And, doubtless, his energy, coupled with his faith, prolonged his useful life. In his condition, and with his temperament, he would have fallen sooner but for his indomitable will, his determination not yet to yield to the closing pressure of disease, and his conviction that God would still sustain him in his work; that so long as he did what he could and should, his Father would supply all lack. It is, unquestionably, every man's duty to consider his health, even in the prosecution of a religious enterprise, and no desire for high and holy attainment will justify reckless over-effort of body or mind. But not all are to be judged by the same standard of prudence in amount or kinds of effort or toil. What is rest for one man would prove torture to another. Not a few depend for very life upon tireless activity; like the traveller on the Alps, if in their exhaustion they sit down at the approach of night, they chill and sleep and die. They must keep moving or perish. So in the case of Henry Manning: while his example of unintermitted nervous endeavor may not be commended to ordinary men for imitation, it may be admired and approved in him, doomed as he was to an early death from the hour he entered the Petersburg dungeon, and kept alive through his resolute activity, his over-estimate of remaining strength, and his ever sanguine anticipations of returning health.
And with all his weakness of body, his faith never faltered. "If God wants me to stay at school," he said while at Andover, "I have no fear but that he will find a way for me to get along there." Then he told of his rising one morning without a cent of money in the world, and going earnestly to God in prayer for help, and of his finding, but a few minutes later, between the pages of the book he took up to study, fifteen dollars (which God had put it into the heart of some friend to give to him in that delicate way); and he added, in affirmation of his undoubting faith, "And God will do so again if it is best."
FAILING HEALTH.—A GRATEFUL HEART.
It was in the spring of 1867, that Manning finally left his studies. He struggled manfully with disease, but it gained on him steadily. He visited among friends, to try change of air and scene, and was under various medical treatment, but all to little purpose. His prison privations were working out in his shattered constitution their inevitable result. For all attention shown or aid rendered him, he was ever grateful, and he seemed to feel that none had better friends than he. Of a pleasant home where he had passed a brief time, he wrote, "It's a second paradise: isn't it? If Christ was on earth now, I do believe that he would make his home there—a part of the time at least: don't you?"
Those who were privileged to assist him from time to time may surely feel, as he felt, that their gifts were unto the Lord. "I want assistance," he wrote on this point, once, "only that I may be useful; and, strictly speaking, I want to be useful only for Jesus!" To God he gave glory for whatever help came to him from any direction. Returning thanks for a generous donation—which proved most timely—from one who sent it as "a cup of cold water to a disciple," he said, feelingly, "How very strange and mysterious are the Lord's dealings with this poor weak child of his! Every earthly prop is struck from under me, and I am just sinking in utter hopeless despair, when the Lord not only succors and relieves me, but catches me right up in his arms, and gives me such blessings as I had no thought of asking for."
IN HOSPITAL.—GENTLE MINISTRY THERE.
In his health-seeking, Manning visited Boston to secure the valued counsel of Dr. S. A. Green, his former regimental surgeon, who had on many occasions shown special interest in him, and expressed a readiness to aid him to the utmost. Soon there came a letter from him, dated in the Massachusetts General Hospital, saying, "My health has been growing frailer of late, and yesterday I came to this city, hoping to see Dr. Green, and perhaps get into some hospital; but on arriving here I found that Dr. G. was in Europe!... So, with an earnest prayer on my lips, I turned back, and, after much difficulty, found my way to this place,—found the head of the institution, and told my story—simple and short! Out of health, out of money, and disappointed about meeting friends.
"Well, I was told that this was just the place for folks in such a condition, and I was hustled into a warm bath, and into Ward 23, among a set of ghastly, half-in-the-grave looking fellows, some of whom lay, or sat up, in bed, like marble posts; some were cracking vulgar jokes, and one or two of the most deathly-looking ones were cursing and grumbling because they could not be allowed a pint of whiskey a day.... Perhaps I am wrong, but I can't help feeling grieved, mortified, and sad to come here so like a beggar! but what could I do? Here I've been on expense, more or less, ever since I left school, and no way of getting money. I have parted with my watch, and expect to receive ten or fifteen dollars for that shortly; so I shall get on nicely, only it galls me to have to be in this situation here! but I hope I shall not be here long.... And if I can get my health again, I shall know how to prize it; and shall be as thankful to God as I was when released from prison."
He was as unselfish in hospital as elsewhere. Having a little money left with him by friends, for the purchase of such comforts as he might crave, he at once set about ministering to the needs of those about him in the different wards, finding it ever "more blessed to give than to receive."
"Perhaps it may be gratifying to you," he wrote, in returning thanks for kindness shown to him by a slight gift, "to know of some of the effects of that kindness; of some of the good it has brought about, and some of the hearts it has cheered. That poor, deformed, ghastly-looking boy that I pointed out to you while we were conversing together in the hospital, wanted many things that were not furnished him. I expended a little of that money that you left with me upon him, ... and it would send a thrill of pleasure through and through you to have noted the effect. He was so unused to kindness that it quite overcame him. Poor, dear fellow! He is not long for this world. May the Lord watch over him, and prepare him for the future!