Calmly on the Lord relying,
She can greet the opening tomb.”
Every voice was hushed; every step muffled. The soft rays of an April sun kissed, with a lingering affection, the pale cheek of a young lady, the tide of whose life was fast ebbing away.
She was the child of Christian parents, who had faithfully endeavored to bring her up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. At an early age she was deprived by death of her sainted mother; and before many years had elapsed, she was called to mourn the loss of a father upon whom every affection of her young heart was centred. To the bitterness of orphanage was added the loss of the greatest blessing on earth—health. The rose of Death was long blooming on her cheek, ere her nearest friends were aware that she was falling a victim to the flattering and insidious attacks of consumption.
She had not neglected the early instructions of her pious parents, and, when very young, made a profession of her faith in Christ. For several years previous to her last sickness, her mind, at times, was clouded with doubts, and she occasionally seemed to suffer unutterable anguish at the absence of God’s Spirit from the heart. A few days preceding her death, these doubts and fears were all entirely removed, and she seemed to enjoy, to the fullest extent, the light of God’s reconciled countenance. It was indeed beautiful to see her, who, but a few weeks before, was so cold and indifferent, now wholly absorbed in the great and glorious truth of salvation through Christ. She was frequently engaged in earnest secret prayer, and never allowed anything to be read in her presence but the Bible, or some of those sweet and touching hymns so soothing to the troubled heart of the dying Christian. No moment was to be lost. During the silent watches of the night, she would frequently call her brother to her bedside, and say, “T——, read to your dying sister some of those beautiful passages in Revelation which our dear father used to love so tenderly, and caused to be read when dying.” “How beautiful! how grand! how sublime!” she would exclaim, when the book was closed.
Reader, come with me and stand beside the bed of this dear, dying young Christian, and see how calmly, serenely and happily a Christian can die. Contrast her death-bed with that of Hume or Voltaire, and tell me if there is not something in religion they knew nothing about—something that fits a man for life, and especially for death; listen attentively to the few words which drop from her faltering tongue; treasure them in your memory, and so live that your last end may be like hers.
The devoted Pastor of the —— church had frequent and delightful interviews with her. In one of them the following conversation occurred: “Miss M——, you doubtless are aware that you can be with us but a few days more; are you perfectly resigned to God’s will?” With calm and sweet composure, she replied, “Yes, Mr. M——, perfectly, perfectly, PERFECTLY; I long to be with my Saviour; earth has no charms for me now.”
After reading the beautiful 14th chapter of St. John, Mr. M—— extended his hand, and was about bidding her, what seemed to him, a last farewell, when she made the following remarks: “Perhaps this will be the last time we shall ever meet again on earth: I wish you to preach my funeral sermon in the old R——n church—the church of my father and my mother, where first I listened to the glad tidings of salvation; preach it from the text, “In the way of righteousness is life; and in the pathway thereof there is no death”—Prov. xii., 28. Preach to the living—to the living—to the living! And I want the congregation to sing that delightful hymn, beginning,
‘God moves in a mysterious way—’
Good-bye.” The Sabbath previous to her death, several of her friends united in singing that beautiful old hymn,