LAST SERMON, SICKNESS, AND DEATH.
Following this indefatigable man of God, we find him, on Sunday, the fifteenth of July, notwithstanding his late illness, at Swansea, preaching like a seraph, on the Prodigal Son in the morning, and in the evening on the words of St. Paul—“I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ,” &c.
The next evening he preached in the church at Mount Pleasant. He said he had taken his pulpit model from the day of Pentecost. He described the event of that memorable day, as a great naval battle between Emanuel and the Prince of Darkness. “The captain of our salvation” sent out twelve little boats to engage the whole fleet of hell. For a time all was enveloped in fire and smoke, and the issue of the day seemed doubtful; but when the conflict ceased, and the cloud cleared away, it was ascertained that the twelve little boats had captured three thousand of Satan’s ships of war.
When the preacher sat down, he said, “This is my last sermon.” And so it was. That night he was taken violently ill. The next day he lay in a partial stupor, taking but little notice of his friends. The third day he seemed somewhat better. On the morning of the fourth day, Thursday, he arose and walked in the garden. Toward evening he sunk again, and grew worse during the night. At two of the clock on Friday morning, he said to his friends:—“I am about to leave you. I have labored in the sanctuary fifty-three years; and this is my comfort and confidence, that I have never labored without blood in the basin”—meaning, evidently, that he had not failed to preach “Jesus Christ, and him crucified.” After a few more remarks of a similar character, he repeated a Welsh stanza, expressive of his firm trust in the Redeemer; and then, as if he had done with earth, and desired to depart, exclaimed in English—“Good-bye! drive on!” He now turned over, and seemed to sleep. His friends tried to rouse him. It was too late. The angelic postillion had obeyed the order. The chariot had passed over the everlasting hills.
Thus died Christmas Evans, at the house of his friend, Rev. Daniel Davies, in Swansea, July 19th, 1838, in the 73d year of his age, and the 54th of his ministry. His life was blameless, and his end was peace. “This honor have all his saints!”