Previous to the time when he was confined to his bed, which was the latter end of December, when I had an opportunity to set with him, he would often talk on divine subjects, and appeared deeply interested in the things that pertained to his own salvation. He mentioned several sermons he had heard Dr. Andrews, of Walworth, preach, but particularly one, from, Oh my Dove, that art in the cleft of the rock. He ran through the several ideas that was advanced, with great correctness and interest. At another time when we were conversing about eternal things, he said, Aunt, I should not be afraid to die, if I was sure I had an interest in Christ! You know it is possible to be deceived, and many people are. I never said so much to any one as I have to you. I talked to my dear father, and he answered me much the same as you have.
About the middle of February, when helping him out of bed, very helpless, and in great pain, he said, Aunt, I seem to have a hope that I shall be saved! Do you not think that answer to prayer is some evidence? and I am sure that many of my poor simply prayers have been answered.
February 26.—He held a truly interesting conversation with his Uncle, expressing the strongest desire to know if he was truly drawn to Christ! On the evidences being given to him, he appeared much refreshed, and said, It may be when I am nearer to death that the Lord may give me a full assurance. He often said how good the Lord is; I have more to be thankful for than to complain of! Once he said, Well Aunt, who can tell but the Lord may cure me? and if he does not, he will do a great deal better for me!—But for want of time, I must omit many very blessed things, and relate what more particularly transpired towards the close. The few last days in February, and the first and second of March, he was in great pain, and there was an evident alteration for the worst. In the night of the second of March, he said, Oh! affliction! affliction! My poor body is quite worn out! Oh! I wish for more patience and resignation. Aunt, I had rather lay here, with all my pains, than be running about the streets, in health, like many boys I know, cursing and swearing, and sinning against God. In the same night, he said, Oh! I hope we shall meet in Heaven! On my expressing the same hope, he cried out, Ah! but I want more than hope! I want assurance! Oh! I hope the Lord will sanctify this affliction.
Lord’s day, March the third.—He asked me to read. After reading the word, and some hymns, he smiled, and said, How precious that is! I wish you had nothing else to do but to talk and read to me. In the evening of that day, he was in great pain. From twelve at night till three in the morning, his tongue was like the pen of a ready-writer. I said to him, My dear, have you long had serious thoughts about your soul? He answered, No, Aunt, not any thing particularly, till within a twelvemonth. How was it at the beginning with you? Why, I was very much alarmed for fear I should go to hell! I used to have such dark horror on my mind as I cannot describe! I used to cry till I fell asleep, and then I used to dream it was the day of judgment, and wake very much terrified! I dreamt this a great many times. I cannot tell you what I went through, with the dark horror at day, and the terrifying dreams at night. Did you not feel at times, hopes springing up, that the Lord would save you, through Christ Jesus? Yes, very often, when I have been hearing my father, and Dr. Andrews, but afterwards I have been much distressed, for fear they were not right hopes. I never talked about what I felt. I thought people might think as I was a child that I heard a great deal about religion, it was what I had picked up—then added, with a strong voice and great satisfaction, But I know that what I picked up then, does me good now! Aunt, the last time I sung that hymn, Ah! I shall soon be dying, I never sung so in my life! I sung and cried! I sung as if I had another voice besides my own—I was so full of joy.—I spoke to Him of the great love of God, in calling him to the knowledge of himself, and bringing him to Jesus, for life and salvation. He replied, Oh! it is a great love. I keep you awake, but my heart is so full that I cannot help talking. This is but a small part of what passed on that, to me, memorable night.
March the 4th.—A young man was saying, when he was about thirteen years of age, he was so ill that used to pray to die. Samuel remarked after he was gone, That he did not know what death was, nor what it was to have a hell in his heart, or else he would not talk so.—Aunt, what a very precious hymn that is: All the fitness he requireth, is to feel your need of Him.—Oh! I hope I shall be able to say, as dear Mrs. Lawson said, when near death, I know in whom I have believed.—I hope my father will not grieve when I die—why should he? He often said, O that my warfare was ended.
March the 5th.—Very comfortable all day. About eleven at night, he suffered much. He said, Oh! I am quite worn out! I hope I shall not be long. It seems as if I could leave all now—Aunt, I can leave you! I hope I shall not suffer much at last—do you think I shall? I do not think you will my dear, but in all your sufferings the Lord will support you; you are not without sweet support now, are you? Oh, no! I am greatly supported, What a mercy it is to have promises to rest on. Oh! I want to go—not so much to get rid of suffering, as to see Jesus, which is better. Adding, Aunt, this is a comfort to me, you will not be long after me, nor uncle neither.—Once, when holding him up in my arms, he feared I should let him fall and cried out, Hold me up, hold me up! After a short pause, in a very expressive manner, said, Hold thou me up, and I shall be safe; and then to me, As thy day is, so shall thy strength be.
One day, he said, I have longed when I have seen people go down into the water to be baptized, to go too. He was answered, That there was no salvation in water. He replied, Oh! I know that, but you know it is so sweet to follow the Lord! At another time, he said, Aunt, I have a secret hope, that if I was to recover, the Lord would never let me forget his goodness to me; these afflictions would be useful to me through life. Once, when in great pain, he said, Its only weaning—I want a great deal of weaning. Oh what a mercy to be reconciled to the will of the Lord. The Lord is very good.
The following Saturday, when lifting him into bed, he said, Oh! Aunt, may the Lord give me patience, and you strength. I answered, I believe he will. And though we could mot see the end of the Lord, in thus afflicting him, yet if not before, we should in the light of glory. He answered, What a mercy to know we are going there. I hope my dear you know for yourself, you are going there? He replied with great firmness, Yes, I can say I believe I am.—And last night (alluding to some hours of great pain and agony) he said, If I could have spoken, though my poor body was so much afflicted, and my patience almost gone, I could have said, I know I am going to glory! He added, If I am not deceived, I hope I am not. Oh! what a great thing to be reconciled to the will God. Oh! pray for me, that I may have more patience to hold out.
March 26.—For several hours in great extremity of pain, but declared himself happy in soul.—Something having been said about faith, he answered, Ah! it is easy enough to talk about faith, but to be afflicted as I am, then we see how little faith we have got. Oh! Aunt, pray for me? Ask the Lord, Oh! do, do! Observe, this latter expression, Ask the Lord, was continually his request. I once said to him, then you believe the Lord heareth prayer? He answered with great quickness, Yes, and answering too. Being encouraged not to fear, he said, But sometimes I have fears! But why art thou cast down, Oh my soul? This day, when much distressed in body, he said, But why should I complain? What did the Lord suffer?
He sunk beneath our heavy woes
To raise us to a throne;
There’s not a gift his hand bestows,
But cost his heart a groan!