A Memorial of Mrs. Margaret Breckinridge

by John Breckinridge; Samuel Miller

The grief of affectionate brothers and sisters also, flows this day, in a strong current. They feel as if a part of themselves had been taken away; and yet they can scarcely realize the extent of their calamity. It often requires time for grief to become rooted in the soul. The first gush of sorrow from the bleeding heart, is indeed a more sensible emotion, but the full value of our loss is not felt, until after serious reflection. It is a painful thing to be separated from those around whom our earliest and tenderest affections were entwined. The thought of never again, in this world, seeing a face, from which always the most benignant affections beamed upon us, cannot but leave a melancholy and heart-sinking impression. Who can adequately describe the anguish produced by the sudden severance of hearts, long cemented in the bands of the tenderest affection! But, though nature will be obeyed, and the floods of sorrow cannot be altogether restrained, yet there is a Christian duty incumbent on those placed in these circumstances. The command does not say, that we should not weep, but that we should not sorrow as those that have no hope. Christians are not divested of the common sensibilities of humanity; but they possess principles much higher than mere humanity, by which they moderate their passions, and by which the stream of natural sorrow may be sanctified, and turned into that of "godly sorrow, which worketh a repentance not to be repented of."

But among the weeping mourners, on this sad occasion, I see some, who though deeply affected, can scarcely be supposed capable, on account of their tender age, of estimating the irreparable loss which they have sustained. I call the loss of a mother irreparable; because, however many affectionate friends may stand ready to do all in their power to supply a mother's place; yet, the assiduity, forbearance, and tenderness, so requisite in the treatment of young children, can be expected in perfection from nothing but that affection, which the Creator has deeply implanted in the hearts of mothers. To those who have had long experience in the world, there are few ideas more affecting than that of a motherless child. But orphaned, as these dear little ones are, by the loss of one parent, they are, I may say, on this account, more peculiarly the care of a covenant God, whose promise extends not only to believers, but to their seed, and whose kind care extends especially to such children of the faithful, as have been bereaved of one or both parents. These dear children, we confidently trust will be the objects not merely of God's common goodness, but of his special grace; and after spending a life of usefulness in acts of piety and beneficence, will enjoy the blessed privilege of regaining their beloved mother, in the mansions of glory, where sickness, death, and tears, will be known no more.

In addressing the interesting group of mourners now before me, I perceive one, whose griefs are too big for utterance, and whose swelling bosom cannot be soothed, at this time, by any of the common topics of consolation. An officious intrusion into the sacred recess of such indescribable sorrows, only serves to exacerbate, rather than mitigate the wounded spirit. All that the kindest friends can do, in such a case, is to let their warmest, tenderest sympathies fall in with the tide of overwhelming grief, which rejects all consolation. "Weep with them that weep." There is another thing which we can do, and that far more important, we can pray for our afflicted and bereaved brother. In such circumstances, prayer is almost our only refuge; for all our help must come from God. While the voice of man is powerless to afford relief, there is ONE who causes his voice to be heard even in the midst of the tempest. And his authoritative, his affectionate language to our beloved brother is, "Be still, and know that I am God." "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble." It is somewhere related of that eminently pious reformer, Luther, that when he fell into any great trouble, he was wont to say to his friends, "Come, let us sing the forty-sixth psalm."

A striking example of uncomplaining submission we have in the good old priest Eli, who, when informed that God was about to bring such judgments on his house, as would cause the ears of every one that heard them to tingle; meekly replied, "It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth him good."

And the patriarch Job, when deprived of all his property, and of all his children, humbled himself and worshipped God, saying—"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord." "What, shall we receive good from the hand of the Lord, and shall we not receive evil?"

When Jesus visited the mourning family of Bethany, who were among his dearest friends, he did not say to the afflicted sisters, weep not—but the compassionate Redeemer united his tears with theirs; for it is written, "Jesus wept." These were indeed only the tears of sympathy, for it was in his benevolent purpose to restore the deceased brother to his disconsolate sisters. Here also, we have a striking illustration of the truth, that God's children are ignorant often of his kind designs, when he permits sore afflictions to come upon them; "If thou hadst been here," said both the weeping sisters, "my brother had not died." Their regret was keen, and unmitigated by any known circumstance; but in one short hour, they were, no doubt, glad that their Lord was not there—they rejoiced that their beloved brother had died; because the glory of God and the power of the Redeemer had now been manifested. Indeed, a gracious visit from Jesus will turn our bitterest sorrows into joy. His name—his word—his grace—has a mighty power to calm the swelling surges of overwhelming sorrow. He can say, as he did to the raging storm, "Peace, be still," and there will be a great calm. Were it not for thoughts of God—of his providence, and promises, and of the seasonable and effectual aid of his grace, grief would often drown the soul in perdition; as it often does work death in the heathen, and in the men of the world, who are without God, and without hope.

It would be in place here to speak of our dear departed sister, whose loss we now mourn; but this task will hereafter be better performed by another hand. And to this audience little need be said; for she was brought up among you from her childhood, and enjoyed the affectionate regards of this community in no common degree, as is manifest by the general and tender sympathy felt on this occasion. By her sweet simplicity, engaging vivacity, affectionate temper, and affable manners, our beloved friend endeared herself to her acquaintances and neighbours, wherever she resided. And in regard to her Christian character, she adorned her profession by a consistent life and conversation, in all the relations which she sustained.

Her latter end was calm and peaceful. She felt some dread of the pangs of dissolution; but in regard to what comes after death, she had no fear—her hope continued firm and her prospects bright to the last moment.

It is always a cause of lively gratitude, when God is pleased to sustain his dear children in passing through "the valley of the shadow of death." It affords to mourning friends the sweetest consolation which could be received under such sore bereavements. This consolation of our benignant Father has not been withheld in the present instance. Mourning friends are permitted to rejoice in the midst of their overflowing sorrow, in the confident hope, that the departed spirit of our dear sister, free from all sin and pain, rests sweetly in the love and beatified vision of her divine Redeemer.

"Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord, from henceforth; yea, saith the spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them."