle, holy ministry before he entered the mansions above.
Chapter 7
SAD BUT NOT SORROWFUL; OR, "GOD IS WITH US.”
“How our hearts burned within us at the scene!
Whence this brave bound o'er limits fixed to men
His God sustains him in his final hour
His final hour brings glory to His God!”
COME, child, you are late. Was the service longer this morning?" asked blind Mary as her grandchild entered her cottage one Sunday morning in 1788. Everyone in Bolton knew Mary and her grandchild.
“O granny, I shall never, never forget this morning's service!" said the maiden." We were singing the beautiful hymn you are so fond of—.
'Come, oh thou traveler unknown,'
and Mr. Wesley was giving out the verses; when he came to the two lines—
'My company before is gone.
And I am left alone with Thee!—
he burst out into a bitter cry, and covering his face with his hands, sat down in the pulpit and wept bitterly.”
“Wept! did he? What was his grief?”
“O grandma, Charles Wesley is dead!”
“Dead! Charles Wesley dead! Alas! a prince and a great man has fallen then in Israel. Not like his brother? No! But a mighty man also, and a leader of the host.”
“The singing stopped, and all the people wept together with a bitter lamentation. It was a sight never to be forgotten, to see the great congregation weeping together. Strong men broke down, and wailed like little children.”
“No doubt! No doubt! Ay, he will be missed! Oh to be missed by the people of God I When you die, will the Church of God miss you?”
Gentle reader, when you die, who will miss you, outside the circle of your relatives? The profane, worldly, and godless, or the holy and useful in the earth?
“After a while Mr. Wesley recovered himself, and then, granny, he did preach so beautifully. They are gone,' he said, and we cannot forget them. Nor do we desire to do so. Let us follow them as well as we may. Oh! cleave to Christ with full purpose of heart. Think of the anchors that ought to steady you in the tempests of life. From heaven the great cloud of witnesses hold thee in full survey. They have entered into rest, and are forever with the Lord. Oh, for grace for all to go where they have gone I Beloved, beloved, we will join you, and meet at last a company complete in heaven!’ O granny, I mean to be there in heaven! How can I do so!
“Ay, child, 'tis hard and 'tis easy. It cannot be done in one's own strength; but if you will renounce your own doings and trust in Jesus alone, nothing is easier. Christ does it, child! Christ does it! Ye must be carried to heaven by Jesus Christ, as your mother carried you when you were young. He must do it all for you. Can you trust Him?”
“Yes, I will. I ought. Jesus Christ, my dear Savior, I don't know what to do, but I cast myself upon Thy mercy. Oh, save me, and keep me, and bring me to heaven at last!”
“Amen it shall be so," replied Mary, wiping her eyes. "But ye must watch and pray, and never lose hold of Christ. God save you and keep you from falling.”
Have you, friend and brother, done the same? If not, there is no time like the present to trust in Christ.
Three years of earnest work Wesley was spared to perform after his brother Charles had passed away. With him the malice and prejudice had been lived down, and men began to fulfill, in his case, the promise: "Them that honor Me I will honor." Everywhere, too, Methodists felt that the days of their beloved leader were becoming few below, and like Elisha with Elijah they strove to see as much as they could of the saint about to ascend.
“I am now an old man, decayed from head to foot," he wrote on 1st January, 1790. "My eyes are dim; my right hand shakes much; my mouth is hot and dry every morning; I have a lingering fever almost every day; my motion is weak and slow. However, blessed be God! I do not slack my labor; I can preach and write still." "Lord, let me not live to be useless," he prayed constantly; while to the thronging multitude, who hung upon his lips, the apostle of love gave the ancient command, "Little children, love one another.”
On the 17th of February, 1791, he preached at Lambeth, feeling unwell. He did his work as usual, but upon the following Sunday, 20th February, he was too unwell to preach. On the Monday he dined at Twickenham. On Wednesday he preached at Leather-head his last sermon, appropriately concluding his long labors as a revivalist by a sermon from the text, "Seek ye the Lord while He may be found; call ye upon Him while He is near.”
On Friday morning he returned to City Road, and was put to bed at once. The bedstead stood right up against a fireplace and wardrobe made in the wall.
A small door at the toot of the bed opened into the tiny study, which was a small apartment in the chimney-like buttress behind the house. Beside the bed and behind the door stood a handsome bureau. The doors stood open, and showed that the inner side of each door was covered with portraits of Methodist workers, pasted there by Wesley's own hand. Just within the door of the little study stood a small writing table, which fitted between the doorway and the fireplace. The light fell upon the valued volumes that lined the walls. But Wesley was soon to look upon other books and obtain knowledge where they see the Teacher face to face.
Although thus confined to his room, Wesley's active spirit could not rest. As soon as he became able to use his pen, he sat up in bed and wrote several letters to friends.
On Sunday, February 27, he was well enough to sit up in his chair. He repeated cheerfully—
“Till glad I lay this body down,
Thy servant, Lord, attend;
And oh my life of mercies crown
With a triumphant end!”
He was soon wearied out and lay down.
“There is no need for many words,” he said. "What I said at Bristol I feel now.
‘I the chief of sinners am,
But Jesus died for me.'”
“Oh, how necessary it is for everyone to be upon the right foundation, "he exclaimed." We are justified by faith, and then go on to sanctification.”
After a restless night he began to sing—
“Oh, wouldst Thou again be made known,
Again in Thy Spirit descend,
And set up in each of Thine own
A kingdom that never shall end!
Thou only art able to bless,
And make the glad nations obey,
And bid the dire enmity cease,
And bow the whole world to Thy sway.”
Then he lay still awhile.
“Bring me pen and ink again," he said.
“You cannot write, I see," observed one of his friends.
“No, I cannot."
“Let me write for you, then. What shall I say?"
"Nothing but that God is with us.”
On Tuesday afternoon, March 1, 1791, the change for death came. In a feeble tone he said, "Lord, Thou givest strength to those that can speak and to those that cannot. Speak, Lord, to all our hearts, and let them know that Thou loosest the tongue.”
He then burst out singing-
“To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
Who sweetly all agree.”
His voice failed and he gasped for breath.
“Let us go," he said.
“His mind is wandering," said his friend. "Call up all the friends who are downstairs.”
The little bedroom and smaller study were soon filled with a weeping throng.
One of the company knelt in prayer. Wesley burst out, "Amen! Farewell! Farewell!”
Then lifting his wasted arm as if in triumph, in a voice feeble indeed, but inexpressibly sweet, he exclaimed—
“The best of all is, God is with us. I'll praise, I'll praise," he added. And so, praying and praising, he lingered until a few moments before ten o'clock on the next morning, Wednesday, March 2, 1791.
John Wesley was 88 years of age as time is counted below, when he began the endless life full of pleasures for evermore!
His friends knelt round his dying bed, while one was engaged in prayer.
While he spoke, and without a groan, John Wesley went is to see the King!
The company around his bed burst out into a verse of praise, singing—
“Waiting to receive thy spirit, Lo!
the Savior stands above,
Shows the purchase of His merit,
Reaches out the crown of love.”
On the 9th of March, 1791, they laid his body to rest in the vault. But the reformation he had commenced did not die with him. All denominations of Evangelical Christians experienced the blessed influences of his ministry. It was preeminently a soul-saving life, and therefore the highest type of a pastoral life, For he is likest Christ who seeks to call sinners to repentance.