CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Going to sleep.—How John Wesley missed his brother.—A good man's tears.—Getting old.—Mr. Wesley's text for the children.—Last words in Manchester.—In Colchester.—A dinner-hour meeting.—The old ash tree.
OW I must come to what seems to the young a very sad time. When we are strong and healthy, and can enjoy all the things God has given us to enjoy in this beautiful world, death does seem very sad and sorrowful. But think, dear young readers, how you feel when you have been playing hard all day, or working at school, and perhaps gone to a party in the evening and have not got to bed until 10 o'clock. Is it not very nice and very comforting to lay your head on your soft pillow and go to sleep? Now this is just how God's people feel when they are tired of life's work, they just close their eyes and fall asleep, "asleep in Jesus." This is how Mr. Charles Wesley passed away when he was eighty years old. Though four years younger than Mr. John, he seemed the older man, for he had been weak and infirm for a long time. The two brothers had loved each other dearly, and Mr. Wesley felt very lonely when "Charlie" died.
Three weeks afterwards, Mr. Wesley, preaching at Bolton, gave out for his second hymn No. 140, a hymn composed by Mr. Charles. He tried to read the first verse, but when he came to the words
"My company before is gone,
And I am left alone with Thee,"
he could get no further, but just burst into tears, and sat down in the pulpit, burying his face in his hands. The singing ceased, and numbers of the congregation wept in sympathy at sight of their dear leader's sorrow. At last Mr. Wesley recovered himself, and went on with the service, which was never forgotten by any of those who were present.
Very soon after this, Mr. Wesley began to feel weak and feeble. Again his birthday month came round, the sunny month of June, and on the 17th he wrote: "I am eighty-six to-day, and I find I grow old. My eyes are so dim that no spectacles will help me, and I cannot read small print except in a very strong light. My strength fails me so that I walk much slower than I used to do." He was now, for the first time for forty years, obliged to give up his five o'clock morning sermons, and was only able to preach twice a day. As the months went by, he grew weaker and more infirm. Once, as the old man tottered up the pulpit stairs, the whole congregation burst into tears.