Delphina E. Mendenhall, "To Sybil Jones."
After the return from the East a few more days were left for Sybil Jones to tell the same story to men and women nearer her own home. Her frail body had carried her to many shores, and had not given way until she was once more among lifelong friends.
She had presented Christianity to Mohammedan women "from the standard of equality of sex in social life, religion, and the ministry of the word." She had entered the "gilded cages" of Eastern harems and "borne the gospel with a sister's love to those unhappy inmates—glad tidings which they had never heard until proclaimed by her lips." With no relaxation of fervor, with no diminution of power, she continued to tell those not living in communion with God that "to be carnally-minded is death," and with the earnestness of one saving drowning men from the depths of the sea she stretched forth her hands and raised her touching voice to save them from a still worse death, the wages of their sins. The series of general meetings which Friends had just begun to hold gave her an opportunity to come before large audiences of all denominations, of the different classes. Many who came were unconverted; many more were in a dangerously lukewarm state; others needed strength and comfort. To one and all she proclaimed the great truth that whosoever liveth unto himself dieth, but "whoso hath the Son hath life;" and to the hearts where sorrow and discouragement and doubt dwelt she spoke of a joy for the world, an encouragement "to press toward the mark for the prize," a faith and belief that overcome. Over those long Maine hills, in the balmy air of autumn, fresh from the yellow grain and mellow fruit, or creaking through the snowdrifts of mid-winter, she and her husband, both with the same thought uppermost, rode to sit down on the high seats of those broad-based, low-eaved Friends' meeting-houses, and to rise again and speak messages of healing inspired by the great Physician. She loved to live, for every day gave her one more chance to call to the unhappy to be made happy. She loved to live, because she enjoyed the beautiful things which God brought daily before her eyes in His book written with His own hand. It was, too, a joy to her to be with her family, to be a mother to her dear children, a wife to her wedded fellow-laborer, and a friend to the many who loved her; but while she loved life she knew enough of our God to be assured that when her "bark sank it would be but to another sea," and that what we call death is but going from a chrysalis life to a fulness of knowledge and a fulness of life. No change that merely freed her of what could die and left her wholly immortal could be terrible to her, and so she had never, in all the days of extreme sickness which she had passed, had other thought than that she was being kept from work. To the very last she pleaded with her wonted earnestness: "I beseech you in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God," and she loved to quote the hymn which expressed the aspiration of her soul:
"Oh, if one soul I've pleaded with
Meets me at God's right hand,
My heaven will be two heavens
In Immanuel's Land."
The thought has often been expressed that as the spiritual life of a man or woman grows, develops, and gains complete mastery, the body gradually takes on a new and deeper beauty; a something which had not formerly existed shines out and hallows the face, and somewhat as the setting sun puts over the clouds a glory which throughout all the long sunshiny day had not been seen, so a brighter gleam comes out from a ripened soul, and it becomes more than ever evident that the inhabitant of the clay house had come "trailing clouds of glory from God who is its home." This was decidedly true with her. The tall, erect, queenly person, the large head, high forehead, deep hazel eyes, the smile which so often played upon the lines of her countenance,—all took a new meaning as the "light which never was on sea or land" shone through them, proving that her "citizenship was in heaven" and that she indeed was "a fellow-citizen of the saints." We know not what is beyond our ken for such as she, but we believe that He who created such a wondrous home for the mortal part has otherwhere a proportionally magnificent domain for that which dieth not. A few hours before she died she exclaimed in the words of the martyr Rutherford:
"Oh, well it is for ever,
Oh, well for evermore,