“I had been subject to a cough several months, and some kind of inflammation of the throat and lungs, which, for a time, almost deprived me of the use of my voice; and lest the complaint should become confirmed consumption, I was advised to try a voyage to sea.... March 11. For two days I have had a return of soreness, accompanied with some cough. I fear that the atmosphere of this place, loaded with dust and smoke, will bring on a relapse.
“My last informed you that I was on a passage to Calcutta for my health, by the direction of a physician and the recommendation of the brethren at the station. I derived great benefit from the voyage; and my health continued generally to improve during my stay in Calcutta of three weeks, and on the return voyage, until the Sunday preceding my arrival here, when I made trial of my voice, by attempting to conduct Burmese worship in my cabin, with the only native convert on board. And though the effort was very small, I was dismayed to find, in the course of the afternoon, the old soreness of lungs and tendency to cough come on; and for three days I was rather worse than I had been for six weeks. Being at sea, however, I partially recovered from the relapse before I reached home, but am not so well as at my last date. It is a great mercy that I am able to use my voice in common conversation without much difficulty; but when I shall be able to preach again I know not. The approaching rainy season will probably decide whether my complaint is to return with violence, or whether I am to have a further lease of life. I am rather desirous of living, for the sake of the work and of my family; but He who appoints all our times, and the bounds of our habitation, does all things well; and we ought not to desire to pass the appointed limits.... My throat complaint, which seemed to be nearly removed by a voyage to Calcutta, has returned with fresh violence since the commencement of the rains, three days ago. Some advise me to take another voyage, as before; but I have no heart to do so, thinking that the benefit will be but temporary. Others suggest a voyage home to America, and a residence there for a year or two; but to this course I have strong objections. There are so many missionaries going home for their health, or for some other cause, that I should be very unwilling to do so, unless my brethren and the Board thought it a case of absolute necessity. I should be of no use to the cause at home, not being able to use my voice. And lastly, I am in my fifty-first year. I have lived long enough. I have lived to see accomplished the particular objects on which I set my heart when I commenced a missionary life. And why should I wish to live longer? I am unable to preach; and since the last relapse, the irritation of my throat is so very troublesome that I can not converse but with difficulty, or even sit at the table, as I have done to-day, and prepare copy for the press. My complaint, it is said, is very much like that of which the late Mrs. Osgood died—not common pulmonary consumption, but something in the throat, which puzzled even her attending physicians, one of whom maintained, till near her death, that she was not in a consumption, and would recover.
“My present expectation is, to use medicinal palliatives, and endeavor to keep along for a few months, until I see the present edition of the Bible completed, and then be ready to rest from my labors. But the very thought brings joy to my soul. For, though I am a poor, poor sinner, and know that I have never done a single action which can claim the least merit or praise, glory is before me, interminable glory, through the blood of the Lamb, the Lamb for sinners slain. But I shrink back again, when I think of my dear wife and darling children, who have wound round my once widowed, bereaved heart, and would fain draw me down from heaven and glory. And then I think, also, of the world of work before me. But the sufficient answer to all is, The Lord will provide.”
The voyage to which allusion is made in the foregoing extracts was begun February 19, 1839; it was thought that a trip to Calcutta would restore his health. After an absence of nearly two months, during which he had a delightful visit with the English Baptists of Calcutta and Serampore, he returned to Maulmain, his health somewhat improved. The sadness of this separation from the faithful wife and mother, whom he left behind at Maulmain, was intensified by the apprehension that he might die on the voyage. Mrs. Judson writes:
“As soon as you left the house, I ran to your dressing-room, and watched you from the window. But you did not look up—oh, how I wished you would! Then I hastened to the back veranda, and caught one last glimpse of you through the trees; ... and I gave vent to my feelings in a flood of tears.
“Then the children came around me, asking to go to the wharf, and the women looked their wishes; and though I said ‘no’ to the little ones, I could not deny the others. After they were gone, I took all three of our darlings into your own little room, told them why you had gone away, and asked Abby Ann and Adoniram if they wished me to ask God to take care of papa, while he was gone. They said ‘yes’; and so I put Elnathan down on the floor to play, and, kneeling beside the other two, committed you and ourselves to the care of our heavenly Father.... How sweet is the thought that, when you go into the presence of God, you always pray for me, and for our dear children. We have family worship mornings in the sleeping-room. Abby and Pwen[[55]] kneel, one on each side of me, and after I have read and prayed I teach them the Lord’s prayer. I make them repeat it distinctly, only two or three words at a time. They both sit at the table with me, Pwen occupying his beloved father’s place. But these things do not beguile my loneliness. Oh, when shall I see you again, here, in your old seat?
“Your little daughter and I have been praying for you this evening. She is now in bed, and I am sitting by my study-table, where I spend all my time after evening worship, except what is devoted to the children. I wish, my love, that you would pray for one object in particular—that I may be assisted in communicating divine truth to the minds of these little immortals.... At times the sweet hope that you will soon return, restored to perfect health, buoys up my spirit; but perhaps you will find it necessary to go farther, a necessity from which I can not but shrink with doubt and dread; or you may come back only to die with me. This last agonizing thought crushes me down in overwhelming sorrow. I hope I do not feel unwilling that our heavenly Father should do as He thinks best with us; but my heart shrinks from the prospect of living in this sinful, dark, friendless world without you. But I feel that I do wrong to anticipate sorrows. God has promised strength only for to-day; and, in infinite mercy, He shuts the future from our view. I know that there is small ground for hope; few ever recover from your disease; but it may be that God will restore you to health, for the sake of His suffering cause. I do not deserve it; and I have often wondered that I should have been so singularly blessed as to possess that heart, which is far more precious than all the world beside. But the most satisfactory view of our condition is to look away to that blissful world, where separations are unknown. There, my beloved Judson, we shall surely meet each other; and we shall also meet those loved ones who have gone before us to that haven of rest.
“After worship at the chapel, several of the native Christians came in; and we all mingled our tears together. They each in turn committed their absent pastor (father, they called you) to God, and prayed for your restoration to health, and speedy return to us, with a fervor which I felt at the time must prevail.”
VERSES WRITTEN BY MR. JUDSON FOR HIS CHILDREN DURING THIS VOYAGE.
Prayer to Jesus.