Dying Testimonies Of Saved And
Unsaved
· 001 -- Triumphant Death Of Ignatius
· 002 -- Wonderful Conversion Of Mary Lones
· 003 -- The Awful Death Of Sir Francis Newport
· 004 -- Polycarp, The Sainted Christian Father
· 005 -- The Martyr Patrick Hamilton
· 006 -- Rev. E. Payson's Joyful Experiences And Triumphant Death
· 007 -- The Awful Death Of An Infidel Son
· 008 -- "Children, Is This Death? How Beautiful! How
Beautiful!"
· 009 -- "Ma, I Can't Die Till You Promise Me."
· 010 -- The Child Martyr
· 011 -- The Sad Death Of A Lost Man
· 012 -- The Courage And Triumphant Death Of St. Laurence The Martyr
· 013 -- Triumphant Death Of George Edward Dryer
· 014 -- "Five Minutes More To Live"
· 015 -- Black Days And White Ones -- A Rescue Story
· 016 -- Triumphant Death Of Mrs. Margaret Haney
· 017 -- Last Hours On Earth Of The Noted French Infidel, Voltaire
· 018 -- Dying Words Of Samuel Hick
· 019 -- The Sainted Susanna Wesley
· 020 -- "Oh! I Have Missed It At Last!"
· 021 -- "Victory! Triumph! Triumph!" Were John S. Inskip's
Last Words
· 022 -- The Wonderful Courage Of The Martyr Philip, Bishop Of
Heraclea
· 023 -- "I Can See The Old Devil Here On The Bed With Me."
· 024 -- "God Has Called Me To Come Up Higher."
· 025 -- Carrie Carmen's Vision Of The Holy City
· 026 -- The Awful End Of A Backslider
· 027 -- The Advice Of Ethan Allen, The Noted Infidel, To His Dying
Daughter
· 028 -- "Ma, I Shall Be The First Of Our Family Over
Yonder."
· 029 -- "Take Them Away -- Take Them Away."
· 030 -- A Dying Man's Regrets
· 031 -- The Translation Of The Sainted Frances E. Willard
· 032 -- "It Is Easier To Get Into Hell Than It Will Be To Get
Out."
· 033 -- The Beloved Physician Walter C. Palmer's Sunlit Journey To
Heaven
· 034 -- "Good-By! I Am Going To Rest."
· 035 -- "The Fiends, They Come; Oh! Save Me! They Drag Me Down!
Lost, Lost, Lost!"
· 036 -- "Oh, Papa, What A Sweet Sight! The Golden Gates Are
Opened."
· 037 -- "I Am Going To Die. Glory Be To God And The Lamb
Forever."
· 038 -- "I Have Treated Christ Like A Dog All My Life And He
Will Not Help Me Now."
· 039 -- "Jesus Will Take Care Of Me."
· 040 -- A Dying Girl's Request
· 041 -- Queen Elizabeth's Last Words -- "All My Possessions For
A Moment Of Time"
· 042 -- Dying Testimony And Vision Of Miss Lila Homer
· 043 -- Dreadful Martyrdom Of Romanus
· 044 -- John Cassidy And The Priest
· 045 -- "I Am In The Flames -- Pull Me Out, Pull Me Out!"
· 046 -- The Triumphant Translation Of Bishop Philip William
Otterbein
· 047 -- "There's Maggie At The Gate!"
· 048 -- "It Was The Cursed Drink That Ruined Me."
· 049 -- The Translation Of Willie Downer
· 050 -- The Dying Experience Of A Wealthy Man
· 051 -- Last Words Of John Hus, The Martyr
· 052 -- Last Testimony Of Augustus M. Toplady
· 053 -- "Be Good And Meet Me In Heaven."
· 054 -- The Awful Death Of A Profligate
· 055 -- "You'll Be A Duke, But I Shall Be A King."
· 056 -- "I Die In Peace; I Shall Soon Be With The Angels."
· 057 -- Death-Bed Scene Of David Hume, The Deist
· 058 -- Triumphant Death Of John Calvin
· 059 -- "I Want Strength To Praise Him Abundantly! Hallelujah!
-- John Hunt
· 060 -- The Great Danger In Not Seeking The Lord While He May Be
Found
001 -- TRIUMPHANT DEATH OF IGNATIUS
Ignatius, one of the ancient fathers of the church, was born in Syria, and
brought up under the care of the Apostle John. About the year 67, he became
bishop of Antioch. In this important station he continued about 40 years, both
an honor and a safeguard to the Christian religion; undaunted in the midst of
very tempestuous times, and unmoved with the prospect of suffering a cruel
death. He taught men to think little of the present life; to value and love the
good things to come; and never to be deterred from a course of piety and
virtue, by the fear of any temporal evils whatever; to oppose only meekness to
anger, humility to boasting, and prayers to curses and reproaches.
This excellent man was selected by the emperor Trajan, as a subject whose
sufferings might be proper to inspire terror and discouragement in the hearts
of the Christians at Rome. He was condemned to die for his faith in Christ, and
ordered to be thrown among wild beasts to be devoured by them. This cruel
sentence, far from weakening his attachment to the great cause he had espoused,
excited thankfulness of heart, that he had been counted worthy to suffer for
the sake of religion. "I thank thee, O Lord," said he, "that
thou hast condescended thus to honor me with thy love; and hast thought me
worthy, with thy apostle Paul, to be bound in chains."
On his passage to Rome he wrote a letter to his fellow Christians there, to
prepare them to acquiesce in his sufferings, and to assist him with their
prayers. "Pray for me," said he, "that God would give me both
inward and outward strength, that I may not only say, but do well; that I may
not only be called a Christian, but be found one." Animated by the
cheering prospect of the reward of his sufferings, he said: "Now, indeed,
I begin to be a disciple; I weigh neither visible nor invisible things, in
comparison with an interest in Jesus Christ." With the utmost Christian
fortitude he met the wild beasts assigned for his destruction and triumphed in
death. -- Power of Religion.
002 -- WONDERFUL CONVERSION OT MARY LONES
We were requested to visit a young woman, nearly gone with consumption, who
resisted every effort that was made to bring her to Christ. We went, trusting
in the Lord for help. She received us respectfully, but seemed quite careless
about her soul. The Spirit of the Lord soon touched her heart, and she became
distressed on account of her sins; at one time while praying with her she began
to plead in real earnest for herself and continued in prayer until she could
say, "I am the Lord's and He is mine." A sweet peace settled down on
her soul and soon after she received the clear witness that her sins were
forgiven. Although she was very weak and could hardly speak above a whisper,
yet, when the Lord set the seal of Bis Spirit to the work wrought in her soul,
her shouts of victory could be heard through the entire building.
She soon began to yearn for entire sanctification, and her soul was greatly
drawn out in prayer for the blessing. At one time we read to her the fourth chapter
of 1st John and encouraged her to look to be made perfect in love, to believe
for it and expect it every moment until it was given. "Oh!" said she,
"that is just what I need, and I am praying for it all the while" --
although she did not know the name of the blessing she was seeking. She had
many conflicts with the powers of darkness before she obtained this victory. At
length the all-cleansing touch was given. It was about five o'clock one Sabbath
evening a few weeks before her death. Her soul had been much drawn out in
prayer all day for purity of heart.
She said the Spirit fell on her and seemed to go through both soul and body.
She had been confined to her bed and was so weak we thought she would never
again stand on her feet; but when she received the blessing she not only had
the use of her voice, but walked the floor back and forth, shouting aloud,
"Glory to God." We were told that she had naturally a fiery
disposition, but after this baptism she was all patience, resignation, love and
praise. Her sufferings were very great toward the last, but not a murmur or
complaint was ever heard.
Neither tongue nor pen can describe some of the scenes witnessed in that
little room. From the time that she received the blessing of perfect love,
until her death, her sky was unclouded, her conversation in heaven, and her
experience, although a young convert, was that of a mature Christian. Her light
on the things of God and the state of deceived professors of religion was
wonderful. She seemed to have an unclouded view of her heavenly inheritance and
longed to depart and be with Christ. On one occasion, when we were singing --
Filled with delight, my raptured soul Would here no longer stay, Though
Jordan's waves around me roll, Fearless, I launch away -- she raised her hand
in triumph and repeated the word, "fearless, fearless," while glory
unspeakable beamed from her countenance. At times, when talking or singing of
her heavenly home, she appeared more like an inhabitant of heaven than of
earth. She was truly the most beautiful, angelic-looking being we ever saw. She
died in triumph; was conscious to the last, and whispered, "I walk through
the valley in peace;" then pointing to each one that stood around her bed,
she raised her hand, as if to say, "Meet me in Heaven." She then
folded her hands on her breast, looked up, smiled, and was gone.
Glory to God and the Lamb forever; another safely landed. -- Brands From The
Burning.
003 -- THE AWFUL DEATH OF SIR FRANCIS NEWPORT
Sir Francis Newport was trained in early life to understand the great truths
of the gospel; and while in early manhood it was hoped that he would become an
ornament and a blessing to his family and the nation, the result was far
otherwise. He fell into company that corrupted his principles and his morals.
He became an avowed infidel, and a life of dissipation soon brought on a
disease that was incurable. When he felt that he must die, he threw himself on
the bed, and after a brief pause, he exclaimed as follows: "Whence this
war in my heart? What argument is there now to assist me against matters of
fact? Do I assert that there is no hell, while I feel one in my own bosom? Am I
certain there is no after retribution, when I feel present judgment? Do I affirm
my soul to be as mortal as my body, when this languishes, and that is vigorous
as ever? O that any one would restore unto me that ancient gourd of piety and
innocence! Wretch that I am, whither shall I flee from this breast? What will
become of me?"
An infidel companion tried to dispel his thoughts, to whom he replied.
"That there is a God, I know, because I continually feel the effects of
His wrath; that there is a hell I am equally certain, having received an
earnest of my inheritance there already in my breast; that there is a natural
conscience I now feel with horror and amazement, being continually upbraided by
it with my impieties, and all my iniquities, and all my sins brought to my
remembrance. Why God has marked me out for an example of His vengeance, rather
than you, or any one of my acquaintance, I presume is because I have been more
religiously educated, and have done greater despite to the Spirit of grace. O
that I was to lie upon the fire that never is quenched a thousand years, to
purchase the favor of Gods and be reunited to Him again! But it is a fruitless
wish. Millions of millions of years will bring me no nearer to the end of my
torments than one poor hour. O, eternity, eternity! Who can discover the abyss
of eternity? Who can paraphrase upon these words -- forever and ever?"
Lest his friends should think him insane, he said: "You imagine me
melancholy, or distracted. I wish I were either; but it is part of my judgment
that I am not. No; my apprehension of persons and things is more quick and
vigorous than it was when I was in perfect health; and it is my curse, because
I am thereby more sensible of the condition I am fallen into. Would you be
informed why I am become a skeleton in three or four days? See now, then. I
have despised my Maker, and denied my Redeemer. I have joined myself to the
atheist and profane, and continued this course under many convictions, till my
iniquity was ripe for vengeance, and the just judgment of God overtook me when
my security was the greatest, and the checks of my conscience were the
least."
As his mental distress and bodily disease were hurrying him into eternity,
he was asked if he would have prayer offered in his behalf; he turned his face,
and exclaimed, "Tigers and monsters! are ye also become devils to torment
me? Would ye give me prospect of heaven to make my hell more intolerable?"
Soon after, his voice failing, and uttering a groan of inexpressible horror,
he cried out, "OH, THE INSUFFERABLE PANGS OF HELL!" and died at once,
dropping into the very hell of which God gave him such an awful earnest, to be
a constant warning to multitudes of careless sinners. --
004 -- POLYCARP, THE SAINTED CHRISTIAN FATHER
Polycarp, an eminent Christian father, was born in the reign of Nero.
Ignatius recommended the church of Antioch to the care and superintendence of
this zealous father, who appears to have been unwearied in his endeavors to
preserve the peace of the church, and to promote piety and virtue amongst men.
During the persecution which raged at Smyrna, in the year 167, the
distinguished character of Polycarp attracted the attention of the enemies of
Christianity. The general outcry was, "Let Polycarp be sought for."
When he was taken before the proconsul, he was solicited to reproach Christ, and
save his life: but with a holy indignation, he nobly replied: "Eighty and
six years have I served Christ, who has never done me any injury: how then can
I blaspheme my King and Savior?"
When he was brought to the stake, the executioner offered, as usual, to nail
him to it; but he said, "Let me alone as I am: He who has given me
strength to come to the fire, will also give me patience to abide in it,
without being fastened with nails."
Part of his last prayer, at his death, was as follows: "O God, the
Father of Thy beloved son, Jesus Christ, by whom we have received the knowledge
of Thyself; O God of angels and powers, of every creature, and of all the just
who live in Thy presence; I thank Thee that Thou hast graciously vouchsafed,
this day and this hour, to allot me a portion amongst the number of martyrs. O
Lord, receive me; and make me a companion of saints in the resurrection,
through the merits of our great High Priest, the Lord Jesus Christ. I praise
and adore Thee, through thy beloved Son, to whom, with Thee, and Thy Holy
Spirit, be all honor and glory, both now and forever. Amen." -- Power of
Religion.
005 -- THE MARTYR PATRICK HAMILTON
On the first of March, 1528, some eight years before Tyndale was betrayed by
a Romish spy, Archbishop Beaton condemned Patrick Hamilton to be burned because
he advocated the doctrines of the Reformation and exposed the errors of popery.
The principal accusations were that he taught that it was proper for the
poor people to read God's Word and that it was useless to offer masses for the
souls of the dead. Hamilton admitted the truth of these charges, and boldly
defended his doctrine. But his judges, Archbishop Beaton and the bishops and
clergy associated with him in council, could not endure the truths presented by
their prisoner, which indeed were greatly to their disadvantage; for a people
before whom an open Bible is spread will soon test by it the lives and
teachings of their pastors, and to abolish masses for the dead is to cut off a
chief source of the revenues of Rome's priesthood. Hamilton therefore was
quickly condemned, and in a few hours afterwards, to avoid any possibility of
his rescue by influential friends, the stake was prepared before the gate of
St. Salvador College.
When the martyr was brought to the stake, he removed his outer garments and
gave them to his servant, with the words, "These will not profit me in the
fire, but they will profit thee. Hereafter thou canst have no profit from me
except the example of my death, which I pray thee keep in memory, for, though
bitter to the flesh and fearful before man, it is the door of eternal life,
which none will attain who denies Christ Jesus before this ungodly
generation."
His agony was prolonged by a slow fire, so that his execution lasted some
six hours; but, through it all, he manifested true heroism and unshaken faith
in the truth of the doctrines which he preached. His last words were, "How
long, O Lord, shall darkness brood over this realm? How long wilt thou suffer
this tyranny of man? Lord Jesus, receive my spirit."
Thus, in the bloom of early manhood, died Scotland's first Reformation
martyr, and his death was not in vain. A Romanist afterwards said, "The
smoke of Patrick Hamilton infected all it blew upon." His mouth was
closed, but the story of his death was repeated by a thousand tongues. It
emboldened others to seek a martyr's crown, and stirred up many more to defend
the truths for which he died, and to repudiate the hierarchy which found it
necessary to defend itself by such means.
"Humanly speaking," says the author of "The Champions of the
Reformation," to whom we are chiefly indebted for the facts of our sketch,
"could there have been found a fitter apostle for ignorant, benighted
Scotland than this eloquent, fervent, pious man? Endowed with all those gifts
that sway the heads of the masses, a zealous, pious laborer in season and out
of season, what Herculean labors might he not have accomplished! What signal
triumphs might he not have achieved! So men may reason, but God judged
otherwise. A short trial, a brief essay in the work he loved and longed for,
was permitted to him, and then the goodly vessel, still in sight of land, was
broken in pieces. " -- Heroes and Heroines
006 -- REV. E. PAYSON'S JOYFUL EXPERIENCES AND TRIUMPHANT
DEATH
He was asked, by a friend, if he could see any particular reason for this
dispensation. He replied, "No; but I am as well satisfied as if I could
see ten thousand reasons."
In a letter dictated to his sister he writes: "Were I to adopt the
figurative language of Bunyan, I might date this letter from the land of
Beulah, of which I have been for some time such a happy inhabitant. The
celestial city is full in view. Its glories beam upon me; its breezes fan me;
its odors are wafted to me; its sounds strike upon my ears, and its spirit is
breathed into my heart. Nothing separates me from it but the river of death,
which now appears as an insignificant rill, which can be crossed at a single
step, whenever God shall give permission. The Son of Righteousness has been
gradually drawing nearer and nearer, appearing larger and brighter as He
approached, and now fills the whole hemisphere, pouring forth a flood of glory,
in which I seem to float like an insect in the beams of the sun, exulting, yet
almost trembling, while I gaze on this excessive brightness, and wondering why
God should deign thus to shine upon a sinful worm."
On being asked, "Do you feel reconciled?"
He replied, "O, that is too cold; I rejoice; I triumph; and this
happiness will endure as long as God himself, for it consists in admiring and
adoring Him. I can find no words to express my happiness. I seem to be swimming
in a river of pleasure, which is carrying me to the great fountain. It seems as
if all the bottles in heaven were opened, and all its fullness and happiness
have come down into my heart. God has been depriving me of one blessing after
another, but as each one has removed, He has come in and filled up its place.
If God had told me sometime ago, that He was about to make me as happy as I
could be in this world, and that He should begin by crippling me in all my
limbs, and removing from me all my usual sources of enjoyment, I should have
thought it a very strange mode of accomplishing His purposes, now, when I am a
cripple, and not able to move, I am happier than I ever was in my life before,
or ever expected to be.
"It has often been remarked, that people who have passed into the other
world cannot come back to tell us what they have seen; but I am so near the
eternal world, that I can almost see as clearly as if I were there; and I see
enough to satisfy me of the truth of the doctrines I have preached. I do not
know that I should feel at all surer had I been really there."
"Watchman, what of the night!" asked a gray-headed member of his
church.
"I should think it was about noonday," replied the dying Payson.
The ruling passion being strong in death, he sent a request to his pulpit,
that his people should repair to his sick-chamber. They did so in specified
classes, a few at a time and received his dying message.
To the young men of his congregation, he said: "I felt desirous that
you might see that the religion I have preached can support me in death. You
know that I have many ties which bind me to earth; a family to which I am
strongly attached, and a people whom I love almost as well; but the other world
acts like a much stronger magnet, and draws my heart away from this."
"Death comes every night, and stands by my bedside in the form of
terrible convulsions, every one of which threatens to separate the soul from
the body. These grow worse and worse, till every bone is almost dislocated with
pain. Yet, while my body is thus tortured, my soul is perfectly, perfectly
happy and peaceful. I lie here and feel these convulsions extending higher and
higher, but my soul is filled with joy unspeakable! I seem to swim in a flood
of glory, which God pours down upon me. Is it a delusion that can fill the soul
to overflowing with joy in such circumstances? If so, it is a delusion better
than any reality. It is no delusion. I feel it is not. I enjoy this happiness
now. And now, standing as I do, on the ridge that separates the two worlds --
feeling what intense happiness the soul is capable of sustaining, and judging
of your capacities by my own, and believing that those capacities will be
filled to the very brim with joy or wretchedness forever, my heart yearns over
you, my children, that you may choose life, and not death. I long to present
every one of you with a cup of happiness, and see you drink it."
"A young man," he continued, "just about to leave the world,
exclaimed, 'The battle's fought, the battle's fought, but the victory is lost
forever!' But I can say, The battle's fought -- and the victory is won -- the
victory is won forever! I am going to bathe in the ocean of purity, and
benevolence, and happiness, to all eternity. And now, my children, let me bless
you, not with the blessing of a poor, feeble, dying man, but with the blessing
of the infinite God." He then pronounced the apostolic benediction.
A friend said to him, "I presume it is no longer incredible to you,
that martyrs should rejoice and praise God in the flames and on the rack?"
"No," said he; "I can easily believe it. I have suffered
twenty times as much as I could in being burned at the stake, while my joy in
God so abounded as to render my sufferings not only tolerable, but
welcome."
At another time, he said: "God is literally now my all in all. While He
is present with me, no event can in the least diminish my happiness; and were the
whole world at my feet, trying to minister to my comfort, they could not add
one drop to my cup."
To Mrs. Payson, who observed to him, "Your head feels hot and seems to
be distended"; he replied: "It seems as if the soul disdained such a
narrow prison, and was determined to break through with an angel's energy, and
I trust with no small portion of an angel's feeling, until it mounts on
high."
"It seems as if my soul had found a new pair of wings, and was so eager
to try them, that in her fluttering, she would rend the fine network of the
body in pieces."
THE CLOSING SCENE
On Sabbath, October 21, 1827, his last agony commenced, attended with that
labored breathing and rattling in the throat which rendered articulation
extremely difficult. His daughter was summoned from the Sabbath-school, and
received his dying kiss and "God bless you, my daughter."
He smiled on a group of church members and exclaimed, with holy emphasis,
"Peace, peace! victory!"
He smiled on his wife and children and said, in the language of dying
Joseph, "I am going, but God will surely be with you!"
He rallied from the death conflict and said to his physician, "that
although he had suffered the pangs of death, and got almost within the gates of
Paradise, yet, if it was God's will that he should come back and suffer still
more, he was resigned." He passed through a similar scene in the afternoon
and again revived.
On Monday morning, his dying agonies returned in all their severity. For
three hours every breath was a groan. On being asked if his sufferings were
greater than on the preceding Sunday night, he answered, "incomparably
greater." He said the greatest temporal blessing of which he could
conceive would be one breath of air.
Mrs. Payson, fearing from the expression of suffering on his countenance
that he was in mental distress, questioned him. He replied, "Faith and
patience hold out." These were the last words of the dying Christian hero.
He gradually sunk away, till about the going down of the sun his chastened
and purified spirit, all mantled with the glory of Christian triumph in life
and death, ascended to share the everlasting glory of his Redeemer before the
eternal throne. -- Fifty Years and Beyond.
007 -- THE AWFUL DEATH OF AN INFIDEL SON
"I will never be guilty of founding my hopes for the future upon such a
compiled mess of trash as is contained in that book (the Bible), mother. Talk
of that being the production of an Infinite mind; a boy ten years of age, if he
was half-witted, could have told a straighter story, and made a better book. I
believe it to be the greatest mess of lies ever imposed upon the public. I
would rather go to hell (if there is such a place) than have the name of bowing
to that impostor -- Jesus Christ -- and be dependent on his merits for salvation."
"Beware! Beware! my son, 'for God is not mocked,' although 'He beareth
with the wicked long, yet he will not keep His anger forever.' And 'all manner
of sin shall be forgiven men, except the sin against the Holy Ghost, which has
no forgiveness.' And many are the examples, both in sacred and profane history,
of men who have been smitten down in the midst of their sinning against that
blessed Spirit."
"Very well, father, I'll risk all the cutting down that I shall get for
cursing that book, and all the agonies connected therewith. Let it come, I'm
not at all scared."
"O Father, lay not this sin to his charge, for he knows not what he
does."
"Yes, I do know what I'm about, and what I say -- and mean it."
"John, do you mean to drive your mother raving distracted? Oh, my God,
what have I done that this dreadful trial should come upon me in my old
age?"
"Mother, if you don't want to hear me speak my sentiments, why do you
always begin the subject? If you do not want to hear it, don't ever broach the subject
again, for I shall never talk of that book, in any other way."
The above conversation took place between two fond parents and an only son,
who was at home on a visit from college, and now was about to return. And the
cause of this outburst was, the kind-hearted Christian parents had essayed to
give him a few words of kind admonition, which, alas, proved to be the last.
And the above were his last words which he spoke to them as he left the house.
How anxiously those fond parents looked after him as though something told
them that something dreadful would happen. What scalding tears were those that
coursed their way down these furrowed cheeks! Oh, that they might have been put
in the bottle of mercy! Poor, wretched young man, it had been better for him
had the avalanche from the mountain crushed him beneath its deadly weight ere
those words escaped his lips. Little did he think that He who said, "Honor
thy father and mother," and, "He that hardeneth his heart, and
stiffeneth his neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and that without
remedy," was so soon going to call him to give an account for those words,
so heart-rending to his aged parents, and so dreadful in the sight of a holy
God. He had imbibed those dreadful principles from an infidel room-mate at
college. Beware, young men, with whom you associate, lest you fall as did this
unfortunate young man.
John B. left his home and hastened to the depot where he took the cars which
were to bear him to M. where he was in a few months to finish his studies. The
whistle blew, and away swept the cars "across the trembling plain."
But alas, they had gone but a few miles, when the cars, coming round a curve in
a deep cut, came suddenly upon an obstruction on the track, which threw the
engine and two of the cars at once from the rails.
As fate would seem to have it, the wicked son (John B.) was that moment
passing between them. He was thrown in an instant from the platform, his left
arm being broken, and his skull fractured by the fall; and in an instant one of
the wheels passed directly over both his legs near the body, breaking and
mangling them in the most dreadful manner. Strange as it may seem, no one else
was injured. The dreadful news soon reached his already grief-stricken parents;
and ere long that beloved, yet ungrateful son, was borne back to them; not as
he left, but lying upon a litter a poor, mangled, raving maniac.
Why these pious parents were called to pass through this dreadful trial, He
"whose ways are in the deep and past finding out," only knows; except
that by this sad example of His wrath many might be saved. Many skillful
physicians were called, but the fiat of the Almighty had gone forth, and man
could not recall it. When the news reached the college, his class-mates
hastened to see him. When they came, nature was fast sinking, but the immortal
part was becoming dreadfully alive. Oh! that heart-rending scene. His reason
returning brought with it a dreadful sense of his situation. His first words
were, and oh, may never mortal hear such a cry as that again upon the shores of
time:
"Mother! I'm lost! lost! lost! damned! damned! damned forever!"
and as his class-mates drew near to the bed, among whom was the one who had
poisoned his mind with infidelity, with a dreadful effort he rose in the bed
and cried, as he fixed his glaring eyes upon him: "J___, you have brought
me to this, you have damned my soul! May the curses of the Almighty and the
Lamb rest upon your soul forever."
Then like a hellish fiend, he gnashed his teeth, and tried to get hold of
him that he might tear him in pieces. Then followed a scene from which the
strongest fled with horror. But those poor parents had to hear and see it all,
for he would not suffer them to be away a moment. He fell back upon his bed
exhausted, crying, "O mother! mother, get me some water to quench this
fire that is burning me to death"; then he tore his hair and rent his
breast; the fire had already begun to burn, the smoke of which shall ascend up
for ever and ever.
And then again he cried, "O mother, save me, the devils have come after
me. O mother, take me in your arms, and don't let them have me." And as
his mother drew near to him, he buried his face in that fond bosom which had
nourished and cherished him, but, alas, could not now protect or shield from
the storm of the Almighty's wrath, for he turned from her, and with an
unearthly voice he shrieked, "Father! Mother! Father, save me; they come
to drag my soul -- my soul to hell."
And with his eyes starting from their sockets, he fell back upon his bed a
corpse. The spirit had fled -- not like that of Lazarus, borne on the wings of
a convoy of angels, but dragged by fiends to meet a fearful doom. May his
dreadful fall prove a warning to those who would unwittingly walk in the same
path. -- Earnest Christian, September, 1867
008 -- "CHILDREN, IS THIS DEATH? HOW BEAUTIFUL! HOW
BEAUTIFUL!"
A preacher in Oregon, Rev. J. T. Leise, writes us as follows: "I
thought it might be to the glory of God to give you an account of my mother's
death. She died July 28, 1888, in the township of Winnebago City, Faribault
County, Minnesota. About six months before her death I left home to enter the
work of the Lord. At that time, and also for years, mother had what we often
call an up-and-down experience. About July 1st, of the same year she died, I
got word to return home to see her die.
On my arrival I found mother very low, but having a strong faith in God. I
said, 'Mother, you have a better experience than you have ever had.' 'Yes,
Johnnie,' she said, 'about three months ago I got what I have longed for for
years.' Mother's disease was of a dropsical character. With limbs swollen, she
would suffer intensely; but her faith in Jesus never wavered. She would often
speak of the glorious prospects in view.
The morning she died, about four o'clock, a sister and I were sitting by her
bed fanning her, when she suddenly opened her eyes and said, 'Children, is this
death? How beautiful; how beautiful.'
I said, 'Mother, you will soon be at rest. It won't be long before you shall
have crossed over and are at home.' Mother never could sing to amount to
anything, but on this occasion she sang as if inspired from Heaven,
O I long to be there
And His glories to share
And to lean on my Savior's breast.
About four hours after we were around her bed having family worship, when,
without a struggle, she passed away to be forever with the Lord. Amen-
009 -- "MA, I CAN'T DIE TILL YOU PROMISE ME."
At the close of a series of meetings in Springfield, Mass., a mother handed
me a little girl's picture wrapped in two one-dollar bills, at the same time
relating the following touching incident:
Her only child, at the age of six years, gave her heart to the Savior,
giving, as the pastor with whom I was laboring said, the clearest evidence of
conversion.
At once she went to her mother and said, "Ma, I have given my heart to
Jesus and He has received me; now, won't you give your heart to Him?" (The
parents were both unconverted at the time.)
The mother replied, "I hope I shall some time, dear Mary."
The little girl said, "Do it now, ma," and urged the mother, with
all her childlike earnestness, to give herself to the Savior then.
Finding she could not prevail in that way, she sought to secure a promise
from her mother, feeling sure she would do what she promised; for her parents
had made it a point never to make her a promise without carefully fulfilling
it. So time after time she would say, "Promise me, me"; and the
mother would reply, "I do not like to promise you, Mary, for fear I shall
not fulfill."
This request was urged at times for nearly six years, and finally the little
petitioner had to die to secure the promise.
Several times during her sickness the parents came to her bedside to see her
die, saying to her, "You are dying now, dear Mary."
But she would say, "No, ma, I can't die till you promise me."
Still her mother was unwilling to make the promise, lest it should not be kept.
She intended to give her heart to Jesus sometime, but was unwilling to do it
"now."
Mary grew worse, and finally had uttered her last word on earth: her mother
was never again to hear that earnest entreaty, "Promise me, ma."
But the little one's spirit lingered, as if it were detained by the angel
sent to lead the mother to Jesus, that the long-sought promise might be heard
before it took its flight.
The weeping mother stood watching the countenance of the dying child, who
seemed to say, by her look, "Ma, promise me, and let me go to Jesus."
There was a great struggle in her heart as she said to herself, "Why do
I not promise this child? I mean to give my heart to Jesus; why not now? If I
do not promise her now I never can."
The Spirit inclined her heart to yield. She roused her child and said,
"Mary, I will give my heart to Jesus." This was the last bolt to be
drawn; her heart was now open, and Jesus entered at once, and she felt the joy
and peace of sins forgiven.
This, change was so marked, she felt constrained to tell the good news to
her child, that she might bear it with her where she went to live with Jesus;
so, calling her attention once more, she said, "Mary, I have give my heart
to Jesus, and He is my Savior now."
For six years Mary had been praying to God and pleading with her mother for
these words; and now, and they fell upon her ear, a peaceful smile lighted up
her face, and, no longer able to speak, she raised her little, pale hand, and
pointing upward, seemed to say, "Ma, we shall meet up there." Her
life's work was done, and her spirit returned to Him who gave it.
The mother's heart was full of peace, though her loved one had gone. She now
felt very anxious that her husband should have this blessing which she found in
Christ.
The parents went into the room where the remains were resting, to look upon
the face of her who slept so sweetly in death, when the mother said, 'Husband,
I promised our little Mary that I would give my heart to Jesus, and He has
received me. Now, won't you promise?"
The Holy Spirit was there. The strong man resisted for a while, then yielded
his will, and taking the little cold hand in his, kneeled and said,
"Jesus, I will try to seek Thee."
The child's remains were laid in the grave. The parents were found in the
house of prayer -- the mother happy in Jesus, and the father soon having some
evidence of love to Christ.
When I closed my labors in Springfield, Dr. Ide said to his congregation,
"I hope you will all give Bro. Earle some token of your regard for his
services before he leaves."
As this mother heard these words, she said she could, as it were, see her
little Mary's hand pointing down from heaven, and heard her sweet voice saying,
"Ma, give him my two one-dollars."
Those two one-dollars I have now, wrapped around the picture of that dear
child, and wherever I go, little Mary will speak for the Savior.
Reader, is there not some loved one now pointing down from heaven and saying
to you, "Give your heart to Jesus"? Are you loving some earthly
object more than Jesus? God may sever that tie -- may take away your little
Mary, or Willie, or some dear friend. Will you not come to Jesus, without such
a warning? -- Bringing in Sheaves
010 -- THE CHILD MARTYR
The noted evangelist, E. P. Hammond, writes us from his home at Hartford,
Conn., Aug. 11, 1898, and sends us the following reliable and very touching
article for this work:
I have been surprised to notice how many children have died a martyr death
rather than deny Jesus. I want to tell you about one of these young martyrs. In
Antioch, where the disciples were first called Christians, a deacon from the
church of Caesarea was called to bear cruel torture to force him to deny the
Lord who bought him with His precious blood. While he was being tortured he
still declared his faith, saying: "There is but one God and one mediator
between God and man, Christ Jesus."
His body was almost torn in pieces. The cruel emperor, Galerius, seemed to
enjoy looking upon him in his suffering. At length this martyr begged his
tormentors to ask any Christian child whether it was better to worship one God,
the maker of heaven and earth, and one Savior, who had died for us, and was
able to bring us to God, or to worship the gods many and the lords many whom
the Romans served. There stood near by a Roman mother who had brought with her
a little boy, nine years of age, that he might witness the sufferings of this
martyr from Caesarea. The question was asked the child. He quickly replied,
"God is one and Christ is one with the Father."
The persecutor was filled with fresh rage and cried out, "O base and
wicked Christian, that thou hast taught this child to answer thus."
Then turning to the boy, he said more mildly, "Child, tell me who
taught thee thus to speak? Where did you learn this faith?"
The boy looked lovingly into his mother's face and said, "It was God
that taught it to my mother, and she taught me that Jesus Christ loved little
children, and so I learned to love Him for his first love for me."
"Let us see what the love of Christ can do for you," cried the
cruel judge, and at a sign from him the officers who stood by with their rods,
after the fashion of the Romans, quickly seized the boy and made ready to torture
him.
"What can the love of Christ do for him now?" asked the judge, as
the blood streamed from the tender flesh of the child.
"It helps him," answered the mother, "to bear what his master
endured for him when he died for us on the cross."
Again they smote the child, and every blow seemed to torture the agonized
mother as much as the child. As the blows, faster and heavier, were laid upon
the bleeding boy, they asked, "What can the love of Christ do for him
now?"
Tears fell from heathen eyes as that Roman mother replied, "It teaches
him to forgive his tormentors."
The boy watched his mother's eyes and no doubt thought of the sufferings of
his Lord and Savior, and when his tormentors asked if he would now serve the
gods they served, he still answered, "I will not deny Christ. There is no
other God but one, and Jesus Christ is the redeemer of the world. He loved me
and died for me, and I love him with all my heart."
The poor child at last fainted between the repeated strokes, and they cast
the torn and bleeding body into the mother's arms, saying, supposing that he
was dead, "See what the love of Christ has done for your Christian boy
now."
As the mother pressed him to her heart she answered, "That love would
take him from the wrath of man to the peace of heaven, where God shall wipe
away all tears!"
But the boy had not yet passed over the river. Opening his eyes, he said,
"Mother, can I have a drop of water from our cool well upon my
tongue?"
As he closed his eyes in death the mother said, "Already, dearest, thou
hast tasted of the well that springeth up unto everlasting life. Farewell! Thy
Savior calls for thee. Happy, happy martyr! for His sake may He grant thy
mother grace to follow in thy bright path."
To the surprise of all, after they thought he bad closed his eyes and had
breathed his last, he finally raised his eyes and looked to where the elder
martyr was, and said in almost a whisper, "There is but one God, and Jesus
Christ whom He has sent." And with these words upon his parched lips, he passed
into God's presence, "where is fullness of joy, and to His right hand,
where are pleasures forevermore."
Are you, my dear reader, a Christian? If not, you can become one now. That
same Jesus who bled and died to save that little Roman boy, suffered on the
cross for you, and He is ever ready to give you a new heart, so that you will
love Him so much that you would be willing to die a death of suffering rather
than deny Him.
011 -- THE SAD DEATH OF A LOST MAN
Near the town of K___, in Texas, there lived and prospered, a wealthy
farmer, the son of a Methodist preacher, with whom the writer was intimately
acquainted. He was highly respected in the community in which he lived. He was
a kind-hearted and benevolent man; but, however, had one great fault -- he was
very profane. He would utter the most horrible oaths without, seemingly, the
least provocation. On several occasions, I remember having seen him under deep
conviction for salvation, during revival meetings. On one occasion, during a
camp-meeting, he was brought under powerful conviction. He afterwards said he
was suddenly frightened, and felt as if he wanted to run away from the place.
Just one year from that time, another camp-meeting was held at the same
place, and he was again brought under conviction, but refused to yield; after
which he was suddenly taken ill, and died in three days. I was with him in his
last moments. He seemed to be utterly forsaken of the Lord from the beginning
of his sickness. The most powerful medicines had no effect on him whatever.
Just as the sun of a beautiful Sabbath morning rose in its splendor over the
eastern hills, he died -- in horrible agony. All through the night previous to
his death, he suffered untold physical and mental torture. He offered the
physicians all his earthly possessions if they would save his life. He was
stubborn till the very last; and would not acknowledge his fear of death until
a few moments before he died; then, suddenly he began to look, then to stare,
horribly surprised and frightened, into the vacancy before him; then exclaimed,
as if he beheld the king of terrors in all of his merciless wrath, "My
God!"
The indescribable expression of his countenance, at this juncture, together
with the despairing tones in which he uttered these last words, made every
heart quake. His wife screamed, and begged a brother to pray for him; but he
was so terror-stricken that he rushed out of the room. The dying man continued
to stare in dreadful astonishment, his mouth wide open, and his eyes protruding
out of their sockets, till at last with an awful groan,
"Like a flood with rapid force,
Death bore the wretch away."
His little three-year-old son, the idol of his father's heart, was convulsed
with grief. This little boy, then so innocent, grew up to be a wicked young
man, and died a horrible death. Oh how sad! When we reflect that in hell there
are millions of fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives,
hopelessly lost, given over forever to the mad ravages of eternal, pitiless
wrath, ever frightened by real ghosts, tortured by serpents and scorpions,
gnawed by the worm that never dies; and when we reflect that this, the future
state of the wicked, will never abate its fury but, according to the natural
law of sin, degradation and wretchedness, will grow worse and more furious as
the black ages of eternity roll up from darker realms, we turn for relief from
the sad reverie to the Man of Sorrows, who tasted death for every man, then to
the beautiful city. whose builder and maker is God, to the bliss of the
glorified who will shine as the stars for ever and ever; then with renewed
efforts we continue with gratitude to work out our own, and the salvation of
others, with fear and trembling. -- The Ambassador
012 -- THE COURAGE AND TRIUMPHANT DEATH OF ST. LAURENCE THE
MARTYR
Laurentius, usually called St. Laurence, was archdeacon under Sextus, and
when that bishop was led out to execution, Laurence accompanied and comforted
him. As they parted from each other for the last time, Sextus warned his
faithful follower that his martyrdom would soon come after his own: that this
prophecy was true is indicated by the tradition that has been handed down to us
telling of his subsequent seizure and cruel death.
The Christian church of Rotor, even at this early period, had in its
treasury considerable riches -- both in money, and in gold and silver vessels
used at the services of the church. All these treasures were under the watchful
eye of Laurence, the archdeacon. Besides maintaining its clergy, the church
supported many poor widows and orphans; nearly fifteen hundred of these poor
people, whose names Laurence kept upon his list, lived upon the charity of the
church. Sums of money were also constantly needed to help struggling churches
which had been newly established in distant parts of the world.
Macrianus, governor of Rome under the emperor Valerian, had heard of these
riches, and longed to seize them; he therefore sent soldiers to arrest
Laurence, who was soon taken and dragged before the governor. As soon as
Macrianus' pitiless eyes rested upon the prisoner, he said harshly:
"I hear that you who call yourselves Christians possess treasures of
gold and silver, and that your priests use golden vessels at your services. Is
this true?"
Laurence answered: "The church, indeed, has great treasures."
"Then bring those treasures forth," said Macrianus. "Do not
your sacred books tell you to render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's?
The emperor has need of those riches for the defense of the empire; therefore
you must render them up."
After reflecting deeply for a few moments, Laurence replied: "In three
days I will bring before you the greatest treasures of the church."
This answer satisfied the governor; so Laurence was set free, and Macrianus
impatiently awaited the time when the expected stores of gold and silver should
be placed before him.
On the appointed day Macrianus, attended by his officers, came to the place
where the Christians usually assembled. They were calmly received by Laurence
at the entrance and invited to pass into an inner room.
"Are the treasures collected?" was the first question of Macrianus.
"They are, my lord," replied Laurence. "Will you enter and
view them?"
With these words he opened a door and displayed to the astounded gaze of the
governor, the poor pensioners of the church, a chosen number -- a row of the
lame, a row of the blind, orphans and widows, the helpless and the weak.
Astonished by the sight, the governor turned fiercely upon Laurence, saying:
"What mean you by this mockery? Where are the treasures of gold and silver
you promised to deliver up?"
"These that you see before you," replied the undaunted Laurence,
"are the true treasures of the church. In the widows and orphans you
behold her gold and silver, her pearls and precious stones. These are her real
riches. Make use of them by asking for their prayers; they will prove your best
weapon against your foes."
Enraged and disappointed at not securing the hoped-for gold (which had been
carried to a place of safety during the three days that had elapsed), the
governor furiously commanded his guards to seize Laurence and take him to a
dungeon. There, terrible to relate, a great fire was built upon the stone
floor, and a huge gridiron placed upon it; then the martyr was stripped of his
clothing and thrown upon this fiery bed, to slowly perish in the scorching
heat.
The cruel tyrant gazed down upon this dreadful sight to gratify his hatred
and revenge; but the martyr had strength and spirit to triumph over him even to
the last. Not a murmur escaped him, but with his dying breath he prayed for the
Christian church at Rome, and for the conversion of the entire empire to God;
and so, lifting up his eyes to heaven, he gave up the ghost.
A Roman soldier, named Romanus, who looked on at the sufferings of St.
Laurence, was so much affected by the martyr's courage and faith that he became
a convert to Christianity. As soon as this was known the soldier was severely
scourged, and afterward beheaded. -- Foxe's Book of Martyrs
013 -- TRIUMPHANT DEATH OF GEORGE EDWARD DRYER
This saint of God went to heaven from Readsburg, Wis., Feb. 1, 1896. His
sister, Mrs. Evaline Dryer Green, sends us the following:
Dear readers, come with me for a little while as I look on memory's walls.
See, there are many things written there! Here is one story, sweet and sacred,
almost too sacred to relate; yet as with hushed voices we talk of this, our
hearts shall melt and we shall feel that heaven is drawing nigher.
I remember my baby brother -- though I was a child of but four years when he
came into our home. I well remember that little face as I saw it first. I remember
the chubby brown hands when he was a wee boy, always in mischief then. I was a
frail girl, and he soon outgrew me. Then those sweet years of home life-and
later the glad home comings when I was away at school. On my return George was
always the first to wave his hand and shout for joy -- perhaps toss his hat
high in the air and give a certain "whoop" and three cheers that I
loved to hear. We were right loyal friends, my brother and I. And then -- ah,
its here I'd wish to draw the vail, and forget. We thought he would accomplish
his ambitions -- so strong, so full of life! But we will only glance at those
long months of suffering and hasten to the last. Nearly eighteen months of
weariness from coughing, and there he lay, the picture of patient endurance,
saying from his heart's depths, "Farewell, mortality -- Jesus is mine.
Welcome, eternity -- Jesus is mine!"
Often he would call me near him and say, "Oh, sister, the Lord does so
save me!"
To the doctor, the boys of his own age, to neighbors, and all who came, he
testified how Jesus saved him, through and through.
The last hours were drawing near. One of the Lord's servants came and
prayed. George prayed for father, mother, brothers and sisters. A little later
in the evening a sweat, deathly cold, covered him. We thought he was going then
-- the poor, weak body seemed all but gone, while the spirit grew even more
bright. Ah, that picture! That high, marble-white brow, either cheek glowing
with fever intense, great, expressive blue eyes, that peered earnestly,
joyfully, all about him and upward. Those dear hands were lifted high, while he
said, with heaven lighting his face, "Angels now are hovering round
us."
(Even now I feel to say, as I did then, "O death, where is thy sting? O
grave, where is thy victory?")
Again he came back to us -- to spend one more night of suffering on earth,
and to work for God and eternity. We watched all night, while he praised God,
often saying under his breath, between awful fits of coughing, "Precious
Jesus!" Toward morning he asked a dear sister to sing "I Saw A Happy
Pilgrim."
Finally the morning came; a dark, rainy morning in February. The gray light
was just dawning when we all gathered about his bed. We repeated beautiful
texts to him, and verses of hymns that he most loved, and encouraged him to the
very river's brink. His last spoken words were, "Eva, come on this
side." Then, peacefully he closed his eyes and grew so still.
"And with the morn, those angel faces smile, Which I have loved long
since -- and lost a while."
014 -- "FIVE MINUTES MORE TO LIVE"
A young man stood before a large audience in the most fearful position a
human being could be, placed on the scaffold! The noose had been adjusted
around his neck. In a few moments more he would be in eternity. The sheriff
took out his watch and said, "If you have anything to say, speak now; as
you have but five minutes more to live." What awful words for a young man
to hear, in full health and vigor!
Shall I tell you his message to the youth about him? He burst into tears and
said with sobbing: "I have to die! I had only one little brother. He had
beautiful blue eyes and flaxen hair. How I loved him! I got drunk -- the first
time. I found my little brother gathering strawberries. I got angry with him,
without cause; and killed him with a blow from a rake. I knew nothing about it
till I awoke on the following day and found myself closely guarded. They told
me that when my little brother was found, his hair was clotted with his blood
and brains. Whisky had done it! It has ruined me! I have only one more word to
say to the young people before I go to stand in the presence of my Judge.
Never, Never, NEVER touch anything that can intoxicate!"
Whiskey did it! The last words of this doomed young man make our heart ache,
and we cry out to God, "How long, how long shall our nation be crazed with
rum? When, oh when, will the American people wake up?"
Oh that the professed people of God would vote as they pray. What about the
licensed saloon that deals out this poison that sends millions reeling and
crazed with drink to hell? What about the multitudes of innocent people who are
killed by inches and sacrificed to the god of rum? We protect and license a man
who deals out death and destruction, and hang a man who gets drunk and kills
his neighbor. Who was most to blame -- this young man, or the saloon-keeper who
made him crazy, or the government that gave the saloon-keeper license not only
to make crazy but to ruin soul and body? God help us to decide this question in
the light of the coming judgment. Amen.
015 -- BLACK DAYS AND WHITE ONES -- A RESCUE STORY
We are thankful to God that we have had the privilege of helping to launch
the Rescue Home in Grand Rapids, Mich. We induced the Salvation Army to open a
home in our city by furnishing the buildings free of rent the first year, and
by helping in other ways. Capt. Duzau, the first in charge, led not only the
subject of the sketch to God, but most of the other girls that passed through
the home have been saved from a life of shame, and I am told by good authority
that most all of the girls who enter the various rescue homes of the Army are
saved. We quote the following from the War Cry:
Alice's life had always been a sad one -- at least, as far as she could
remember. Perhaps the first three years of babyhood life had been as pleasant
and happy as if she had been born in a more comfortable home But Alice couldn't
be sure about this, and no one else could speak for her.
Certainly there was misery and unhappiness from one day on -- misery that
lasted for nearly fifteen years of girlhood life. That was the day which came
shortly after her third birthday, when Alice ceased to be a baby.
She couldn't remember much about it, but it seemed like a big, round, black
spot, big enough to shut out all the sunlight from life. The day itself was
dark and gloomy, but that wasn't the worst. Some strange men Alice had never
seen before came to the little house -- and they were all dressed in black -- and
they took away something in a long, black box -- and Alice never saw her mother
again after that day. No wonder it seemed to the child -- the youngest one of
the five thus suddenly left motherless -- like something black and awful.
Besides, after that, life was bitterly hard for the one who was still the
youngest, but no longer watched over with care that even a three-year-old baby
needs. Things at home which had been in some ways bad enough before were worse
now; and, from that time on, the child grew up in an atmosphere of such moral
degradation that it is a wonder she did not fall sooner and sin more deeply
than was the case. Two of her sisters lived an openly sinful life, and
assuredly the brother for whom she went to keep house as soon as she was old
enough, was no better. A companion of this brother came to the house one day;
when he went away he was as light-hearted and careless as ever, but he left
behind him such a burden of shame and sorrow and disgrace as poor Alice felt
she could not carry.
This girl of seventeen went to her two sisters with the weight of sorrow and
wrong, to the two sisters who should have stood in the place of mother to her.
"Nonsense," said Kate, "why, you'll get used to it!"
Bettina was a little more sympathetic, but even more discouraging. "I
never thought you'd feel like that," she said, "but it's too late to
mend matters now. It could have been helped yesterday, but not today. What's
done can't be undone. There isn't a respectable woman in the world whom speak
to you now!" Alice walked away as if in a dream. "What's done can't
be undone," she kept repeating to herself, as if to fasten the direful
statement upon her mind and memory. Occasionally the words changed, and she
repeated, "It's too late to mend matters now."
It was the old argument, used so successfully in scores and hundreds and
thousands of cases -- the argument that one step down the ladder of disgrace
involves the whole distance, that there is no hope, no way of escape, after the
first wrong-doing.
"There's no help for it -- you are doomed now, anyway-no respectable
woman could speak to you -- you might as well take what pleasure you can out of
this life." In almost every case, someone is sure to come with this
temptation of utter hopelessness, and the young girl whose better nature is
fighting against the horror of the whole thing, calls on that better nature to
yield the battle. "It is no use trying to be good," she says
despairingly.
So it was with Alice Sawyer. She knew of no one in the village to whom she
could go for help, or even Christian advice, and she gave up the struggle.
"It isn't my fault," she said to herself once when her half dormant
conscience spoke out and would be heard. "There simply isn't any way out
for me, or if there is, I can't find it, and that's the same thing."
Weeks passed by, during which no one would have suspected that Alice Sawyer
felt any repugnance toward the careless, irregular sort of life she was
leading. "There, I knew she'd get used to it soon enough," exclaimed
Kate one day.
But Bettina said nothing. Deep down in her heart there was a sort of sorrow
for her youngest sister, but it was a sorrow she did not know how to put into
words.
After a time Alice went away from home and found her way to the city of
Grand Rapids. Like many others, she imagined that it would be easy to hide her
shame in the midst of a crowd, and as soon as she arrived in the city she began
her search for work.
She wanted to be lost, but instead she was found-found by the One who came
to seek and to save that which was lost.
Almost at the beginning of her search for work, Alice discovered that one
part at least of the disheartening prophecy was untrue, because she came across
an earnest Christian lady, who not only "spoke to her," but even took
her into her own home for the night.
The next day this lady brought her to the Salvation Army Rescue Home in
Grand Rapids. Alice wanted to stay, and was very grateful for the opportunity.
Yet it all seemed so strange, so unexpected, that it took the poor child some
time to realize that "the way out" of her sin and misery had,
actually been found, and that the door was open before her into paths of new
life and hope.
Kneeling by her bedside one night, Alice claimed for herself the power of
that uttermost salvation which alone can take away the bitterness from the
memory of such a past as hers, and which alone can make it possible to sing,
He breaks the power of canceled sin,
He sets the prisoner free:
His blood can make the foulest clean,
His blood avails for me.
That night marked the last of Alice's unhappy days, the "black
ones" as she sometimes called them in contrast to the "white
ones" of the new life which then began. Her one sorrow was for those left
behind in the village home, without any knowledge of Christ, and she prayed for
them all, especially for her father, then seventy-one years old.
"It will take something to touch my father's heart," she said one
day to the Captain of the Home, "but I am praying for him, and I believe
he will give his heart to God."
That "something" which should touch her father's heart came sooner
than was expected by some.
Alice had to go to the hospital, and after she had been there a short time
it became evident that she would never be able to go out again. But she had no
fear, and was sorry only because she had hoped to be able to go to others with
the story of that wonderful salvation which had availed for her.
On the first evening of her stay in the hospital the Captain and Lieutenant
of the Rescue Home went with her and stayed a few hours. As they were saying
goodnight to her and to the nurse who was to have her in charge, Alice suddenly
dropped on her knees by the bedside.
It was indeed a striking picture. On the one side the two Salvationists in
their uniforms, on the other side the nurse in hers, while by the bedside knelt
the girl of eighteen who had been saved in time from a life of misery and
sorrow. It seemed as if the very light of heaven were striking through,
illuminating the scene with divine radiance and blessing. It may indeed have
been so, for Alice was rapidly nearing the very gates of heaven.
Suddenly the summons came -- such a summons always is sudden at the last,
even when the possibility has been in view for some time.
Word was sent to the Rescue Home, and the Captain came at once to the
hospital. "I do love you, Captain," said Alice. Then, with her eyes
steadfastly fixed on the face of the one who had lead her into the light of
salvation through Jesus, the girl passed quietly, peacefully away to that land
where there is no more pain, for the "former things are passed away."
This scene might do very well as a beautiful ending to a story which began
in sadness and gloom. It was indeed a bright, white, glorious day in Alice's
experience, but it did not mark the end of her work on earth.
The "something" which was to touch her father's heart did reach and
touch that man of seventy-one through his youngest daughter's death.
At the simple funeral service, held in the Rescue Home, he came forward like
a child, knelt sobbing by the coffin and asked God to help him meet his Alice
in the great, wonderful land beyond the grave. -- Adjutant Elizabeth M. Clark
016 -- TRIUMPHANT DEATH OF MRS. MARGARET HANEY
Mrs. Margaret Haney, of Greenville, Mich., died of cancer, May 31, 1896,
aged 53 years. She was converted fifteen years ago in a meeting held by Bro. S.
B. Shaw. Sister Haney was born in Canada. She was an excellent Christian. A few
days before she died she said to one of the sisters, "Do you know that I
love Jesus?" and to another sister she said, "He fills my soul with
glory."
Tuesday before she died she waved her hands and praised the Lord while
Sister Taylor was reading, "I go to prepare a place for you," etc. A
few hours before she passed away I said, "Sister Haney, do you know
Jesus?" and she nodded her head, after she could speak no more. She
arranged her temporal matters for her departure, selected the text for her
funeral (Rev. 14: 13) and asked Bro. D. G. Briggs to preach her funeral sermon.
The funeral was held at Greenville, June 2. The Comforter was present to give
hope and cheer to sorrowing friends. Sister Haney will not only be missed in
our class, but all over the city, and especially in her home by her husband and
children. -- Mrs. A. Hoadley
017 -- LAST HOURS ON EARTH OF THE NOTED FRENCH INFIDEL,
VOLTAIRE
When Voltaire felt the stroke that he realized must terminate in death, he
was overpowered with remorse. He at once sent for the priest, and wanted to be
"reconciled with the church." His infidel flatterers hastened to his
chamber to prevent his recantation; but it was only to witness his ignominy and
their own. He cursed them to their faces; and, as his distress was increased by
their presence, he repeatedly and loudly exclaimed:
"Begone! It is you that have brought me to my present condition. Leave
me, I say; begone! What a wretched glory is this which you have produced to
me!"
Hoping to allay his anguish by a written recantation, he had it prepared,
signed it, and saw it witnessed. But it was all unavailing. For two months he
was tortured with such an agony as led him at times to gnash his teeth in
impotent rage against God and man. At other times, in plaintive accents, he
would plead, "O Christ! O Lord Jesus!" Then, turning his face, he
would cry out, "I must die -- abandoned of God and of men!"
As his end drew near, his condition became so frightful that his infidel
associates were afraid to approach his bedside. Still they guarded the door,
that others may not know how awfully an infidel was compelled to die. Even his
nurse repeatedly said, "For all the wealth of Europe she would never see
another infidel die."
It was a scene of horror that lies beyond all exaggeration. Such is the
well-attested end of the one who had a natural sovereignty of intellect,
excellent education, great wealth, and much earthly honor. We may all well
exclaim with Balsam, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my
last end be like his. -- The Contrast Between Infidelity and Christianity
018 -- DYING WORDS OF SAMUEL HICK
Many of our readers no doubt have heard of "Sammy Hick, the Village
Blacksmith." His eccentricities and devotion to God are widely known, not
only in England, his native land, but in other countries as well. His
biographer says:
In 1825, Mr. Hick gave up business and devoted the remainder of his days to
the work of the Lord. Everywhere he became very popular. In London he drew
crowds to hear him, and he was the means of doing much good. In speaking in the
pulpit or on the platform, he was loud and vehement; on warming up with his
subject he was much given to gesticulation and stamping, making the platform
tremble under him; in fact, on one occasion he stamped the platform down.
"Just at the moment of applying his subject," says Rev. J. Everett,
"and saying, 'Thus it was that the prophets went,' that part of the
platform on which he stood gave way, and he instantly disappeared. Fortunately
no injury was done."
And now the time for his dissolution drew near. About a month before he died
he told his friends he was "going home." He wished Mr. Dawson to
preach his funeral sermon from Isaiah 48:18; he also desired that his death
should be advertised in the Leeds paper, and that a sack of meal should be
baked into bread and two cheeses purchased for the use of those who came to
witness the interment. "My friends will all come," said he,
"there will be a thousand people at my funeral."
By Martha's desire, however, Mr. Dawson succeeded in "persuading him
off" this baking and cheese purchasing business, especially as his means
were small. That dry, hearty humor to which he was so much given showed itself
even in his last hours. A friend who prayed with him in his last illness asked
the Lord to "make his bed in his affliction."
"Yes," responded Sammy, "and shake it well, Lord."
Remembering that the stairs were narrow, and the windows of the room small,
he said to those about him, "As soon as I die, you must take the body down
and lay it out; for you will not be able to get the coffin either down-stairs
or out of the windows." Then after singing I'll praise my Maker while I've
breath:
And when my voice is lost in death,
Praise shall employ my nobler powers,
He said faintly, "I am going, get the sheets ready"; and on
Monday, at 11 p. m., Nov. 9th, 1829, in the 71st year of his age, he took his
departure. On the following Sunday he was buried in Aberford Churchyard, and
about a thousand persons attended the funeral; many of whom after taking their
last look at the coffin, turned away exclaiming, "If ever there was a good
man, Sammy Hick was one." -- Life Stories Of Remarkable Preachers
019 -- THE SAINTED SUSANNA WESLEY
"The Mother of Methodism" was born in London in 1669, and was the
youngest child of Dr. Samuel Annesley, an able and prominent minister, who paid
every attention to the education of his favorite daughter. When Susanna was
twenty years of age she and her husband, Samuel Wesley, a graduate of Exeter
College and a curate in London, began married life on an income of sixty pounds
a year.
The young husband was a diligent student and devoted to his work; his
beautiful wife, a person of fine manners. Had Susanna Wesley not been a person
of very strong will, she could not have borne all the trials, privations and
hardships incident to her long and toilsome life. Not only did poverty often
stare the rapidly increasing family in the face, but in 1702 their home was
destroyed by fire and other troubles fast followed.
Mr. Wesley, owing debts which he could not pay, was put into prison, where
he remained three months before his friends succeeded in releasing him. A still
greater calamity was awaiting them. In 1709 Epworth Rectory was burned to the
ground, and some of the children narrowly escaped with their lives. Their
books, which had been purchased with great self-denial, twenty pounds in money
and their clothing were all gone. A month later Mrs. Wesley's nineteenth and
last child was born. The rectory was after a time rebuilt and the scattered
family reunited.
Notwithstanding her manifold household duties Mrs. Wesley found time for a
vast amount of literary work. Not only did she conduct a household school,
which she continued for twenty years, but she prepared three text-books for the
religious training of her children.
She also held Sunday evening services in the rectory for her children and
servants. Others asked permission to come, and often two hundred were present.
The letters she wrote to her children give some insight into her pure and
noble character. When John entered school at London many letters passed between
mother and son. She advised him what books to read. "Imitation of
Christ" and "Rules for Holy Living and Dying" made lasting impressions
upon him. When he was first asked to go to America to preach the gospel he
hesitated, wishing to remain near his aged mother.
When he consulted her she replied, "Had I twenty sons I should rejoice
were they all so employed, though I should never see them again." What
must have been her feelings as she witnessed the grand work done by his son
before she was called away.
"Children, as soon as I am released sing a psalm of praise to
God," was her last uttered request. The words of her son Charles,
"God buries the workmen, but the work goes on," are true, and though
this model mother has long since passed away, the grand work of her sons still
goes forward. -- Traits of Character
020 -- "OH! I HAVE MISSED IT AT LAST!"
Some time ago, a physician called upon a young man who was ill. He sat for a
little while by the bedside, examining his patient, and then he honestly told
him the sad intelligence that he had but a very short time to live. The young
man was astonished; he did not expect it would come to that so soon. He forgot
that death comes "in such an hour as ye think not."
At length he looked up into the face of the doctor, and, with a most
despairing countenance, repeated the expression, "I have missed it -- at
last."
"What have you missed?" inquired the tenderhearted, sympathizing
physician.
"I have missed it -- at last," again he repeated.
"Missed what?"
"Doctor, I have missed the salvation of my soul."
"Oh, say not so -- it is not so. Do you remember the thief on the
cross?"
"Yes, I remember the thief on the cross. And I remember that he never
said to the Holy Ghost, 'Go thy way.' But I did. And now He is saying to me,
'Go your way.'"
He lay gasping a while, and looking up with a vacant, starting eye, he said,
"I was awakened and was anxious about my soul a little time ago. But I did
not want to be saved then. Something seemed to say to me, 'Don't put it off,
make sure of salvation.' I said to myself, 'I will postpone it.' I knew I ought
not to do it. I knew I was a great sinner, and needed a Savior. I resolved,
however, to dismiss the subject for the present. Yet I could not get my own
consent to do it until I had promised to take it up again, at a time not remote
and more favorable. I bargained away, resisted and insulted the Holy Spirit. I
never thought of coming to this. I meant to have made my salvation sure, and
now I have missed it -- at last."
"You remember," said the doctor, "that there were some who
came at the eleventh hour."
"My eleventh hour," he rejoined, "was when I had that call of
the Spirit. I have had none since -- shall not have. I am given over to be
lost. Oh! I have missed it! I have sold my soul for nothing -- a feather -- a
straw -- undone forever!" This was said with such indescribable
despondency, that nothing was said in reply.
After lying a few moments, he raised his head, and looking all around the
room as if for some desired object, he buried his face in the pillow, and again
exclaimed in agony and horror, "Oh! I have missed it at last!" and
died.
Reader, you need not miss your salvation, for you may have it now. What you
have read is a true story. How earnestly it says to you, "NOW is the
accepted time!"
"Today, if ye will hear His voice, harden not your hearts" (Heb.
3: 7, 8). -- The Fire Brand
021 -- "VICTORY! TRIUMPH! TRIUMPH!" WERE JOHN S.
INSKIP'S LAST WORDS
This great evangelist of full salvation was greatly used in bringing
Christians from a life of wandering in the wilderness of doubts and fears to
the promised land of perfect rest. For many years he was at the head of the
great holiness movement in this country. His biographer says:
"The agents whom God employs for special work, are marked men -- men
who seem, by special enduement, to be leaders; and who at once, by their
superior adaptation, command public attention and take their place, by general
consent, in the front ranks. Such a character was Rev. John S. Inskip."
He was a great sufferer for many weeks before he died. On one occasion Mrs.
Inskip said: "My dear, religion was good when you were turned from your
father's home; it was good in the midst of labor, trials and
misrepresentations; it has been good in the midst of great battles, and when
the glorious victory came; does it now hold in the midst of this great
suffering?"
He pressed her hand, and with uplifted eyes, and a hallowed smile,
responded, "Yes, oh yes! I am unspeakably happy." This was followed
by "Glory! glory!" During his sickness he requested many of his
friends to sing and pray with him. He was "always cheerful and his face
radiant with smiles and bright with the light of God.
His biographer says: The last song sung, on the day of his departure, was,
"The Sweet Bye And Bye." While singing that beautiful and appropriate
hymn, the dying man pressed his loving wife to his breast, and then, taking her
hands in his, raised them up together, and with a countenance beaming with
celestial delight, shouted, "Victory! Triumph! Triumph!" These were
his last words on earth.
He ceased to breathe at 4 p. m., March 7, 1884, but so peacefully and
imperceptibly did he pass away, that those who watched by him could scarcely
perceive the moment when he ceased to live. On that day the Christian warrior,
the powerful preacher, the tender husband, the world-renowned evangelist, was
gathered to his fathers, and rested from his toil. "And thou art crowned
at last."
The intelligence of his death spread throughout all the land with great
rapidity, and though not unexpected, it produced a profound impression upon
all. Letters of Christian sympathy for the afflicted widow came pouring in from
all parts of the country. The general feeling was, that a great and useful man
had fallen -- one whose place in the holiness movement of the country could not
easily be filled. -- Life of John S. Inskip
022 -- THE WONDERFUL COURAGE OF THE MARTYR PHILIP, BISHOP OF
HERACLEA
Philip, bishop of Heraclea, in Asia Minor, who lived in the third century,
had in almost every act of his life shown himself to be a good Christian.
An officer, named Aristomachus, being sent to shut up the Christian church
in Heraclea, Philip told him that the shutting up of buildings made by hands
could not destroy Christianity; for the true faith dwelt not in the places
where God is adored, but in the hearts of His people.
Being denied entrance to the church in which he used to preach, Philip took
up his station at the door, and there exhorted the people to patience,
perseverance and godliness. For this he was seized and carried before the
governor, who severely reproved him, and then said: "Bring all the vessels
used in your worship, and the Scriptures which you read and teach the people,
and surrender them to me, before you are forced to do so by tortures."
Philip listened unmoved to this harsh command, and then replied "If you
take any pleasure in seeing us suffer, we are prepared for the worst you can
do. This infirm body is in your power; use it as you please. The vessels you
demand shall be delivered up, for God is not honored by gold and silver, but by
faith in His name. As to the sacred books, it is neither proper for me to part
with them, nor for you to receive them."
This answer so much enraged the governor, that he ordered the venerable
bishop to be put to the torture.
The crowd then ran to the place where the Scriptures and the church plate
were kept. They broke down the doors, stole the plate, and burned the books;
after this they wrecked the church.
When Philip was taken to the market-place, he was ordered to sacrifice to
the Roman gods. In answer to this command, he made a spirited address on the real
nature of the Deity; and said that it appeared that the heathens worshipped
that which might lawfully be trodden under foot, and made gods of such things
as Providence had designed for their common use.
Philip was then dragged by the mob through the streets, severely scourged,
and brought again to the governor; who charged him with obstinate rashness, in
continuing disobedient to the emperor's command. To this he boldly replied that
he thought it wise to prefer heaven to earth, and to obey God rather than man.
The governor then sentenced him to be burned, which was done accordingly, and
he expired singing praises to God in the midst of the fire. -- Foxes Book, of
Martyrs
023 -- "I CAN SEE THE OLD DEVIL HERE ON THE BED WITH
ME."
There lived at one time in our neighborhood a man whom we will call Mr.
B____. He was intelligent, lively, a good conversationalist, and had many
friends. But Mr. B loved tobacco and strong drink, and was not friendly to
Christianity. He would not attend church and would laugh and make fun of
religion, and some of his neighbors he would call Deacon so-and-so for fun.
But Mr. B____ was growing old. His head was frosted over with many winters
and he had long since passed his three score and ten years.
At the close of a wintry day, in a blinding snowstorm, a neighbor called at
our home saying Mr. B____ wished to see my husband. Knowing Mr. B____ was ill,
my husband was soon on his way. On entering the sick room, he asked what he
wished of him. He replied, "O, I want you to pray for me."
"Shall I not read a chapter from the Bible to you first?" was
asked. He assented. The chapter selected was the fifth of St. John.
While reading, Mr. B____ would say, "I can see the old devil here on
the bed with me, and he takes everything away from me as fast as you read it to
me, and there are little ones on each side of me."
After reading, prayer was offered for him, and he was told to pray for
himself. He said: "I have prayed for two days and nights and can get no
answer. I can shed tears over a corpse, but over this Jesus I cannot shed a
tear. It is too late, too late! Twenty-five years ago, at a camp-meeting held
near my home, was the time that I had ought to have given my heart to Jesus.
Oh!" he cried, "see the steam coming up! See the river rising higher
and higher! Soon it will be over me and I will be gone."
The room was filled with companions of other days; not a word was spoken by
them. Fear seemed to have taken hold of them; and some said after that, "I
never believed in a hell before, but I do now. O, how terrible!"
Mr. B____ lived but a short time after this and then died as he had lived, a
stranger to Jesus, with no interest in His cleansing blood. -- E. A. Rowes
024 -- "GOD HAS CALLED ME TO COME UP HIGHER."
Mrs. Gafford was dying, away from father, mother, brothers and sisters. Not
one of her relatives knew of her illness. She mentioned this fact to me, and
requested me to tell her people how kind her husband's family had been to her,
and that she had had everything that could be done for her.
Mrs. Gafford was a noted teacher, and was a graduate from the Normal
College, South Nashville. She had been married but two months before her death
occurred, which was on the same day that her marriage took place. Mr. Gafford's
youngest brother came for me, saying, "Sister Chloe says she is dying and
wants to see you."
As I entered the room, she said, "Mrs. Moore, God has called me to come
home. I have had a happy, beautiful home on this earth, but God has one for me
that will last forever."
When Bro. Harrel came, she said, "Bro. Harrel, God has called me to
come up higher. He says my life's work is done."
Bro. Harrel said, "We need you so much here, I am going to ask God to
spare you to us."
Mrs. Gafford replied, "The Lord's will be done." Bro. Harrel then
read to her from the Bible. She commented on each passage, saying, "The
Lord has been all this to me."
As he read "When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee;
and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee," she said,
"Bro. Harrel, death is the deep waters, God is with me." Then,
putting her arms around her mother-in-law's neck, she said, "God has sent
me here to die to win you to heaven."
She then began to sing "The Unclouded Day" and "Home, Sweet
Home"; and soon after left us to live with God. As Mr. Gafford, her
husband's father, had died several years before, they did not know each other
on this earth, but I am sure that they have met up yonder. -- Prepared for this
book by Mrs. T. C. Moore, White's Bend, Tenn.
025 -- CARRIE CARMEN'S VISION OF THE HOLY CITY
When Carrie Carmen, with whom the author was personally acquainted, as
pastor, came to the "river's margin," perfectly conscious, she gazed
upward, and exclaimed, "Beautiful! beautiful! beautiful"
One asked, "What is so beautiful?"
"Oh, they are so beautiful."
"What do you see?"
"Angels! and they are so beautiful."
"How do they look?"
"Oh, I can't tell you, they are so beautiful."
"Have they wings?"
"Yes! and hark! hark! They sing the sweetest of anything I ever
heard."
"Do you see Christ?"
"No, but I see the Holy City that was measured with the reed whose
length and breadth and height are equal, and whose top reaches to the skies;
and it is so beautiful I can't tell you how splendid it is." Then she
repeated the verse beginning "Through the valley of the shadow I must
go."
She then spoke of the loneliness of her husband, and prayed that he might
have grace to bear his bereavement, and that strength might be given him to go
out and labor for souls. (They were expecting soon to enter the ministry.) She
also prayed for her parents, asking that they might make an unbroken band in
the beautiful city. She closed her eyes and rested a moment, and then looked up
with beaming eyes and said: "I see Christ, and oh, He is so
beautiful!"
Her husband asked again, "How does He look?"
"I can't tell you; but He is so much more beautiful than all me
rest." Again she said, "I see the Holy City." Then, gazing a
moment, she said, "So many!"
"What do you see, of which there are so many?"
"People."
"How many are there?"
"A great many; more than I can count."
"Any you know?"
"Yes, a great many."
"Who?"
"Uncle George and a lot more. They are calling me. They are beckoning
to me."
"Is there any river there?"
"No; I don't see any."
Her husband then said, "Carrie, do you want to go and leave me?"
"No, not until it is the Lord's will that I should go. I would like to
stay and live for you and God's work. His will be done."
Presently she lifted her eyes and said, "Oh, carry me off from this
bed."
Her husband said, "She wants to be removed from the bed." But his
father said, "She is talking with the angels."
When asked if she were, she replied, "Yes." She then thanked the
doctor for his kindness to her, and asked him to meet her in heaven. She closed
her eyes, and seemed to be rapidly sinking away.
Her husband kissed her and said, "Carrie, can't you kiss me?"
She opened her eyes and kissed him, and said: "Yes I can come back to
kiss you. I was part way over." She said but little more, but prayed for
herself and for her friends. Frequently she would gaze upward and smile, as
though the sights were very beautiful." -- Christ Crowned Within
026 -- THE AWFUL END OF A BACKSLIDER
The following is a short account of the life and death of William Pope, of
Bolton, in Lancashire. He was at one time a member of the Methodist Society,
and was a saved and happy man. His wife, a devoted saint, died triumphantly.
After her death his zeal for religion declined, and by associating with
back-slidden professors he entered the path of ruin. His companions even
professed to believe in the redemption of devils. William became an admirer of
their scheme, a frequenter with them of the public-house, and in time a common
drunkard.
He finally became a disciple of Thomas Paine, and associated himself with a
number of deistical persons at Bolton, who assembled together on Sundays to
confirm each other in their infidelity. They amused themselves with throwing
the Word of God on the floor, kicking it around the room, and treading it under
their feet. God laid His hand on this man's body, and he was seized with
consumption.
Mr. Rhodes was requested to visit William Pope. He says: "When I first
saw him he said to me, 'Last night I believe I was in hell, and felt the
horrors and torment of the dammed; but God has brought me back again, and given
me a little longer respite. The gloom of guilty terror does not sit so heavy
upon me as it did, and I have something like a faint hope that, after all I
have done, God may yet save me.'
After exhorting him to repentance and confidence in the Almighty Savior, I
prayed with him and left him. In the evening he sent for me again. I found him
in the utmost distress, overwhelmed with bitter anguish and despair. I
endeavored to encourage him. I spoke of the infinite merit of the great
Redeemer, and mentioned several cases in which God had saved the greatest sinners,
but he answered, 'No case of any that has been mentioned is comparable to mine.
I have no contrition! I cannot repent! God will damn me! I know the day of
grace is lost. God has said of such as are in my case, "I will laugh at
your calamity, and mock when your fear cometh,"'
I said, 'Have you ever known anything of the mercy and love of God?'
'Oh, yes,' he replied, 'many years ago I truly repented and sought the Lord
and found peace and happiness.'
I prayed with him after exhorting him to seek the Lord, and had great hopes
of his salvation. He appeared much affected, and begged I would represent his
case in our Society and pray for him. I did so that evening, and many hearty
petitions were put up for him.
Mr. Barraclough gives the following account of what he witnessed. He says:
"I went to see William Pope, and as soon as he saw me he exclaimed, 'You
are come to see one who is damned forever!'
I answered, 'I hope not; Christ can save the chief of sinners.'
He replied, 'I have denied Him, I have denied Him; therefore hath He cast me
off forever! I know the day of grace is past, gone -- gone, never more to
return!'
I entreated him not to be too hasty, and to pray. He answered, 'I cannot
pray! My heart is quite hardened, I have no desire to receive any blessing at
the hand of God,' and then cried out, 'Oh, the hell, the torment, the fire that
I feel within reel. Oh, eternity.' eternity! To dwell forever with devils and
damned spirits in the burning lake must be my portion, and that justly!'
On Thursday I found him groaning under the weight of the displeasure of God.
His eyes roiled to and fro; he lifted up his hands, and with vehemence cried
out, 'Oh, the burning flame, the hell, the pain I feel! I have done, done the
deed, the horrible, damnable deed!'
I prayed with him, and while I was praying he said with inexpressible rage,
'I will not have salvation at the hand of God! No, no! I will not ask it of
Him.'
After a short pause, he cried out, 'Oh, how I long to be in the bottomless
pit -- in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone!'
The day following I saw him again. I said, 'William, your pain is
inexpressible.'
He groaned, and with a loud voice cried out, 'Eternity will explain my
torments. I tell you again, I am damned. I will not have salvation.'
He called me to him as if to speak to me, but as soon as I came within his
reach he struck me on the head with all his might, and gnashing his teeth,
cried out, 'God will not hear your prayers.'
At another time he said, 'I have crucified the Son of God afresh, and
counted the blood of the covenant an unholy thing! Oh, that wicked and horrible
deed of blaspheming against the Holy Ghost, which I know I have committed!'
He was often heard to exclaim, 'I want nothing but hell! Come, O devil, and
take me!' At another time he said, 'Oh, what a terrible thing it is! Once I
might, and would not: now I would and must not.' He declared that he was best
satisfied when cursing.
The day he died, when Mr. Rhodes visited him, and asked the privilege to
pray once more with him, he cried out with great strength, considering his
weakness, 'No!' and passed away in the evening without God."
Backslider, do you know you are in danger of the fires of hell? Do you know
you are fast approaching the:
"Line by us unseen
That crosses every path,
That marks the boundary between
God's mercy and His wrath."
You are, and unless you turn quickly, you with William Pope will be writhing
in hell through all eternity. God says, "The backslider in heart shall be
filled with his own ways." But He says again, "Return, ye backsliding
children, and I will heal your backslidings." Oh, come back and be healed
before God shall say of you, "He is joined to his idols, let him
alone." -- Remarkable Narratives
027 -- THE ADVICE OF ETHAN ALLEN, THE NOTED INFIDEL, TO HIS
DYING DAUGHTER
Though the following biographic note may be familiar to some, it may yet be
useful to many. Ethan Allen was a professed infidel. He wrote a book against
the divinity of our blessed Lord. His wife was a Christian, earnest, cheerful
and devoted. She died early, leaving an only daughter behind, who became the
idol of her father. She was a fragile, sensitive child, and entwined herself
about the rugged nature of her sire, as the vine entwines itself about the
knotty and gnarled limbs of the oak. Consumption marked this fair girl for its
own; and she wasted away day by day, until even the grasshopper became a
burden.
One day her father came into her room and sat down by her bedside. He took
her wan, ethereal hand in his. Looking her father squarely in the face, she
said:
"My dear father, I'm going to die."
"Oh! no, my child! Oh! no. The spring is coming and with the birds and
breezes and the bloom, your pale cheeks will blush with health."
"No, the doctor was here today. I felt I was nearing the grave, and I
asked him to tell me plainly what I had to expect. I told him that it was a
great thing to exchange worlds; that I did not wish to be deceived about
myself, and if I was going to die I had some preparations I wanted to make. He
told me my disease was beyond human skill; that a few more suns would rise and
set, and then I would be borne to my burial. You will bury me, father, by the
side of my mother, for that was her dying request. But father, you and mother
did not agree on religion. Mother often spoke to me of the blessed Savior who
died for us all. She used to pray for both you and me, that the Savior might be
our friend, and that we might all see Him as our Savior, when He sits enthroned
in His glory. I don't feel that I can go alone through the dark valley of the
shadow of death. Now, tell me, father, whom shall I follow, you or mother?
Shall I reject Christ, as you have taught me, or shall I accept Him, as He was
my mother's friend in the hour of her great sorrow?"
There was an honest heart beneath that rough exterior. Though tears nearly
choked his utterance, the old soldier said:
"My child, cling to your mother's Savior; she was right. I'll try to
follow you to that blessed abode."
A serene smile over-spread the face of the dying girl, and who can doubt
there is an unbroken family in heaven.
028 -- "MA, I SHALL BE THE FIRST OF OUR FAMILY OVER
YONDER."
Asa Hart Alling, eldest son of Rev. J. H. and Jennie E. Alling, of Rock
River Conference, was born Dec. 20, 1866, in Newark, Kendall County, Ill.; and
died in Chicago, April 19, 1881. He was converted and united with the church at
Morris when eleven. His conversion was clear and well defined, and his
Christian life eminently satisfactory. He was regularly present at worship, and
frequently took part. He would invariably close his prayer by asking the Lord
to keep him "from bad boys." He assisted cheerfully in the
fulfillment of his own prayer, and made choice of the more noble youths of his
own age. And while most boys were devoting their spare time to fun and rude
sport, he was applying himself to works of benevolence and humanity, and
numbers of aged and infirm people living near Simpson church will bear record
of the good deeds by his youthful hands.
In the public school he took high rank, and led his classmates. For his
years he was well advanced. Friday, April 15, he complained of being ill, but
insisted upon going to school. He returned in distress, took to his bed, and
did not leave it. He was smitten with cerebro-spinal meningitis, and was at
times in agony. Through it all he proved himself a hero and a Christian
conqueror. He realized that his sickness would terminate fatally, and talked
about death with composure.
He put his arms about his mother's neck, and gently drawing her face close
to his own, said, "Ma, I shall be the first of our family over yonder, but
I will stand on the shore and wait for you all to come."
He requested his mother to sing for him, "Pull for the shore." She
being completely overcome with grief could not sing. He said, "Never mind,
ma; you will sing it after I am gone, won't you?"
To a Christian lady who came to see him, he said, "You sing for me.
Sing 'Hold the fort:'" She sang it. "Now sing 'Hallelujah: 'Tis
done.'" He fully realized that the work of his salvation was done, and he
was holding the fort till he should be called up higher.
He bestowed his treasures upon his brother and sisters. He gave his Bible to
his brother Treat; and as he did so said to his father, "Pa, tell aunty,
who gave me this Bible, that I died a Christian."
His last hours of consciousness were rapidly closing. He remarked, "Ma,
I shall not live till morning; I am so tired, and will go to sleep. If I do not
wake up, good-bye; good-bye all."
A short time afterward he fell asleep. He was not, for God had taken him. He
had reached the shores of eternal life for which he had pulled so earnestly and
with success. His funeral was attended by a large concourse of people, who
thronged the church. The services were conducted by several of the Chicago
pastors, and were very impressive and instructive. We all felt as if we had
lost a treasure, and heaven had gained a jewel. -- G. A. Vanhorne
029 -- "TAKE THEM AWAY -- TAKE THEM AWAY."
"Some years ago a neighboring family, consisting of father, mother, and
five or six children that God had entrusted to their care, were all seemingly
without a thought of eternity -- all for the world and the things of the world.
But soon the dark shadows began to gather. The father was taken sick. He grew
worse and worse and soon it was said that he was seriously ill. In a few short
days the message came to me saying, "Come quick, Mr. S. is dying."
I went immediately to his bedside, and found him talking and trying to draw
back from some apparition that he evidently saw, saying, "Take them away!
Take them away!" It seemed to be the demons or the wicked spirits
tormenting him while yet alive."
The above was recently sent us for publication by Mrs. M. E. Holland,
Bentonville, Ark. May God help all our readers, if not already free from evil
spirits, to call on God to take them away at once -- not wait until they are
called to die. The time to get rid of the devil is when he first makes his
appearance, or when the soul becomes conscious of his presence. May God help
our readers to realize that "The Lord knoweth how to deliver the godly out
of temptation."
"Now all these things happened unto them for examples: and they are
written for our admonition, upon whom the ends of the world are come. Wherefore
let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall. There hath no
temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who
will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the
temptation also make a way of escape, that ye may be able to bear it.
Wherefore, my dearly beloved, flee from idolatry. I speak as to wise men; judge
ye what I say" (1 Cor. 10: 11-12).
030 -- A DYING MAN'S REGRETS
A minister once said to a dying man, "If God should restore you to
health, think you that you would alter your course of life?"
He answered: "I call heaven and earth to witness, I would labor for
holiness as I shall soon labor for life. As for riches and pleasure and the
applause of men, I account them as dross. Oh! if the righteous Judge would but
reprieve and spare me a little longer, in what spirit would I spend the
remainder of my days! I would know no other business, aim at no other end, than
perfecting myself in holiness. Whatever contributed to that -- every means of
grace, every opportunity of spiritual improvement, should be dearer to me than
thousands of gold and silver. But, alas! why do I amuse myself with fond
imaginations? The best resolutions are now insignificant, because they are too
late."
Such was the language of deep concern uttered by one who was beginning to
look at these things in the light of the eternal world, which, after all, is
the true light. Here we stand on the little molehills of sublunary life, where
we cannot get a clear view of that other world; but, oh! what must it be to
stand on the top of the dark mountain of death, and take an outlook upon our
surroundings, knowing that from the top of that mountain, if angel pinions do
not lift us to the skies, we must take a leap into the blackness of darkness!
Reader, when your soul shall pass into eternity, is it an angel or a fiend
that shall greet you on your entrance there? If you want a well-grounded hope
of heaven, live for it! live for it! -- The Manna.
031 -- THE TRANSLATION OF THE SAINTED FRANCES E. WILLARD
Early on February 17, the last day God let us have her with us, she
remembered it was time for her "letter from home," as she loved to
call our official paper, The Union Signal, and sweetly said, "Please let
me sit up and let me have our beautiful Signal."
She was soon laid back upon her pillows, when, taking Dr. Hills' hand in
hers, she spoke tender, appreciative words about her friend and physician, of
which the last were these, "I say, God bless him; I shall remember his
loving kindness through all eternity."
A little later Mrs. Hoffman, National Recording Secretary of our society,
entered the room for a moment. Miss Willard seemed to be unconscious, but as
Mrs. Hoffman quietly took her hand she looked up and said, "Why, that's
Clara! Good Clara! Clara, I've crept in with mother, and it's the same
beautiful world and the same people, remember that -- it's just the same."
"Has my cable come?" she soon asked; "Oh, how I want to
come"; and when, a few moments later, a message of tenderest solicitude
and love was received from dear Lady Henry, I placed it in her hand. "Read
it, oh read it quickly -- what does it say?" were her eager questions, and
as I read the precious words I heard her voice, "Oh, how sweet, oh, how
lovely, good -- good!"
Quietly as a babe in its mother's arms she now fell asleep, and though we
knew it not "the dew of eternity was soon to fall upon her forehead."
"She had come to the borderland of this closely curtained world."
Only once again did she speak to us, when about noon the little thin, white
hand -- that active, eloquent hand -- was raised in an effort to point upward,
and we listened for the last time on earth to the voice that to thousands has
surpassed all others in its marvellous sweetness and magnetic power, it was
like the lovely and pathetic strain from an Aeolian harp on which heavenly
zephyrs were breathing, and she must even then have caught some glimpse of
those other worlds for which she longed as she said, in tones of utmost
content, "How beautiful it is to be with God."
As twilight fell, hope died in our yearning heart, for we saw that the full
glory of another life was soon to break o'er our loved one's "earthly
horizon." Kneeling about her bed, with the faithful nurses who had come to
love their patient as a sister, we silently watched while the life immortal,
the life more abundant, came in its fullness to this inclusive soul, whose
wish, cherished from her youth, that she might go, not like a peasant to a
palace, but as a child to her Father's home, was about to be fulfilled. A few
friends who had come to the hotel to make inquiries joined the silent and
grief-stricken group. Slowly the hours passed with no recognition of the loved
ones about her. There came an intent upward gaze of the heavenly blue eyes, a
few tired sighs, and at the "noon hour" of the night Frances Willard
was:
"Born into beauty
And born into bloom,
Victor immortal
O'er death and the tomb."
-- The Beautiful Life of Frances E. Willard
032 -- "IT IS EASIER TO GET INTO HELL THAN IT WILL BE TO
GET OUT."
In the village of Montgomery, Mich., in the spring of 1884, an infidel,
husband of a spiritualist, was stricken down with disease. He had such a hatred
for the cause of Christ that he had requested previous to his death that his
body should not be 'carried to a church for funeral services, or any pastor be
called upon to officiate.'
As he was nearing the shores of eternity, he turned his face toward the wall
and began to talk of his future prospects. His wife saw that he was troubled in
spirit and endeavored to comfort and console him by telling him not to be
afraid; that his spirit would return to her and they would commune together
then as now. But this gave him no comfort in this awful hour. With a look of
despair, he said, "I see a great high wall rising around me, and am
finding out at last, when it is too late, that it is easier to get into hell
than it will be to get out," and in a few moments his spirit had departed
from this world to receive its reward.
My sister-in-law was present at the time and heard the conversation. --
Written for this book by Rev. W. C. Muffit, Cleveland, Ohio.
033 -- THE BELOVED PHYSICIAN WALTER C. PALMER'S SUNLIT
JOURNEY TO HEAVEN
His biographer, Rev. George Hughes, says: At 5:15 p. m., July 20, 1883, his
ransomed spirit entered the triumphal chariot and, under a bright angelic
escort, sped away to the world of light and blessedness. There was no dark
river to cross -- no stormy billows to intercept his progress. It was a
translation from the terrestrial to the celestial -- the work of a moment, but
covered with eternal resplendency. Heaven's pearly gates were surely opened
wide to admit this battle-scarred veteran, laden with the spoils and honors of
a thousand battles. The light of a conqueror was in his eye. His countenance
was radiant. His language was triumphant. The angelic escort was near.
The expanded vision was rapturously fixed on immortal objects and scene. The
ear was saluted with the songs of angels and redeemed spirits. The blood-washed
soul was filled with high expectancy. Every avenue of the inner being was swept
with rapture. Hallelujahs burst momentarily from his lips. The aspects of such
a departure were gorgeous indeed -- no other word will express it. The
splendors of the eternal state were gathered to a focus, and burned intensely
around the couch of the Christian warrior as he breathed his earthly farewell.
Such a departure was the allotment of the beloved physician.
The place designated was wondrously attractive. A few steps only from his
cottage-home, the grand old ocean was ceaselessly rolling his billows upon the
strand, making solemn music, offering a deep-toned anthem of praise to the
Creator. The clear blue heavens above were resplendent. The sun was declining,
but glorious in his decline.
But the moral surroundings of the period set for this departure were still
more gorgeous. Not far away was the hallowed grove, the place of holy song and
Gospel ministration, where multitudes congregated. And there, too, the
"Janes Tabernacle," where such indescribable triumphs had been won.
"The voice of salvation and rejoicing was in the tabernacles of the
righteous." Even now we seem to hear the forest resounding with prayer and
praise. Surely holy angels must have delighted to hover o'er the scene, glad to
join the hallowed songs.
And what is that we see? In yonder cottage there is one newly born into the
kingdom of heaven. The first song of the new life is breaking upon the ears of
surrounding friends, Hallelujahs rule the hour.
In a little tent there is a child of God who has just entered "Beulah
Land!" He is inhaling its pure atmosphere. The fragrance of the land
delights him. He is basking in the meridian rays of the "Sun of
righteousness." What a heavenly glow there is upon his countenance! How
the Beulah-notes burst from his lips!
Hark! yonder is the shout of victory! What does it mean? Ah, one of God's
dear saints has been sorely buffeted of Satan; but "Strong in the strength
which God supplies through His eternal Son," she has just said,
authoritatively, in overcoming faith, "Get thee behind me, Satan!"
And, lo! the enemy is discomfited -- he flies ingloriously from the field!
Jesus, in the person of His tempted one, has driven the arch-foe to his native
hell.
And so we might go on in this field survey. At each step new wonders would
rise upon our view. Heaven and earth were surely keeping jubilee in the sacred
inclosure.
Can we conceive of a grander spot, in either hemisphere, from which a good
man might make his transition from world to world? Nay! Is it not written,
"My times are in Thy hand"? And are not the places too at the Divine
disposal? Did not Jehovah conduct (Moses) His servant of old to the Mount of
transition, and Himself perform the funeral-rites and interment? And so secure,
so hidden from the rude gaze of men the entombment, that the ages have not
discovered the burial-place.
Is it too much to think that the God of glory put forth His hand to
designate the place, so full of natural and moral attractions, for the
departure of His honored servant, Dr. Palmer. And then what a quiet hour --
just as the sun was declining and the soft evening shades were being stretched
forth! What an evening, after such a day!
All day long the beloved one had been quietly reclining upon his couch. The
tokens of his convalescence were cheering. A new light had been given to his
languid eye. A radiant smile illumined his whole countenance. Inspiring words
dropped from his lips. Loving friends, who had kept sleepless vigils around
him, rejoiced with great joy.
The day had been a festive one. The table of the Lord had been spread before
him, and he had feasted upon its dainties. At the foot of his couch had been
suspended "The Silent Comforter" (meaning perhaps, the Bible, or some
publication containing God's promises) -- silent, yet voiceful, telling of the
riches of the kingdom of heaven.
It was open at the passage for the day, reading thus:
"But now thus saith the Lord that created thee, O Jacob, and He that
formed thee, O Israel, Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee
by thy name; thou art mine.
"When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee: and through
the rivers, they shall not overflow thee -- When thou walkest through the fire,
thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. For I am
the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Savior" (Isaiah 43: 1-3).
What beautiful words -- beautiful words of life! His eye and his heart drank
in the Father's message -- a message of perfected redemption -- of joyous
adoption into the royal family, and the conferment of a royal name -- of
defense against destroying forces, the overflowing waters and the consuming
flame -- of exalted spiritual relationship, "I am thy God, thy
Savior." O, wondrous message spoken by Isaiah's fire-touched lips! Well
might that prostrate one rise into new life as he gazed upon the glittering
pages. Indeed, he had during the weeks of his suffering taken refuge in the
precious Word, so that the wicked one had not dared to approach him!
About two weeks before his release from earth, Mrs. Palmer said to him,
"My dear, Satan has not troubled you much of late." Raising his arm,
with emphatic voice he exclaimed, "No! he has not been allowed to come
near me!"
So now, he was sweetly reposing in the Divine Word as opened to his view on
the page of the "Silent Comforter."
So strong was the doctor's returning pulse that those who were performing
tender ministries were encouraged to have him attired and seated in an easy
chair where he could look upon the ocean and be invigorated by its breezes.
Indeed, he walked out and took his seat on the upper piazza. The beloved of his
life was by his side, and in a letter written to a friend subsequent to the
departure of her dear husband, beautifully describes what transpired at this
particular juncture:
"About three in the afternoon, he walked out on the second-story
balcony, sat there a half-hour or more, and seemed unusually joyous. He talked
of the beautiful landscape before him, and the grand old ocean. Seeing our dear
friend Mr. Thornley, who had so kindly relieved us of the care of the morning
meetings, come out of his cottage on the opposite side of the park, in front of
our summer cottage, our loved one waved his hand again and again, with smiles
of affectionate recognition. He then went into the room and wrote a business
letter to his son-in-law, Joseph F. Knapp, and read it to me in a strong voice,
and conversed freely.
"About five o'clock he proposed lying down to rest. His head had
scarcely reached the pillow, when I was startled by seeing those large blue
eyes open wide, as if piercing the heavens. Two or three struggles, as if for
breath, followed. "Raise me higher," he said, as I put my arm about
him, holding him up. A moment's calm ensued, I said, "Precious darling,
it's passing over." The dear one, putting his finger on his own pulse,
looking so sweetly, said in a low tone, "Not yet" -- and almost in
the same breath, in a clear, strong voice, said, "I fear no evil, for Thou
art with me." After a moment's pause, he continued, "I have redeemed
thee; thou art mine. When thou pass -- "
Here his loved voice failed. The precious spirit was released to join the
glorified above.
034 -- "GOOD-BY! I AM GOING TO REST."
Through the kindness of T. L. Adams, of Magdalena, New Mexico, we furnish
our readers with this incident:
In the year 188-, in Milan, Tenn., Ella Bledsoe, daughter of Dr. Bledsoe,
lay dying from a painful, wasting flux. Being near neighbors, Ella and my
sister had been together much of the time, and from close association had
learned to love each other very tenderly.
Ella had now been ill for about nine days. Her Christian father had
heretofore kept her under the influence of opiates to ease her pain, but not
willing that she should pass out of this world stupefied by these drugs, he had
ceased to administer them.
When sister Dorrie and I heard that Ella was dying we at once prayed to God
that s
