INORDINATE GRIEF THE EFFECT OF AN UNSUBDUED WILL.
I called on a friend a few months since, who for a full year had been watching with maternal solicitude over an invalid daughter still in the morning of life, upon whom had been lavished all the fond caresses of parental love and tenderness. Every advantage which wealth, and the means of education could impart to qualify her for happiness in this life had been hers—nor had her religious culture been entirely overlooked.
In her father's family there had been little effort made to instill into the minds of their children the principles of holy living, and it was felt that there was but little necessity to give them habits of self-denial or self-reliance.
This daughter, notwithstanding her happy childhood in having all her wants anticipated, and upon whose pathway the sun had shone most brightly, was now, like an unsubdued child, under a most painful infliction of the rod of God.
Two years previous to this time, during a revival of religion, she publicly covenanted to walk in all the statutes and ordinances of God's Word and house, blamelessly. Thus was she married to Christ, and she then felt, and her friends felt, that she had chosen Christ to be the guide of her youth.
But how could she be expected, never having had her will thoroughly subdued, or been called to bear any yoke or burden, fully to understand, or to realize what was implied, or required in becoming a disciple of Christ, so that she could at once fully adopt the language,
"Jesus, I my cross have taken,
All to leave and follow thee,
Naked, poor, despised, forsaken,
Thou from hence my all shall be."
Just one year from her espousal to Christ the village of —— was all excitement, on an occasion which had called the young and the middle-aged to the house of her father,—the wealthy Mr. G——, when this lovely daughter was to be united in marriage to the accomplished, the graceful, the pious Mr. L——, a universal favorite with persons of all ages and ranks. A short time previous to his union to the young and beautiful belle of ——, he had, under most favorable auspices, commenced a lucrative business in the city of ——.
Immediately after the nuptial ceremony, Mr. L—— accompanied his bride to the Falls of Niagara, that favorite place of resort on such memorable occasions. They were now all the world to each other. Alas, how utterly, for a time, did they overlook the injunction, "Little children, keep yourselves from idols." Nor did they for once even dream how insensibly the streams of God's bounty and goodness were withdrawing their hearts from the fountain of all blessedness and perfection.
On their return from this delightful excursion, this envied young husband was soon found at his post of business, surrounded by numerous friends all eager to aid and encourage him on in his preparations to welcome to his home and his heart, his darling "wife." Oh, how sweet to him did that treasured name sound, when greeted by his young friends, and the question was asked, "How is your wife?" "When do you expect your wife?" Never, he felt, was there another more truly blessed.
How sudden must have been the transition, for the summons came, as it were, in a moment, "The Master has come, and calleth for thee." Young Mr. L—— had been in the city but two days, when retiring to his bed, he was suddenly siezed with a bilious attack, and in a few brief hours, even before his friends could reach his bed-side, he was wrapped in the habiliments of the grave. His last faint farewell was uttered in hurried and broken accents, just as he expired, "Tell her that Jesus makes me willing"—"makes me willing."
In his ready, cheerful, and manly willingness to obey the Master's call, though so sudden, we see the blessed influence of early parental discipline—absolute unconditional submission to parental authority.
Truly this was a most sad and unexpected reverse for that youthful and happy bride. Her face at once became as pale and almost marble-like, as the icy hand of death had made that of her husband's. No wonder if this world should now seem to her as a barren wilderness. No wonder if her thoughts, for a time, should brood mournfully over the words, "Lover and friend hast thou put far from me, and mine acquaintance into darkness." No wonder if to her desolate heart, solitude, and gloom, and the grave, should, for a season, be her chosen themes of contemplation. She does well to grieve. There is nothing wrong in the mourner's tears. We have the example of Jesus in such an expression—tears are Nature's own sweet relief. It is safe—yes, it is well to bleed when our limbs are taken from our side.
But let such as mourn remember, in all cases of bereavement, it is God, whose discipline is strictly parental, hath done it, and "He doeth all things well." How sad it is when the bereaved, who are not called to mourn as those who have no hope, allow their thoughts to find a lodgment only in the grave. How widely different had been the condition of this youthful mourner, if, instead of shutting herself up in her chamber, taking to her bed, chiefly, for a full year refusing to be comforted—had she dwelt more upon that touching "farewell" to her, receiving it as a beam of light and love from the spirit land, inviting her to the contemplation of heavenly themes. Had she rather considered her departed companion as favored in this early call to glory,—had she considered the passage in Isaiah 57:1, "The righteous are taken away from the evil."—why did she not meekly and penitently reflect, that as God does not willingly afflict, he must have had some special design in this severe chastisement upon her. Had her mind been open to conviction—had she been bowed down under a sense of sin—would she not have inquired whether the blessed Saviour, perceiving the lurking danger there was to this young couple, from a disposition to find their heaven upon earth, to seek their chief happiness in each other, had not with the voice of love and tender compassion said to her husband, "The Master hath need of thee, come up hither." Had her heart been right with God, as she contemplated her departed friend in his new-born zeal to honor and glorify his Redeemer, flying on swift wings to perform Heaven's mandates, would she not resolve, by the grace of God, to emulate him in his greater efforts to save lost souls, for whom Christ died? Were not the same motives set before her, by his death, to seek a new and holy life? Was not the same grace—the same strength proffered to her, which, if accepted and improved aright, would have enabled her to deny herself—to take up her cross and to follow Jesus whithersoever he might see fit to lead her?
But, alas, this was in nowise her happy experience. On the contrary, she turned away from the consolations proffered to her in God's blessed Word, and by his Holy Spirit, and in the teachings of that last touching "farewell."
May we not suppose that her husband, on finding himself liberated from the trappings of earth, from sin and temptation, as his thoughts would naturally revert to the friends he had left behind—finding his chosen, bosom friend, a mere clod of clay, sunk down in a state of hopeless misery and sorrow, at his loss, having no sympathy with him in his new and blessed abode, and in his more exalted employments and purer enjoyments, would he not rather bless God, more ardently, that he was so quickly removed from such chilling, blighting earth-born influences as she might have exerted over him?
Oh, that this youthful mourner might now hear that voice of God to his chosen people, "Ye have compassed this mountain long enough—turn you northward." God grant that the past time of her life may suffice that she has "wrought the will of the flesh." We most earnestly commend to her prayerful contemplation the last words of our blessed Saviour to his disciples, "In my Father's house are many mansions." I go to prepare a place for you—just such a mansion—such a place as each ransomed soul, by improving the discipline of God—by holy and self-denying efforts in this life, to do his will, is fitted to fill, and enjoy.
And so it will ever be with the heirs of salvation, while they remain in a world of sin and temptation. They are daily and hourly working out their salvation with fear and with trembling, while God is working in them to will and to do of his good pleasure. The improvement which is made of afflictions has a great deal to do in this process.
And thus, too, will it be with those who wilfully, or even thoughtlessly neglect the great salvation—those who reject the overtures of pardoning mercy and salvation by Christ. They will hereafter know and acknowledge that "they knew their duty but they did it not." It is said that "Judas went to his own place"—and that "Dives made his bed in hell." And herein will these words of the poet be strikingly fulfilled in every human soul—
"'Tis not the whole of life to live,
Nor all of death to die."