In September he introduced Christ’s Sermon on the mount as a lesson for the schools; the first time he had been privileged to hear the natives reading and learning any portion of the sacred scriptures. He declined the urgent request of his friends in Calcutta, to establish himself there, saying, that however delightful it would be, to be placed in the society of the missionaries and their families, he wished to remain more in the midst of the heathen, upon whom he desired to expend his labours. His solitude was also rendered more painful, by the disappointment of his hopes of marriage with the lady at Cornwall, to whom he was engaged, but who now felt obliged to decline the union, for reasons which Mr. Martyn himself admitted to be proper. He bore this trial with much meekness: he said, “The Lord sanctify this: and since this last desire of my heart is also withheld, may I turn away for ever from the world, and henceforth live forgetful of all but God. With thee, O my God, is no disappointment. I shall never have to regret, that I have loved thee too well. Thou hast said, ‘delight thyself in the Lord, and he shall give thee the desires of thy heart.’”
“At first I was more grieved,” he wrote some time afterwards, “at the loss of my gourd, than for all the perishing Ninevehs around me; but now my earthly woes and earthly attachments seem to be absorbing in the vast concern of communicating the gospel to these nations. After this last lesson from God on the vanity of the creature, I feel desirous to be nothing, to have nothing, to ask for nothing, but what he gives.”
And at the close of the year, he thus spoke of this event, and the death of his sister:
“On both these afflictions I have seen love inscribed, and that is enough. What I think I want, it is better still to want: but I am often wearied with this world of wo. I set my affections on the creature, and am then torn from it; and from various other causes, particularly the prevalence of sin in my heart, I am often so full of melancholy, that I hardly know what to do for relief. Sometimes I say, ‘O that I had wings like a dove, then would I flee away and be at rest;’ at other times, in my sorrow about the creature, I have no wish left for my heavenly rest. It is the grace and favour of God that have saved me hitherto: my ignorance, waywardness, and wickedness, would long since have plunged me into misery; but there seems to be a mighty exertion of mercy and grace upon my sinful nature, every day, to keep me from perishing at last. My attainments in the divine life, in this last year, seem to be none at all; I appear, on the contrary, to be more self-willed and perverse; and more like many of my countrymen, in arrogance and a domineering spirit over the natives. The Lord save me from my wickedness! Henceforth let my soul, humbly depending upon the grace of Christ, perfect holiness in the fear of God, and show towards all, whether Europeans or natives, the mind that was in Christ Jesus.”
Mr. Martyn had two assistants in his Indian and Persian translations, one named Mirza, of Hindoostan, the other Sabat, an Arabian. The latter of these, for some time, professed to be a convert to Christianity, but afterwards returned to Mohammedism. Sabat’s temper and behaviour were so inconsistent with the spirit of the gospel, that he gave Mr. Martyn great uneasiness; but his expressions of a desire to reform seemed so sincere, that he was long regarded as a genuine Christian, whom, it was hoped, more light, and knowledge, and grace, would gradually lead aright.
In March, 1808, Martyn completed the New Testament in Hindoostanee, and sent it to Calcutta to be printed. The correcting of the sheets as they came from the press, occupied much of his time: besides which, he superintended and compared the Persian translation by Sabat, and studied the Arabic, that he might have a translation made into that language also. He received visits daily, from such of his congregation as were serious, and visited the hospital as usual. In consequence of the want of a proper place for public worship at Dinapore, he held meetings at his own house. On the first Sunday, he preached from Isaiah iv. 5 “The Lord will create upon every dwelling-place of Mount Zion, and upon her assemblies, a cloud and smoke by day, and the shining of a flaming fire by night: for upon all the glory shall be a defence.” “In the afternoon,” his diary relates, “I waited for the women, but not one came: perhaps, by some mistake, notice had not been given them. At the hospital, and with the men at night, I was engaged, as usual, in prayer: my soul panted after the living God, but it remained tied and bound with corruption. I felt as if I could have given the world to be brought to be alone with God; and the promise that ‘this is the will of God, even our sanctification,’—was the right hand that upheld me while I followed after Him. When low in spirits, through an unwillingness to take up the cross, I found myself more resigned in endeavouring to realise the thought which had often composed me in my trials on board the ship; namely, that I was born to suffer; that suffering is my appointed daily portion; let this reconcile me to every thing! To have a will of my own, not agreeable to God’s, is a most tremendous wickedness. I own it is so, for a few moments: but, Lord, write it on my heart! In perfect meekness and resignation let me take whatever befalls me in the path of duty, and never dare to think of being dissatisfied.”
In June, the gospel of Matthew was finished in Persian, and sent to Calcutta, where it was printed at the expense of the British and Foreign Bible Society. In the summer he suffered a severe attack of illness, his reflections on which show the spirituality of his feelings, and the joyfulness of his prospects of eternity.
“I little thought to have had my faith brought to a trial so soon. This morning, while getting up I found a pain in the centre of my body, which increased to such a degree, that fever and vertigo came on, and I fainted. The dreadful sensation was like what I once felt in England, but by no means so violent or long-continued; as then, also, I was alone. After recovering my senses, and lying in pain which almost made me breathless, I turned my thoughts to God; and oh! praise to his grace and love, I felt no fear; but I prayed earnestly that I might have a little relief to set my house in order, and make my will. I also thought with pain, of leaving the Persian gospels unfinished. By means of some ether, the Lord gave me ease, and I made my will. The day was spent in great weakness, but my heart was often filled with the sweetest peace and gratitude for the precious things God hath done for me.”
“I found delight at night in considering, from the beginning, all that God had done in creation, providence, and grace, for my soul. O God of love, how shall I praise Thee!—happiness, bliss for ever, lies before me. Thou hast brought me upon this stage of life to see what sin and misery are; myself, alas! most deeply partaking in both. But the days and the works of my former state, fraught with danger and with death, are no more; and the God of benevolence and love hath opened to me brighter prospects. Thine I am; ‘My beloved is mine, and I am his;’ and now I want none but Thee. I am alone with Thee in this world; and when I put off this mortal tabernacle, I shall still be with Thee, whatever that unknown change may be; and I shall be before Thee, not to receive honour, but to ascribe praise. Yes! I shall then have power to express my feelings; I shall then, without intermission, see and love; and no cloud of sorrow overcast my mind. I shall then sing in worthy, everlasting strains, the praises of that divine Redeemer, whose works of love now reach beyond my conception.”
Some portions of his letters to the Rev. Messrs. Corrie and Brown, at Calcutta, during this year, and part of 1809, will show his labours, trials, and consolations, in a better manner than our narrative could.