The sweet remembrance of the just
Shall flourish while they sleep in dust.A Mother in Israel hast thou been, and thy works shall praise thee in the gates
IRONBRIDGE:
PRINTED AND SOLD BY WILLIAM SMITH.
A LETTER, &c.
My dear Friends,
Knowing that it is your desire to hear something respecting the close of the life of my invaluable friend, Mrs. Fletcher, now in glory, and being assured that none but myself can undertake the work, as I alone was her constant companion, being separated scarcely a day for more than 15 years, I have endeavoured, (while my mind has been exercised with the most painful feelings of heartfelt sorrow for the loss of the best of friends, the wisest of counsellors, and the tenderest of parents,) to set down a few circumstances relative to the close of a life surpassing in usefulness most of her fellow mortals.
It was upon the 9th of December, 1815, a day never to be forgotten by me, that my Elijah was taken to heaven. O that the mantle might rest on me! She had had many severe attacks from illness in various ways, in former years, and sometimes was restored as by miracle; I therefore continued hoping she would be spared this time also; nor did I give up that hope till two days before her removal from earth to heaven.
Though she would be often saying to me, “My dear child, do not flatter yourself that I shall be long with you, for I feel I am going;”—yet, still willing to hope for what I so much desired, I continued thinking, it may be the Lord will look graciously upon me, and save me from drinking this bitter cup for a while longer: but on December 7th, I found it necessary to render her more assistance than usual while rising in the morning, and conscious that this was a mark of increased weakness, I became greatly affected; and, having done all she at that time needed, I retired to plead with the Lord that she might yet be restored; but, alas! I had no power, and was constrained to leave it to divine wisdom to do what he saw best; and before I rose from my knees, it was strongly impressed on my mind,
“The everlasting doors shall soon the saint receive,
Among yon angel pow’rs in glorious bliss to live;
Far from a world of grief and sin,
With God eternally shut in.”
From that moment I gave up every hope of her longer abiding in the flesh; though once or twice afterwards, my strong desire led me to plead, that he who had raised the ruler’s daughter, the widow’s son, and dead Lazarus, would yet restore her: but all the answer I could obtain was, Divine wisdom cannot err.