AT Tremel, the other day, Madame Lecoat told me an incident in her father’s life that interested me very much. When he was near his end he suddenly asked her to fetch a priest, naming one he knew. She was intensely surprised at his request, knowing him to be a Christian, and for a little while hesitated about acceding to it. But feeling it was her duty to go, she left the house to do her father’s bidding, and on her way to the priest’s house she met him walking along the street. He said to her:—
“Where are you going?” She replied: “I am going on a strange errand; my father says he wants to see you and to speak to you.” The priest was surprised at the request and asked, “Do you know for what he wishes to see me?”
“No, I do not,” she replied.
“I will go with you at once,” he said, and together they returned home.
When the priest came into the room where the dying Christian lay he shook hands, saying, “Well, my friend, how are you? Your daughter tells me you want to see me.”
“Yes, I sent for you because I wanted to tell you that I have learned in whatsoever state I am therewith to be content, and that nothing can separate me from the love of Christ.”
The priest stood silent with tears in his eyes, and without a word left the dying Christian.
When he got outside the house he met a Roman Catholic lady who knew Madame Lecoat’s father. She said to the priest, “I am so glad you have been called in to see him; I hope you had a chance to say something to him.” “Madame,” he replied, with deep feeling, “I could add nothing to what he said himself.”
No, the look in the dying eyes was enough; the words of the dying lips were all sufficient: “NOTHING CAN SEPARATE ME FROM THE LOVE OF CHRIST.” The Roman priest felt he was face to face with the dignity of Christian hope. Thank God nothing can separate the believer from the love of Christ; that love passeth understanding, and is only known by those who are saved.
H.W.