We went up stairs, and it was evident, from the expression of Mrs. Allen's countenance, that our visit gave her great delight. She sat up in bed, supported by pillows; her face glowed with a hectic flush, her eyes shone with radiant brightness, her voice was clear, though not strong, and her mind discovered its usual cheerfulness and vigour.
"Here I am, hourly expecting a change. Disease has nearly consumed my body; but as my outward man perisheth, blessed be God my inward man is renewed day by day. I have passed through deep waters since I saw you, but they have not been permitted to overflow me; for when the enemy came in like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord lifted up a standard against him. The contest is nearly over, the prize of my high calling is in view, and Jesus, my beloved Saviour, will soon, very soon, present me faultless before the presence of the Divine glory with exceeding joy."
"I am happy," said Mrs. Stevens, "to find you in such a calm ecstasy in anticipation of the coming crisis. You have borne a living testimony to the truth of religion, and now you can bear a dying testimony to its excellence."
"My living testimony has been but feeble; it has not been so decided as it ought to have been; I dare not think of it but with regret and self-loathing. I have been an unprofitable servant, but I look for redemption and for acceptance to Jesus the Mediator, whose blood cleanseth from all sin."
"But it must give you some degree of satisfaction to look back and see the fruits of your religion, though the fruit may not have been so rich nor so fine as you could wish."
"It gives me pleasure to know that I have been kept from falling, and that I shall soon be permitted to bow down in the presence of my Lord, and offer to Him some expression of my ardent gratitude for his great goodness to me; but I can derive no satisfaction from a review of my own conduct. I am a sinner saved by grace."
"You are now," I observed, "near the end of your course, and I suppose you would not willingly recommence your pilgrimage on earth."
"I would, Sir, cheerfully, if my Lord were to command me, but not otherwise. I long to be with him. To give up my dear husband and child occasioned a hard struggle, but I have been enabled to do it; and now I am going home, and my Father is waiting to receive me."
We committed her departing spirit to the Lord Jesus, and prayed for her husband and her child; then returned to Fairmount, where the news of her decease reached us within the space of an hour. After we left she had spoken but seldom, lying with her eyes closed, but, from the occasional motion of her lips, it was evident that she was much engaged in prayer. At length she said, "I feel a change which I cannot describe—is this death?—how easy it is! The king of terrors is transformed into an angel of deliverance. I shall soon see the King, the Lord of hosts in his beauty. I am entering the valley, but there is no darkness. I see the shadow of death, but feel no sting." After a short pause, during which her spirit seemed to be gathering up its strength for the final departure, she embraced her husband and her child for the last time; and, having solemnly commended them to God, she reclined her head on the pillow, and expired. Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints, and their decease is often precious in the sight of men. Yes, their composure when bidding farewell to their endeared relatives, and their joyful anticipations when in the act of passing into the unseen world, often produce such a powerful effect on the spectators of their exit, that many who contemn their religious principles, have retired from the solemn scene, saying, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and may my last end be like his."
Mrs. Allen's long affliction had so impoverished her husband, that he was not able to meet the expenses of her funeral; but such was the esteem in which her character was held, that a subscription for the purpose was immediately raised. I had often seen the city funeral, where the simplicity of nature is sacrificed to pompous show. The mourning coaches, the hearse decorated with plumes, and drawn by horses clothed in black, the hireling mourners, who make a mockery of grief—these may, by their sombrous appearance, throw a momentary gloom over the spirits, but rarely, if ever, produce a deep moral impression on the heart. I had now to witness, in a village funeral, a very different scene.