I remain yours,
With respect,
Ruhamah.
LETTER XIII.
London, September 10, 1820.
My much beloved Friend, I. R. Esq.
Mrs. P. did me the honor to call on me last night with the very painful news of the departure of your dear John. A variety of serious ideas flowed into my mind upon hearing of your affecting and serious loss. I knew how much you loved him, how dear he was to you both; I knew how very engaging he had become; I considered your feelings on the occasion, nor was I without my fears, lest you should reflect on yourselves in taking him so long a journey. I have also pictured to myself your absence from the little pious society of friends amongst us, your large and venerable house. Recent death of an aged parent, with none but strangers around you, and a variety of circumstances beside; these, yes, these things dwell on my mind, and have led me to trouble you with a line on the sad occasion. I hope an apology for intrusion is needless. I write not to inform my beloved friends, but only to remind them, that every event is absolutely decreed by a God of infinite wisdom; not a stroke of affliction, nor a shaft of death can possibly touch, but by Divine appointment. The nature, the kind, the time, the age, the place were all arranged in the unerring purposes of God. It was decreed the dear dear boy should be taken to B. Hall, there the Lord would send for him. He has sent for his own: the Lord had the greatest right to him, he was, indeed, lent to his affectionate parents, but he is demanded back again; he was the object of his heavenly father’s love, he was the property of Jesus, and he must be brought home to his house, by his holy angels. Death indeed is very terrible to our natures, it takes away the darlings of our hearts, and the desire of our eyes, but it has transmitted yours to the enjoyment of God in human nature: this is the accomplishment of God’s design in this providence, and with holy joy you will one day say, He has done all things well. The dear boy, like Abraham in his conversion, has left his native country, and gone into the eternal inheritance, which God has prepared for him, and which he never saw or sought before. Like Jacob, he at the command of his God, has returned to his father’s house, and his own spiritual and angelic kindred: like the Israelites, though his journey was short, God opened a passage through the garden of death: his little journey is ended, he sets in peace, it is well. Farewell, my dear-little fellow, I shall kiss thy little lips or press thy little cheeks no more! no, no, the painful task is assigned to thy dear parents, to see thee taken from their arms, and from their house, to the solemn tomb, the silent, the dark, the cold, the dreary receptacle for suffering mortality. Happy voyager, how short thy passage on the sea of this tribulated world; how short thy stay, how swift thy flight; but what thy surprize to enter into another state of love, holiness, joy, and glory; every little power expanded, and the soul plunged in a moment into a sea of bliss: what a glorious transition, what a surprize, and perhaps the first object it saw, was its little sister at the portals of bliss, waiting to welcome him home, although unknown before, yet now known to each other for ever. Methinks I see them meet and clasp each other with holy innocent joy, and if a thought could be indulged, or received about their beloved parents: surely they converse together about you: but hark, they speak to you! they bid you weep not; (if ye loved us ye would rejoice we are gone to our Father, and the world seeth us no more. Hallelujah.)
I hope dear Mrs. R. will be most divinely supported under this bereavement. I trust the dear little one in London will be restored to be a comfort, but dear John is this moment fresh in my mind. I judge your feelings; I am sorry you are so far distant from us. I have the departure of my own beloved daughter still in mind, the thought often occurs: well, let us look up, let us take courage, we shall bless God for their loss another day; we are left to endure many a conflict, many a trial, many a grief, but the soft hand of Jesus has wiped off the tears from his little face: it is ours to suffer toil and grief, till death transmits us, burdened and tired, grieved, and tried, to that glory which never fades away; it is well for us that the dear Redeemer has been through the territories of death and the grave, that he has taken the sting of the one, and overcome the other for us. May his love solace your mind; may his grace reign in your hearts; may his power protect you, and his very gracious presence cheer your souls; the separation is painful, but it is short. Our days fly swiftly away, the night of death will come on; it may not be very distant, but interested in Jesus, pardoned and justified, influenced, and led by his spirit, we shall meet in a brighter, and better abode.
God bless you both together with his supporting hand. So prays your sympathizing friend, and best wisher in Christ.
Ruhamah.
LETTER XIV.
Valley of Achor, August 13, 1819.