THE dark mantle of night was silently vanishing before the approaching dawn of day, as with labored steps an aged farmer made his way toward a wood that bordered one of his fields.
“Woodman, spare that tree,” had been his pathetic appeal to the forester some time previously; but the estate on which he was a tenant was heavily burdened with debt, and in order to raise money the command had been given to fell every oak in the plantations. For over forty years Mr. R—had farmed this place, and by long association the very soil had become dear to him, but around the old oak to which he wended his way special memories clung. Five o’clock was the usual hour at which the labors of the day were commenced in the district, but each morning at four o’clock, save under very exceptional circumstances, Mr. R— walked to the old oak tree and there engaged in private devotions. Ten years more than the allotted span of life had been his portion, and the extra term had brought its full tale of labor and sorrow.
His sons were both dead, and he had acted the father’s part to his grandchildren. The eldest of these, the mainstay and comfort of his old age, he had buried two weeks previously. Only the evening before he had stood helplessly by, while the relentless hand of death took from him his beloved wife, and worn out though he was, he arose at his accustomed time and toiled toward his wonted place of prayer, to seek comfort to his bruised and bleeding heart from the God of all comfort and consolation.
The illness of his wife had prevented him knowing exactly all that was being done on the farm, and none of the workers had whispered to him that his altar-tree had been cut down. Who can wonder that the tears coursed down his wrinkled cheeks as he viewed the scene of devastation? The inner court, a low gnarled branch worn bare by the pressure of his knees, was lopped off, the undergrowth which had formed an outer screen was trampled under foot, and the young saplings, whose tapering leafy heads had formed a lovely fretted aisle, had been overturned by the fall of the great tree. His desolated shrine seemed a fit emblem of his life, for the props and stays on which he leant had all been removed.
“Who did sin,” might be asked, “that the old man should be afflicted thus?”
Few could look back on a better spent life than this aged farmer. His prayers and alms-deeds were known throughout the parish. He also gave great attendance to reading. On rainy days, when the dripping atmosphere prevented agricultural labor, he seated himself by the hearth, and from the big family Bible he read aloud in reverent sonorous tones chapter after chapter and book after book. Quiet and unostentatious in his behavior, he feared to sin presumptuously by saying his sins were forgiven. But God was not unfaithful to forget his prayers and supplications, and in the moment of his direst need, as he knelt uncanopied in his violated sanctuary, the love of God was shed abroad in his heart, the peace of God flowed like a river into his soul, and the arm of the Lord brought salvation unto him.
About a month later, Mr. R—was seized with severe illness which his advanced age rendered doubly serious. His brother, a devoted Christian, came to see him. After the two men had talked together in private regarding the decease which one of them was soon to accomplish, the granddaughter of the sick man said, “Will Uncle John take the Book?” for by the team of “Taking the Book,” family worship is known in the Upper Ward of Clydesdale.
From stable, barn, and byre came the farm lads, the maids from the milk-house and kitchen, and with bowed heads they grouped themselves around the bed of their dying master. The brother selected the fifteenth of 1St Corinthians, that precious portion of God’s Word which, in the presence of death, has been the comfort of God’s children throughout generations: ―
“But some man will say, How are the dead raised up? and with what body do they come? Thou fool; that which thou sowest is not quickened, except it die. And that which thou sowest, thou sowest not that body that shall be, but bare grain, it may chance of wheat, or of some other grain. But God giveth it a body as it hath pleased him, and to every seed his own body.... So also is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown in corruption; it is raised in in-corruption: it is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory: it is sown in weakness; it is raised in power: it is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body.... And as we have borne the image of the earthy, we shall also bear the image of the heavenly.... For the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory.”
The dying man rallied wonderfully as the soul-comforting passage of Scripture was read, and he bore a bright testimony to the faith he had in life beyond the reach of death. Then he exhorted the young people round him to turn to the Lord, to own their helplessness and sinfulness, and they would find God to be rich in mercy.
“Drink in the Word of God into your souls,” he said, “as the earth drinks in the rain that cometh oft upon it, then you will receive blessing from God; but if you reject the Living Word, you will be like the cursed earth that brings forth briers and thorns, whose end is to be burned. When you have got light from God, avoid striving about words to no profit. I have wasted precious hours in long discussion on the merits and demerits of Erastianism, Arminianism, and Calvinism. I see no distinction now among the severed members of the flock of Christ. They own one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, and they ever find the same Lord over all, rich unto all that call upon Him. I had a hallowed temple in the wood, where I daily mourned over my shortcomings, and prayed that God would give me faith in the precious blood of Christ, and grant to me the hope of salvation. When my temple was removed, it seemed for a time as if I must cry, ‘Ye have taken away my gods, and what have I more.’ God brought good out of what I thought was evil, and He gave me exceeding abundantly above all I asked or thought; instead of hope, He has given me full assurance of salvation through faith in the atoning death and resurrection of the Lord Jesus.”
The eyes of the dying man looked out through the window beyond the fields where the young corn was springing, beyond fir-bordered meadowlands, beyond the horizon to which Mount Tinto raised its cairn-crowned head, beyond the clear blue sky, and his eyes beheld something invisible to others as he whispered, “I shall see the King in His beauty—I shall be like Him, for I shall see Him as He is. And I saw no temple therein, for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it.”
He lingered some days longer ere the mystic change which we call death came to him, and he exchanged the chequered night of time for the glorious day of eternity.
“God loves to be longed for, He longs to be sought,” and He called the prayerful Daniel the “man of desires.” To any sin-burdened heart we say, Continue knocking, continue seeking, and the blessing of God will assuredly be secured, for God, that cannot lie, has given His faithful promise, “Those that seek me early shall find me.”
M. M.