He continues to write, and with the rest the preceding chapter of "Reflections on his Fiftieth Birthday." He commits it, his diary, and other writings to me, with the request that I do with them as I think best, for now he is sure that this unequal contest with mortality can not last much longer.
Summer comes, and with it increasing weakness, but no diminution of his trust in God. He wishes to visit Eminence once more, and to see his two younger daughters graduate from the college that had helped himself in former years. He attends, and then, unable to walk without help, he comes on to Lexington, to spend commencement week among his friends and brethren; this done, he returns to his beloved Mt. Byrd, to leave it no more till he goes to stand with the redeemed on the Mount of God.
During the fall of this year hardly a week passed that several of his relatives and Christian brethren were not found at his home; and did not the limit of this chapter forbid, we would like to record their names, for in love they came to testify their admiration for him and their sympathy with his sorrowing family. For one and all he had a word of cheer, and none came away without being deeply impressed with the conviction that he had been with one of the purest and best of men—one who lived in daily communion with his Maker. His one theme of conversation was religion, and if we may judge from his increasing delight in it, to no one was death a more gentle transition from faith to sight. Narrow, indeed, to him was the bourn that divides the seen from the unseen, the temporal from the eternal, and the labors of earth from the felicities of heaven. He daily lived upon the boundary of two worlds.
In October, Bro. J. K. P. South held a meeting with the Mt. Byrd church, and, though feeble beyond measure, Bro. Allen made out to attend a few times, and even to take part in prayer and exhortation, sitting in his chair. Only twice after this was he able to be carried to the Lord's house, but on neither occasion could he take an active part in the worship.
In all the relations of life Bro. Allen was a model of all that is lovable in human character—kind, gentle, considerate of the feelings of others, even the least, and always cheerful. A refined and delicate humor pervaded his conversation, which was always chaste and instructive. There was in him a moderation that always attends reserved power, and a candor that was transparent; these qualities, united with an equipoise of intellectual and moral strength, harmony of emotions, and hatred of everything mean or unfair, made him revered by his friends, and an idol in his household. Wife, children, servants, all who came into that charmed circle, were attached to him in a love that bordered on idolatry. To draw a portraiture of this remarkable man would indeed be a pleasing task did space allow—his logical penetration, depth of feeling, strength of will, energy, industry, unwavering faith in God and goodness, and, crowning all, his fidelity to the gospel of Christ—but it is unnecessary. To us who knew him these virtues were conspicuous; by others, they may be gathered from the unvarnished story of his life as it is told in the foregoing pages. We must hasten to the closing scene.
On New Year's day, 1887, he laid down his pen to resume it again no more. He was forced to this by sheer exhaustion; his body was wasted to a skeleton, and it was clear to all that the end was near. Having suffered much for several days, but without a murmur, on the evening of Jan. 5 he requested all his family to come to his bedside, and while their hearts were breaking for grief and all eyes were blinded with tears, he spoke to them for the last time.
"My dear children," said he, "I want to say a few things to you while I can. I may not be able to do it if I put it off longer. I will soon leave you, and I know you will miss me. It is hard for you to give me up, but it is the will of God, and you must bear up as best you can. I am sure I have always had your love, and you have always obeyed me; and now I want you to always love and obey your mother. Remember, wherever you may be, that you are all of one household. Live in peace, and let no strife or discord spring up among you." Taking the hand of each of his daughters, he asked them to meet him in heaven, and then kissed them good-bye.
Laying his hand upon Frank's head, he said, "My dear son, papa has to leave you." "O papa," said the lad, "pray not to die." "We have prayed, my dear boy, but it is God's will to take me home, and He knows best. You must love your mamma and obey her; be good to your sisters. I want you to grow up and become a minister of the gospel. Try to make a better preacher than your papa has been. Be studious and industrious, and live so that you may at last meet me in heaven. May God bless you, my son, and keep you in His care. Kiss me good-bye."
Throwing one arm around his wife, he said, "My dear, my affliction has been a blessing to me in having you near me all the time. You have been everything on earth that a good wife could be. I have loved you even more in my affliction than I ever did before. I want to thank you for all your kindness to me and loving care of me. If I have ever done or said anything I should not, I want you to forgive me now. I can say on my dying bed that I have always been a true husband to you. I have made the best provision I could for you and the children, and if there should appear any mistakes they have not been of my heart." He then bade her a long and last farewell.
He then blessed his three little grandchildren and kissed them; expressed a desire to see his "dear old mother," brother and sisters once more, and spoke of some business matters a moment, then said, "This is too sacred for that."