There is mentioned of her a most beautiful incident which occurred when about to part with her children, who were to visit America to commence a course of instruction not to be obtained in Burmah. When the vessel was about to sail, and Mr. Kincaid, who was to conduct them to this country, was ready to go on board, Mrs. Comstock took her two children and led them forth towards the ocean which would soon part her from them forever, and, kissing the cheek of each, committed them to the care of Him who holds the storms in his hand and controls the tempests as he will. It cost a struggle such only as a mother's heart can feel and realize; and, as she kissed them for the last time and gave them to her husband, she turned her streaming eyes to heaven and exclaimed, "O Jesus, I do this for thee!"
It was the last time. The vessel spread her canvas to the gales of heaven, and the children of the devoted woman were wafted from her, to see her face no more; and when next they meet, it will be before the great white throne, where the secrets of all hearts will be revealed, and where the Savior will place upon the head of his servant a crown of glory, and declare, in the hearing of an assembled world, "This, beloved disciple, I do for thee!"
It will be a delightful recompense for all the trials, inflictions, and sufferings of a missionary life, and will more than compensate the most self-sacrificing of all earth's children for the most toilsome labors, the most severe trials. Far happier will be he whose brow is encircled with such a crown than he who in this life is hailed as a royal emperor and led in chains of gold from throne to throne, from kingdom to kingdom.
One of our poets has thrown this beautiful incident into rhyme. One verse of his poem we repeat:—
"One burning kiss, one wild good by;
Put off, put off from shore!
In mercy to the mother fly,
And swiftly waft them from her eye,
For she can bear no more!
She knelt and cried, as o'er the sea
Faded their forms like sunset ray,
'O Savior, I do this for thee!'
And, sobbing, turned away."
The faith of Mrs. Comstock was strong. She believed that the efforts of Christian philanthropy would be attended by the desired blessing, and that Arracan would lift up its hands to God and implore the love of Jesus upon her prostrate sons. In a letter from Ramree, written only a few months before her death, she wrote as follows: "I believe these hills and vales of Arraean will yet leap at the 'sound of the church-going bell,' and the hundreds and thousands of her children will be seen coming up from every city, village, and hamlet, with united heart and voice, to the worship of the great Jehovah. It may not be in my day; but my children may see it. God grant that they may be privileged in hastening it on. We see but little fruit of our labors, i.e., so far as converts are concerned, but see the seed germinating. It is not dead—it will yet spring up; yes, this very seed we are now sowing will spring up and yield a glorious harvest."
With this confident expectation she labored on until the hand of death came to close her labors and lead her away to her infinite reward. In whatever part of Arracan she was, she was zealous to do the will of her Master, and seemed governed by a firm determination to glory in nothing but the cross of Jesus. Whether at Kyouk Phyoo, at Akyab, or at Ramree, or any of the other spots of toil and denial, she was faithful to the great work assigned her. She never lost sight of the object to accomplish which she had been sent out to a heathen land.
She departed this life on the 28th of April, 1843. Her disease was the malignant dysentery, which is peculiar to the climate. Her two children, lovely little boys, followed her to the grave; and in three months they were laid to rest by her side. About two hundred inhabitants of the Ramree district attended her funeral; and when the disconsolate husband had gone to his deserted home they remained and poured forth their sorrow over the new-made grave. Her death exerted a deep and powerful influence on the minds of the natives; and some were led to prepare to meet God by seeking the mercy of his Son.
The touching account of the death of his companion we give in Mr. C.'s own words: "For several months past Mrs. Comstock had been blessed with unusually good health; and we had repeatedly spoken with gratitude of the goodness of God in granting us so long an exemption from sickness. We hoped, too, that we should be permitted to labor more vigorously and uninterruptedly for the good of the heathen than we had been able to do. She had just completed a Book for Mothers, which, I think, was greatly needed, and will, I trust, prove very useful. She was contemplating a work for children, and had begun to inquire for scholars to attend during the rains, just at hand. We had, too, already decided to spend a month or two early in the cold season at Cheduba, and then take a tour of a month to Ava and the villages on the way thither. Our prospects for the future appeared to be unusually encouraging; and we fondly hoped that we should be permitted to see many turning unto the Lord in Arracan. We did not, however, forget that death might destroy all our plans, and often conversed together freely on the probability that one of us might be called speedily into eternity. She had no fear of death nor any anxiety as to the time or manner of her departure, but only spoke of it as affecting our future course.
"She was taken ill on Saturday, April 22. Our English doctor was then absent from Ramree; but, had he been here, we should not, probably, have thought it necessary to call him, as Mrs. C. had prescribed for many similar cases with entire success. On Monday I saw that her disease was very severe and obstinate, and asked her if I had not better call the Mussulman doctor who is left in charge here when the English one is absent. He came Tuesday morning. He prescribed for her, but wished the English doctor sent for; and I despatched a messenger for him. He arrived early on Wednesday morning, and faithfully and assiduously tried every remedy to arrest the disease, but in vain. On Friday evening, the 28th, at eight o'clock, she very suddenly expired. Occasionally there were slight symptoms of amendment; and I fondly hoped, to the very last, that she might recover. A minute or two before her death she took some nourishment, and remarked that she thought she should soon regain her strength. I trusted that it might be so, and stepped on to the veranda to say to the native Christians that there was still a little reason to hope. I heard her speak, and hastened to her just in time to see her sink back upon her pillow, and. without a struggle or even a gasp, breathe her last.