A few moments before her death, a new and unusual lustre shone forth from her eyes, a beautiful glow mantled her hitherto pale and wan check, and in accents of the most touching and rapt eloquence, her voice rich and full, she gave utterance to the following sublime sentiment, which should live forever, and be proclaimed wherever the Gospel of Christ is preached:—“I have tasted of Racine; I have dipped into Voltaire; I have read Tom Paine; I have had the daring audacity to study Hume; I have attempted to form a Philosophy myself—but have found them all”—not one exception—“FALLACY, FALLACY!”
With these words lingering on her lips, she calmly and resignedly fell asleep in Jesus. O for the death of those that die in the Lord!
The devoted Mr. M—— complied with her minutest requests; and when he informed the congregation that he preached to them from the text selected by his departed sister in Christ, and that she urgently requested him to preach to the living, there was not a dry eye in the house. Many a soul left that old time-honored church, feeling that “In the way of righteousness is life; and in the pathway thereof there is no death.”
WHAT PRAYER DOES.
“Prayer moves the arm that moves the world.”
Herod Agrippa, finding that the death of the Apostle James pleases the Jews, has seized the venerable Galileean fisherman and thrust him into prison. Four quaternions of soldiers are guarding him. He is chained by each hand to a Roman soldier—soldiers who know that, to sleep at their post is to die. Thus guarded, the doors and windows and gates all bolted and barred, he lays himself down to sleep. His sleep is doubtless sweet and refreshing. His faith is strong in the promises of the Lord. To human eyes, death seems certain. On the coming morrow, this veteran soldier of the cross must lay his life down for Jesus. Tears, hot and bitter, will be shed by God’s people over the lifeless form of him who once so fearlessly breasted the strong waves of Galilee to meet his Master.
But we are told that the Church “made prayer unto God, without ceasing, for him.” And even while he is quietly and sweetly sleeping, there is going up from an inner chamber on one of the dark and unfrequented streets of Jerusalem, a fervent, importunate prayer in his behalf.
During the prayer, an angel of the Lord descends and stands by the side of the slumbering apostle. A heavenly radiance lights up the dark cells of the dismal prison. The heaven-sent messenger arouses the sleeper, and the chains fall from his hands. No sound of footsteps is heard; no rattle of chains breaks the solemn silence. There is no hurry. Peter slowly girds his coat about him, and binds on his sandals. He then throws his rough cloak around him, and follows the angel. They pass, unheard and unseen, through the wards of the prison; the massive gate moves on its hinges, and opens wide at their approach. At last he is safe—safe from the wrath of his enemies. All—all of this accomplished through importunate intercessory prayer!
Christian, I care not how lowly your situation, never say again, “I can’t do any thing for Jesus.” You can pray.