“Sir, I was not long since called to visit a poor gentleman, erewhile of the most robust body, and of the gayest temper I ever knew. But when I visited him; Oh! how was the glory departed from him! I found him no more that sprightly son of joy which he used to be; but languishing, pining away, and withering under the chastening hand of God. His limbs feeble and trembling; his countenance forlorn and ghastly; and the little breath he had left, sobbed out in sorrowful sighs! His body hastening apace to lodge in the silent grave, the land of darkness and desolation. His soul just going to God who gave it; preparing itself to wing away unto its long home; to enter upon an unchangeable and eternal state. When I was come up into his chamber, and had seated myself on his bed, he first cast a most wishful look upon me, and then began, as well as he was able, to speak. ‘Oh! that I had been wise, that I had considered my latter end. Ah! Mr. Hervey, death is knocking at my doors: in a few hours more I shall draw my last gasp; and than judgment, the tremendous judgment! how shall I appear, unprepared as I am, before the all-knowing, and omnipotent God? How shall I endure the day of his coming?’ When I mentioned, among many other things, that strict holiness, which he had formerly so slightly esteemed, he replied with a hasty eagerness: ‘Oh! that holiness is the only thing I now long for. I would gladly part with a world to obtain it. Now my benighted eyes are enlightened, I clearly discern the things that are excellent. What is there in the place whither I am going, but God. Or what is there to be desired on earth but religion?’—But if this God should restore you to health, said I, do you think you should alter your former course?—‘I call heaven and earth to witness,’ said he, ‘I would labour for holiness, as I shall soon labour for life. As for riches and pleasures, and the applauses of men, I count them as dross—no more to my happiness than the feathers that lie on the floor. Oh! if the righteous Judge would try me once more; if he would but reprieve, and spare me a little longer; in what a 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! the best resolutions are now insignificant, because they are too late. The day in which I should have worked is over and gone, and I see a sad horrible night approaching, bringing with it the blackness of darkness for ever. Heretofore, woe is me! when God called, I refused: when he invited, I was one of them that made excuse. Now, therefore, fearfulness and trembling are come upon me; I smart, and am in sore anguish already; and yet this is but the beginning of sorrows! It doth not yet appear what I shall be; but sure I shall be ruined, undone, and destroyed with an everlasting destruction!’
“This sad scene I saw with mine eyes; these words, and many more, equally affecting, I heard with mine ears; and soon after attended the unhappy gentleman to his tomb.”
Let us compare this account with the last moments of Mr. Hervey himself. We are told, that when his dissolution drew near, he said to those about him: “How thankful am I for death! It is the passage to the Lord and Giver of eternal life. O welcome, welcome death! Thou mayest well be reckoned among the treasures of the Christian; ‘To live is Christ, but to die is gain!’ ‘Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy most holy and comfortable word; for mine eyes have seen thy precious salvation.’—Here is my cordial! what are all the cordials given to support the dying, in comparison of that which arises from the promises of Salvation by Christ?—This, this supports me!”
Many instances might be given, proving that men, although learned, are as fools, if ignorant of Christ and the way of salvation; one will be sufficient.
Mr. Hobbes, was a celebrated Infidel in the last age, who, in bravado, would sometimes speak very unbecoming things of God and his word. Yet, when alone, he was haunted with the most tormenting reflections, and would awake in great terror, if his candle happened only to go out in the night. He could never bear any discourse of death, and seemed to endeavour to cast off all thoughts of it. He lived to be upwards of ninety. His last words were, when he found he could live no longer, “I shall be glad to find a hole to creep out of the world at.” And, notwithstanding all his high pretensions to learning and philosophy, his uneasiness constrained him to confess, when he drew near to the grave, that “he was about to take a leap in the dark.”
Consider this in contrast with Dr. John Leland. who, after spending a long life in the service of the Gospel, closed it with the following words:—“I give my dying testimony to the truth of Christianity. The promises of the Gospel are my support and consolation. They, alone, yield me satisfaction in a dying hour. I am not afraid to die. The Gospel of Christ has raised me above the fear of death; for ‘I know that my Redeemer liveth.’”
Dr. Leechman, late Principal of the College of Glasgow, at the close of life, this addressed a young man, whose education he had partly superintended: “You see the situation I am in. I have not many days to live: I am glad you have had an opportunity of witnessing the tranquillity of my last moments. But it is not tranquillity and composure alone; it is joy and triumph; it is complete exultation.” His features kindled, his voice rose as he spake. “And whence,” says he, “does this exultation spring?—From that book, (pointing to a Bible that lay on the table)—from that book, too much neglected indeed, but which contains invaluable treasures! treasures of joy and rejoicing! for it makes us certain that ‘this mortal shall put on immortality.’”
Let us now take a stronger contrast; namely, of the horrors of despair in an unbeliever, and the triumphant confidence of one who had fled to Christ for salvation, and whose hopes were founded thereon. Many instances of awful deaths of Infidels and Deists are well known;—those of Voltaire, Newport, and many others, are so fully before the public, it is unnecessary to cite them here; but the reader probably has not met with the following account. It occurred a few years since in London, and the truth of it is well known.
Mr. B. was a man of considerable abilities, his manners were gentlemanly, and being lively and gay, as well as good tempered, his company was much sought after: with these advantages it is not surprising that he was what the world usually calls a happy man; but we must add, that he was in the fullest sense of the word, an Infidel. His greatest pleasure was to laugh at religion and to burlesque the Bible.
Thus he went on for several years, enjoying a state of strong health, and every circumstance which could contribute to his worldly gratification. At length he was attacked by a severe illness. In a few days the progress of disease was rapid;—he was alarmed, and eagerly enquired, whether he was supposed to be in danger. His friends observing his alarm, and fearing a knowledge of his real state would hasten his end, concealed his danger from him, as is too frequently done, endeavouring to assure him that his illness would soon abate. At length, he was considered as decidedly past hope of recovery and it was become necessary to acquaint him with his danger. His friends did this in the mildest manner, still endeavouring to buoy up his hopes, and to prevent him from being alarmed; but the truth could be no longer concealed;—he now saw his awful state. Instantly he broke out into the most dreadful exclamations, crying out, that his soul was lost, and, for some hours, continued to repeat similar expressions, at the same time groaning deeply. After a short interval, he renewed his exclamations, declaring he was now convinced the Bible was true, and that there was reality in religion, and expressed the most earnest desire that his life might be spared for a year, for a month, or even for a week, that he might declare he was convinced of the falsehood of his former opinions. In this state he continued for some time, when feeling his end approaching, he renewed his earnest wishes, that if he could not be spared for a week, a day, a single day, might be granted, “that he might warn others, as he himself was going to hell.” At length he cried out, “I am sinking into hell!—Oh! the burning—the burning—the torments of hell!” This, and similar exclamations, he continued to utter, while life lasted, (for about thirty hours longer,) shrieking and groaning so dreadfully that his friends all fled from his bed-side, and even the nurse, accustomed as she was to death-bed scenes, could scarcely be induced to continue in the room. At length he expired, on the third day after his danger was communicated to him; the whole interval having been a continued scene of horror and despair, which the pen fails to describe, and the imagination is unable fully to conceive.
From this dreadful picture, let us turn to a brighter scene—the following extracts present us with an account of the last hours of the learned and excellent Bishop Bedell.