The Biography of Robert Murray M'Cheyne Part 1

The Biography of Robert Murray M'Cheyne.

by Andrew A. Bonar.

PREFACE

The telling of the deeply spiritual life story of the young minister of the Gospel of St. Peters Church, Dundee, Scotland, Robert Murray M'Cheyne, has been used of G.o.d to bring challenge, blessing and inspiration to hundreds of thousands down through the years since his death in 1843 at the early age of 30. Few men have lived a life filled with such power and blessing in such a short span of years.

Dr. Andrew A. Bonar's biography of this stalwart young man of G.o.d has been the standard recognized work on the life of this prince among men. This biography is from the larger _Memoirs and Remains of the Rev.

Robert Murray M'Cheyne_ with just the memoirs--or biography--reprinted.

The "remains," letters and sermons of M'Cheyne have been recently republished in the Wyckliffe Series issued by the Moody Press, but we are presenting in the pages of this volume Bonar's soul-stirring biography of this young man who was so completely and wholly surrendered to the will of G.o.d. Dr. Wilbur M. Smith, in his "Profitable Bible Study," says, "Every minister, of whatever denomination, should have this marvelous work."

The publishers of this unabridged edition send it forth once again with the earnest prayer that G.o.d will continue to use it to the inspiration and challenge of young and old alike to realize what can be done with a life completely and absolutely dedicated to Him.

CHAPTER I.

HIS YOUTH, AND PREPARATION FOR THE MINISTRY

"_Many shall rejoice at his birth; for he shall be great in the sight of the Lord_"--Luke 1:14.

In the midst of the restless activity of such a day as ours, it will be felt by ministers of Christ to be useful in no common degree, to trace the steps of one who but lately left us, and who, during the last years of his short life, walked calmly in almost unbroken fellows.h.i.+p with the FATHER and the SON.

The date of his birth was May 21, 1813. About that time, as is now evident to us who can look back on the past, the Great Head had a purpose of blessing for the Church of Scotland. Eminent men of G.o.d appeared to plead the cause of Christ. The Cross was lifted up boldly in the midst of Church Courts which had long been ashamed of the gospel of Christ. More spirituality and deeper seriousness began a few years onward to prevail among the youth of our divinity halls. In the midst of such events, whereby the Lord was secretly preparing a rich blessing for souls in all our Borders, the subject of this Memoir was born. "Many were to rejoice at his birth;" for he was one of the blessings which were beginning to be dropped down upon Scotland, though none then knew that one was born whom hundreds would look up to as their spiritual father.

The place of his birth was Edinburgh, where his parents resided. He was the youngest child of the family, and was called ROBERT MURRAY, after the name of some of his kindred.

From his infancy his sweet and affectionate temper was remarked by all who knew him. His mind was quick in its attainments; he was easily taught the common lessons of youth, and some of his peculiar endowments began early to appear. At the age of four, while recovering from some illness, he selected as his recreation the study of the Greek alphabet, and was able to name all the letters, and write them in a rude way upon a slate. A year after, he made rapid progress in the English cla.s.s, and at an early period became somewhat eminent among his schoolfellows for his melodious voice and powers of recitation. There were at that time catechetical exercises held in the Tron Church, in the interval between sermons; and some friends remember the interest often excited in the hearers by his correct and sweet recitation of the Psalms and pa.s.sages of Scripture. But as yet he knew not the Lord, he lived to himself, "having no hope, and without G.o.d in the world." Eph. 2:12.

In October 1821 he entered the High School, where he continued his literary studies during the usual period of six years. He maintained a high place in his cla.s.ses, and in the Rector's cla.s.s distinguished himself by eminence in geography and recitation. It was during the last year of his attendance at the High School that he first ventured on poetical composition, the subject being "Greece, but living Greece no more." The lines are characterized chiefly by enthusiasm for liberty and Grecian heroism, for in these days his soul had never soared to a higher region. His companions speak of him as one who had even then peculiarities that drew attention: of a light, tall form--full of elasticity and vigor--ambitious, yet n.o.ble in his dispositions, disdaining everything like meanness or deceit. Some would have been apt to regard him as exhibiting many traits of a Christian character; but his susceptible mind had not, at that time, a relish for any higher joy than the refined gaieties of society, and for such pleasures as the song and the dance could yield. He himself regarded these as days of unG.o.dliness--days wherein he cherished a pure morality, but lived in heart a Pharisee. I have heard him say that there was a correctness and propriety in his demeanor at times of devotion, and in public wors.h.i.+p, which some, who knew not his heart, were ready to put to the account of real feeling. And this experience of his own heart made him look with jealousy on the mere outward signs of devotion in dealing with souls. He had learnt in his own case how much a soul, unawakened to a sense of guilt, may have satisfaction in performing from the proud consciousness of integrity towards man, and a sentimental devotedness of mind that chastens the feelings without changing the heart.

He had great delight in rural scenery. Most of his summer vacations used to be spent in Dumfriess.h.i.+re, and his friends in the parish of Ruthwell and its vicinity retain a vivid remembrance of his youthful days. His poetic temperament led him to visit whatever scenes were fitted to stir the soul. At all periods of his life, also, he had a love of enterprise. During the summer months he occasionally made excursions with his brother, or some intimate friend, to visit the lakes and hills of our Highlands, cheris.h.i.+ng thereby, unawares, a fondness for travel, that was most useful to him in after days. In one of these excursions, a somewhat romantic occurrence befell the travellers, such as we might rather have expected to meet with in the records of his Eastern journey. He and his friends had set out on foot to explore, at their leisure, Dunkeld, and the highlands in its vicinity. They spent a day at Dunkeld, and about sunset set out again with the view of crossing the hills to Strathardle. A dense mist spread over the hills soon after they began to climb. They pressed on, but lost the track that might have guided them safely to the glen.

They knew not how to direct their steps to any dwelling. Night came on, and they had no resource but to couch among the heath, with no other covering than the clothes they wore. They felt hungry and cold; and, awaking at midnight, the awful stillness of the lonely mountains spread a strange fear over them. But, drawing close together, they again lay down to rest, and slept soundly till the cry of some wild birds and the morning dawn aroused them.

Entering the Edinburgh University in November 1827, he gained some prize in all the various cla.s.ses he attended. In private he studied the modern languages; and gymnastic exercises at that time gave him unbounded delight. He used his pencil with much success, and then it was that his hand was prepared for sketching the scenes of the Holy Land. He had a very considerable knowledge of music, and himself sang correctly and beautifully. This, too, was a gift which was used to the glory of the Lord in after days,--wonderfully enlivening his secret devotions, and enabling him to lead the song of praise in the congregation wherever occasion required. Poetry also was a never-failing recreation; and his taste in this department drew the attention of Professor Wilson, who adjudged him the prize in the Moral Philosophy cla.s.s for a poem, "On the Covenanters."

In the winter of 1831 he commenced his studies in the Divinity Hall under Dr. Chalmers, and the study of Church History under Dr. Welsh.

It may be naturally asked, What led him to wish to preach salvation to his fellow-sinners? Could he say, like Robert Bruce, "_I was first called to my grace, before I obeyed my calling to the ministry?_" Few questions are more interesting than this; and our answer to it will open up some of the wonderful ways of Him "whose path is in the great waters, and whose footsteps are not known," Psalm 77:19; for the same event that awakened his soul to a true sense of sin and misery, led him to the ministry.

During his attendance at the literary and philosophical cla.s.ses he felt occasional impressions, none of them perhaps of much depth. There can be no doubt that he himself looked upon the death of his eldest brother, David, as the event which awoke him from the sleep of nature, and brought the first beam of divine light into his soul. By that providence the Lord was calling one soul to enjoy the treasures of grace, while He took the other into the possession of glory.

In this brother, who was his senior by eight or nine years, the light of divine grace shone before men with rare and solemn loveliness. His cla.s.sical attainments were very high; and, after the usual preliminary studies, he had been admitted Writer to the Signet. One distinguis.h.i.+ng quality of his character was his sensitive truthfulness. In a moment would the shadow flit across his brow, if any incident were related wherein there was the slightest exaggeration; or even when nothing but truth was spoken, if only the deliverer seemed to take up a false or exaggerated view. He must not merely speak the whole truth himself, but he must have the hearer also to apprehend the whole truth. He spent much of his leisure hours in attending to the younger members of the family. Tender and affectionate, his grieved look when they vexed him by resisting his counsels, had (it is said) something in it so persuasive that it never failed in the end to prevail on those with whom his words had not succeeded. His youngest brother, at a time when he lived according to the course of this world, was the subject of many of his fervent prayers. But a deep melancholy, in a great degree the effect of bodily ailments, settled down on David's soul. Many weary months did he spend in awful gloom, till the trouble of his soul wasted away his body: but the light broke in before his death; joy from the face of a fully reconciled Father above lighted up his face; and the peace of his last days was the sweet consolation left to his afflicted friends, when, 8th July 1851, he fell asleep in Jesus.

The death of this brother, with all its circ.u.mstances, was used by the Holy Spirit to produce a deep impression on Robert's soul. In many respects--even in the gifts of a poetic mind--there had been a congeniality between him and David. The vivacity of Robert's ever active and lively mind was the chief point of difference. This vivacity admirably fitted him for public life; it needed only to be chastened and solemnized, and the event that had now occurred wrought this effect. A few months before, the happy family circle had been broken up by the departure of the second brother for India, in the Bengal Medical Service; but when, in the course of the summer, David was removed from them forever, there were impressions left such as could never be effaced, at least from the mind of Robert. Naturally of an intensely affectionate disposition, this stroke moved his whole soul. His quiet hours seem to have been often spent in thoughts of him who was now gone to glory. There are some lines remaining in which his poetic mind has most touchingly, and with uncommon vigor, painted him whom he had lost,--lines all the more interesting, because the delineation of character and form which they contain cannot fail to call up to those who knew him the image of the author himself. Some time after his brother's death he had tried to preserve the features of his well-remembered form, by attempting a portrait from memory; but throwing aside the pencil in despair, he took up the pen, and poured out the fulness of his heart.

ON PAINTING THE MINIATURE LIKENESS OF ONE DEPARTED.

ALAS! not perfect yet--another touch, And still another, and another still, Till those dull lips breathe life, and yonder eye Lose its lack l.u.s.tre hue, and be lit up With the warm glance of living feeling. No-- It never can be! Ah, poor, powerless art!

Most vaunting, yet most impotent, thou seek'st To trace the thousand, thousand shades and lights That glowed conspicuous on the blessed face Of him thou fain wouldst imitate--to bind Down to the fragile canvas the wild play Of thought and mild affection, which were wont To dwell in the serious eye, and play around The placid mouth. Thou seek'st to give again That which the burning soul, inhabiting Its clay-built tenement, alone can give-- To leave on cold dead matter the impress Of living mind--to bid a line, a shade, Speak forth, not words, but the soft intercourse Which the immortal spirit, while on earth It tabernacles, breathes from every pore-- Thoughts not converted into words, and hopes, And fears, and hidden joys, and griefs, unborn Into the world of sound, but beaming forth In that expression which no words, or work Of cunning artist, can express. In vain, Alas! in vain!

Come hither, Painter; come, Take up once more thine instruments--thy brush And palette--if thy haughty art be, as thou say'st, Omnipotent, and if thy hand can dare To wield creative power. Renew thy toil, And let my memory, vivified by love, Which Death's cold separation has but warmed And rendered sacred dictate to thy skill, And guide thy pencil. From the jetty hair Take off that gaudy l.u.s.tre that but mocks The true original; and let the dry, Soft, gentle-turning locks, appear instead.

What though to fas.h.i.+on's garish eye they seem Untutored and ungainly? still to me, Than folly's foppish head-gear, lovelier far Are they, because bespeaking mental toil, Labor a.s.siduous, through the golden days (Golden if so improved) of guileless youth, Unwearied mining in the precious stores Of cla.s.sic lore--and better, n.o.bler still, In G.o.d's own holy writ. And scatter here And there a thread of grey, to mark the grief That prematurely checked the bounding flow Of the warm current in his veins, and shed An early twilight o'er so bright a dawn.

No wrinkle sits upon that brow!--and thus It ever was. The angry strife and cares Of avaricious miser did not leave Their base memorial on so fair a page.

The eyebrows next draw closer down, and throw A softening shade o'er the mild orbs below.

Let the full eyelid, drooping, half conceal The back-retiring eye; and point to earth The long brown lashes that bespeak a soul Like his who said, "I am not worthy, Lord!"

From underneath these lowly turning lids, Let not s.h.i.+ne forth the gaily sparkling light Which dazzles oft, and oft deceives; nor yet The dull unmeaning l.u.s.tre that can gaze Alike on all the world. But paint an eye In whose half-hidden, steady light I read A truth-inquiring mind; a fancy, too, That could array in sweet poetic garb The truth he found; while on his artless harp He touched the gentlest feelings, which the blaze Of winter's hearth warms in the homely heart.

And oh! recall the look of faith sincere, With which that eye would scrutinize the page That tells us of offended G.o.d appeased By awful sacrifice upon the cross Of Calvary--that bids us leave a world Immersed in darkness and in death, and seek A better country. Ah! how oft that eye Would turn on me, with pity's tenderest look, And, only half-upbraiding, bid me flee From the vain idols of my boyish heart!

It was about the same time, while still feeling the sadness of this bereavement, that he wrote the fragment ent.i.tled

"THE RIGHTEOUS PERISHETH, AND NO MAN LAYETH IT TO HEART."

A grave I know Where earthly show Is not--a mound Whose gentle round Sustains the load Of a fresh sod.

Its shape is rude, And weeds intrude Their yellow flowers-- In gayer bowers Unknown. The gra.s.s, A tufted ma.s.s, Is rank and strong, Unsmoothed and long.

No rosebud there Embalms the air; No lily chaste Adorns the waste, Nor daisy's head Bedecks the bed.

No myrtles wave Above that grave; Unknown in life, And far from strife, He lived:--and though The magic flow Of genius played Around his head, And he could weave "The song at eve,"

And touch the heart, With gentlest art; Or care beguile, And draw the smile Of peace from those Who wept their woes Yet when the love Of Christ above To guilty men Was shown him--then He left the joys Of worldly noise, And humbly laid His drooping head Nor heather-bell Is there to tell Of gentle friend Who sought to lend A sweeter sleep To him who deep Beneath the ground Repose has found.

No stone of woe Is there to show The name, or tell How pa.s.sing well He loved his G.o.d, And how he trod The humble road That leads through sorrow To a bright morrow He sought the breath: But which can give The power to live-- Whose word alone Can melt the stone, Bid tumult cease, And all be peace!

He sought not now To wreathe his brow With laurel bough.

He sought no more To gather store Of earthly lore, Nor vainly strove To share the love Of heaven above, With aught below That earth can show The smile forsook His cheek--his look Was cold and sad; And even the glad Return of morn, When the ripe corn Waves o'er the plains, And simple swains With joy prepare The toil to share Of harvest, brought No lively thought To him.

And spring adorns The sunny morns With opening flowers; Upon the cross; And thought the loss Of all that earth Contained--of mirth, Of loves, and fame, And pleasures' name-- No sacrifice To win the prize, Which Christ secured, When He endured For us the load-- The wrath of G.o.d!

With many a tear, And many a fear, With many a sigh And heart-wrung cry Of timid faith, Where intervenes No darkening cloud Of sin to shroud The gazer's view.

Thus sadly flew The merry spring; And gaily sing The birds their loves In summer groves.

But not for him Their notes they trim.

His ear is cold-- His tale is told.

Above his grave The gra.s.s may wave--

The crowd pa.s.s by Without a sigh Above the spot.

They knew him not-- They could not know; And even though, Why should they shed Above the dead Who slumbers here A single tear?

I cannot weep, Though in my sleep I sometimes clasp With love's fond grasp His gentle hand, And see him stand Beside my bed, And lean his head Upon my breast, O'er lawn and mead; Its virgin head The snowdrop steeps In dew, and peeps The crocus forth, Nor dreads the north.

But even the spring No smile can bring To him, whose eye Sought in the sky For brighter scenes.

And bid me rest Nor night nor day Till I can say That I have found The holy ground In which there lies The Pearl of Price-- Till all the ties The soul that bind, And all the lies The soul that blind, Be

Nothing could more fully prove the deep impression which the event made than these verses. But it was not a transient regret, nor was it the "sorrow of the world." He was in his eighteenth year when his brother died; and if this was not the year of his new birth, at least it was the year when the first streaks of dawn appeared in his soul.

From that day forward his friends observed a change. His poetry was pervaded with serious thought, and all his pursuits began to be followed out in another spirit. He engaged in the labors of a Sabbath school, and began to seek G.o.d to his soul, in the diligent reading of the word, and attendance on a faithful ministry.

How important this period of his life appeared in his own view, may be gathered from his allusions to it in later days. A year after, he writes in his diary: "On this morning last year came the first overwhelming blow to my worldliness; how blessed to me, Thou, O G.o.d, only knowest, who hast made it so." Every year he marked this day as one to be remembered, and occasionally its recollections seem to have come in like a flood. In a letter to a friend (8th July 1842), upon a matter entirely local, he concludes by a postscript: "This day eleven years ago, my holy brother David entered into his rest, aged 26." And on that same day, writing a note to one of his flock in Dundee (who had asked him to furnish a preface to a work printed 1740, _Letters on Spiritual Subjects_), he commends the book, and adds: "Pray for me, that I may be made holier and wiser--less like myself, and more like my heavenly Master; that I may not regard my life, if so be I may finish my course with joy. This day eleven years ago, I lost my loved and loving brother, and began to seek a Brother who cannot die."

It was to companions who could sympathize in his feelings that he unbosomed himself. At that period it was not common for inquiring souls to carry their case to their pastor. A conventional reserve upon theses subjects prevailed even among lively believers. It almost seemed as if they were ashamed of the Son of man. This reserve appeared to him very sinful; and he felt it to be so great an evil, that in after days he was careful to encourage anxious souls to converse with him freely. The nature of his experience, however, we have some means of knowing. On one occasion, a few of us who had studied together were reviewing the Lord's dealings with our souls, and how He had brought us to himself all very nearly at the same time, though without any special instrumentality. He stated that there was nothing sudden in his case, and that he was led to Christ through deep and ever-abiding, but not awful or distracting, convictions. In this we see the Lord's sovereignty. In bringing a soul to the Saviour, the Holy Spirit invariably leads it to very deep consciousness of sin; but then He causes this consciousness of sin to be more distressing and intolerable to some than to others. But in one point does the experience of all believing sinners agree in this matter, viz. their soul presented to their view nothing but an abyss of sin, when the grace of G.o.d that bringeth salvation appeared.

The Holy Spirit carried on his work in the subject of this Memoir, by continuing to deepen in him the conviction of his unG.o.dliness, and the pollution of his whole nature. And all his life long, he viewed _original sin_, not as an excuse for his actual sins, but as an aggravation of them all. In this view he was of the mind of David, taught by the unerring Spirit of Truth. See Psalm 51:4, 5.