LETTER III.
Achor’s Vale, June 17, 1818.
Mr. & Mrs. H—L, Jun.
MY DEAR FRIENDS,
Amidst the severest trials I am wading through this week, I cannot forget you both. Surety you must be ready to exclaim with pious David, “Deep calleth into deep;” and with afflicted Job, “Thou breakest me with breach upon breach.” Your afflictions are great indeed, I think deeper than I could bear; the Lord has visited your house, but O! what a sweet thought, it is a visit of love, of mercy to you, but of love indeed, to the tender babes. You will go to them through the same mercy and love, but it would be neither love not mercy to let them return to you. Dear, much esteemed Friends, I can feel for you, I have been called to the same trouble, in part, nor shall I ever fully forget what I then felt, when the soul of my dear daughter took its flight, and when I laid her dust in the silent receptacle for suffering mortality, but it was well; the Lord demands, has demanded his own, they were his property, and he gave Mrs. Hill the honor to bear them, with this charge, Take these children and nurse them for me, not for sin, nor for the world, nor for Satan, but for God—Selah. Nature no doubt, most sensibly feels the stroke, but may the good hand of God support you, and the full assurance of meeting them again, bear up your sinking spirits like pillars of marble. I am anxious to know how you are in mind and body, and assure you I can weep with you, but I am fully persuaded you will see vast wisdom in this stroke another day. Had you, Mrs. H. been laid upon a sick and dying bed, while they were in helpless infancy, it would have distressed your poor heart to leave them, exposed to nobody knows what mother they might have. A mother is every thing, this I can only know from observation, but I observe among many unhappy persons I meet with in this place, that they were either deprived of a tender mother, which began their troubles, or that they had used a mother ill, and God never prospered them after it. O my dear friends the Lord has delivered you from many an heart-breaking sorrow, and from much misery. Those dear creatures will afflict you, they will trouble you no more for ever, either your heart or your head. You are afflicted, the loss is great, they were dear to your heart, but you are called to sacrifice them, to restore them to their right owner; and while your feelings struggle with God’s will, methinks I hear the Saviour say, “Suffer them to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is my kingdom composed.” It has been the opinion of some blessed men of God, that the majority of saved persons in glory, are children. On those the Lord has magnified the riches of his grace, and out of their mouths God has ordained his own glory, as they must ascribe their salvation to free, unmerited mercy alone. Dear babes, what must have been their surprize, when they started from the body and arrived in glory; when their little powers were expanded and their minds filled with the joys of Jesus. Think often of their joyful arrival, and if they could see you shed a tear about them, it would almost induce them to appear to you, saying, If you loved us you would rejoice, because we are gone to our Father, and the world seeth us no more; we are entered into peace, we have done for ever with sin, in which we were born, and with sorrow as the consequence, and shall be now for ever with the Lord. Happy voyagers, no sooner set sail than they are arrived at their desired haven; hasty sojourners, they found nothing here worth their stay; they were afflicted, and like their dear Lord, only tasted the vinegar and the gall. But they have left their parents to drink deep of the cup of sorrow, they have turned their heads away and refused the draught; they opened their eyes, saw the light, and after a little, they withdrew into the regions of eternal day—your lilies are cropt, and will flourish in the garden of eternal bliss for ever. Those tender plants, those lovely flowers are removed into a shelter, before the thunders roar, the lightnings fly, and the tempest pours its rage. They were sinners, or else they could neither have suffered or died; but loved, redeemed, and secretly sanctified by the indwelling of the holy Spirit, they winged their way to God. How joyful their meeting, see them clasp each other, see them smile and triumph, and join the chorus of the skies.
Our dear, our mourning parents both farewell,
We go from you, with Christ in heaven to dwell,
We go to see our heavenly Father’s face,
We go to sing redeeming love and grace.
We go to learn the sciences divine,
We go in glory’s bright array to shine,
We go to joys, which cannot be exprest,
We go to God, to be for ever blest:
And can you wish us back to earth again,
To be afflicted there with toil and pain,
To be with dire convulsions rack’d and tore,
The tortur’d little babes we were before.
May you, my dear friends be prepared to meet them, by an experimental acquaintance with the blood and righteousness of Christ; let this your prayer, day and night.—Christian love to all your dear family,
Your sympathizing Friend,
Ruhamah.
LETTER IV.
Valley of Achor.