13. January 29, he added three desolate orphans to near twenty which he had in his house before. The next day he laid out the ground for the house, about ten miles from Savannah. February 11, he took in four orphans more, and set out for Frederica, in order to fetch orphans that were in the southern parts of the colony. In his return he fixt a school, both for children and grown persons, at Darien, and took four orphans thence. March 25, he laid the first stone of the Orphan-house, to which, with great propriety, he gave the name of Bethesda: a work for which the children yet unborn shall praise the Lord. He had now about forty orphans, so that there were near an hundred mouths to be fed daily. But he was careful for nothing, casting his care on him who feedeth the young ravens that call upon him.
14. In April he made another tour through Pensylvania, the Jerseys, and New-York. Incredible multitudes flocked to hear, among whom were abundance of negroes. In all places the greater part of the hearers were affected to an amazing degree. Many were deeply convinced of their lost state; many truly converted to God. In some places thousands cried out aloud; many as in the agonies of death. Most were drowned in tears; some turned pale as death; others were wringing their hands; others lying on the ground; others sinking into the arms of their friends; almost all lifting up their eyes, and calling for mercy.
15. He returned to Savannah, June 5. The next evening, during the public service, the whole congregation, young and old, were dissolved in tears. After service, several of the parishioners, and all his family, particularly the little children, returned home crying along the street, and some could not help praying aloud. The groans and cries of the children continued all night, and great part of the next day.
16. In August he set out again, and through various provinces came to Boston. While he was here, and in the neighbouring places, he was extremely weak in body. Yet the multitudes of hearers were so great, and the effects wrought on them so astonishing, as the oldest men then alive in the town had never seen before. The same power attended his preaching at New-York; particularly on Sunday, November 2. Almost as soon as he began, crying, weeping, and wailing, were to be heard on every side. Many sunk down to the ground, cut to the heart: and many were filled with divine consolation. Toward the close of his journey he made this reflection: “It is the seventy-fifth day since I arrived at Rhode-Island, exceeding weak in body. Yet God has enabled me to preach an hundred and seventy-five times in public, beside exhorting frequently in private. Never did God vouchsafe me greater comforts: never did I perform my journies with less fatigue, or see such a continuance of the divine presence in the congregations to whom I preached.” In December he returned to Savannah, and in the March following arrived in England.
17. You may easily observe, that the preceding account is chiefly extracted from his own journals, which, for their artless and unaffected simplicity, may vie with any writings of the kind. And how exact a specimen is this of his labours both in Europe and America, for the honour of his beloved Master, during the thirty years that followed! As well as of the uninterrupted shower of blessings wherewith God was pleased to succeed his labours! Is it not much to be lamented, that any thing should have prevented his continuing this account, till at least near the time when he was called by his Lord to enjoy the fruit of his labour?—If he has left any papers of this kind, and his friends account me worthy of the honour, it would be my glory and joy to methodize, transcribe, and prepare them for the public view.
18. A particular account of the last scene of his life, is thus given by a gentleman of Boston: “After being about a month with us in Boston and its vicinity, and preaching every day, he went to Old-york, preached on Thursday, September 27, there; proceeded to Portsmouth, and preached there on Friday. On Saturday morning he set out for Boston; but before he came to Newbury, where he had engaged to preach the next morning, he was importuned to preach by the way. The house not being large enough to contain the people, he preached in an open field. But having been infirm for several weeks, this so exhausted his strength, that when he came to Newbury, he could not get out of the ferry-boat without the help of two men. In the evening, however, he recovered his spirits, and appeared with his usual chearfulness. He went to his chamber at nine, his fixt time, which no company could divert him from: and slept better than he had done for some weeks before. He rose at four in the morning, September 30, and went into his closet; and his companion observed he was unusually long in private. He left his closet, returned to his companion, threw himself on the bed, and lay about ten minutes. Then he fell upon his knees, and prayed most fervently to God, ‘That if it was consistent with his will he might that day finish his Master’s work.’ He then desired his man to call Mr. Parsons, the clergyman, at whose house he was: but in a minute, before Mr. Parsons could reach him died, without a sigh or groan. On the news of his death, six gentlemen set out for Newbury, in order to bring his remains hither, but he could not be moved, so that his precious ashes must remain at Newbury. Hundreds would have gone from this town to attend his funeral, had they not expected he would have been interred here.—May this stroke be sanctified to the church of God in general, and to this province in particular!”
II. 1. We are in the second place, to take some view of his character. A little sketch of this, was soon after published in the Boston Gazette: an extract of which is subjoined: “In his public labours he has for many years astonished the world with his eloquence and devotion. With what divine pathos did he persuade the impenitent sinner to embrace the practice of piety and virtue! He spoke from the heart, and with a fervency of zeal, perhaps unequalled since the days of the apostles. From the pulpit he was unrivalled in the command of an ever-crowded auditory. Nor was he less agreeable and instructive in his private conversation: happy in a remarkable ease of address, willing to communicate, studious to edify. May the rising generation catch a spark of that flame which shone with such distinguished lustre in the spirit and practice of this faithful servant of the most high God!”
2. A more particular, and equally just character of him, has appeared in one of the English papers. It may not be disagreeable to you, to add the substance of this likewise: “The character of this truly pious person, must be imprest on the heart of every friend to vital religion. In spite of a tender constitution, he continued, to the last day of his life, preaching with a frequency and a fervor, that seemed to exceed the natural strength of the most robust. Being called to the exercise of his function at an age, when most young men are only beginning to qualify themselves for it, he had not time to make a very considerable progress in the learned languages. But this defect was amply supplied, by a lively and fertile genius, by fervent zeal, and by a forcible and most persuasive delivery. And though in the pulpit he often found it needful, by the terrors of the Lord to persuade men, he had nothing gloomy in his nature, being singularly chearful, as well as charitable and tender-hearted. He was as ready to relieve the bodily as the spiritual necessities of those that applied to him. It ought also to be observed, that he constantly enforced upon his audience every moral duty, particularly industry in their several callings, and obedience to their superiors. He endeavoured, by the most extraordinary efforts, of preaching in different places, and even in the open fields, to rouse the lower class of people, from the last degree of inattention and ignorance, to a sense of religion. For this, and his other labours, the name of George Whitefield, will long be remembred with esteem and veneration.”
3. That both these accounts are just and impartial, will readily be allowed; that is, as far as they go. But they go little farther than the outside of his character. They shew you the preacher, but not the man, the Christian, the saint of God. May I be permitted to add a little on this head, from a personal knowledge of near forty years? Indeed, I am thoroughly sensible how difficult it is to speak on so delicate a subject; what prudence is required to avoid both extremes, to say neither too little, nor too much? Nay, I know it is impossible to speak to all, to say either less or more, without incurring from some the former, from others the latter censure. Some will seriously think, that too little is said; and others, that it is too much. But without attending to this, I will speak just what I know, before him to whom we are all to give an account.
4. Mention has already been made of his unparalleled zeal, his indefatigable activity, his tender-heartedness to the afflicted, and charitableness toward the poor. But should we not likewise mention his deep gratitude, to all whom God had used as instruments of good to him? Of whom he did not cease to speak in the most respectful manner, even to his dying day. Should we not mention, that he had an heart susceptible of the most generous and the most tender friendship? I have frequently thought, that this, of all others, was the distinguishing part of his character. How few have we known of so kind a temper, of such large and flowing affections? Was it not principally by this, that the hearts of others were so strangely drawn and knit to him? Can any thing but love beget love? This shone in his very countenance, and continually breathed in all his words, whether in public or private. Was it not this, which, quick and penetrating as lightning, flew from heart to heart? Which gave that life to his sermons, his conversations, his letters? Ye are witnesses.