The Little Gleaner Part 43

On November 12th, 1851, it pleased G.o.d to indicate His intentions by placing upon her His afflicting hand. But He who "mingles mercy with His might," set His bow in the cloud, answered in the secret place of thunder, and revealed His love in the bosom of the storm.

Ann Jane gave pleasing proofs of a work of grace in her soul, the progress of which was visible to by-standers and friends.

A short time after the attack, she expressed a wish to die; and upon being asked why, she answered, "Because I believe I shall go to heaven.

I believe the dear Lord has pardoned my sins." She would often say, "Pray for me, my dear mother, and I will pray for you, and myself too"; and would then address herself to G.o.d in a sweet, devout manner.

Observing me to be in great trouble, she thus spoke to me--"Do pray the dear Lord to take me to Himself." I answered, "How can I do so, seeing I cannot give you up?" She replied, "Oh, mother, put your trust in the Lord. He will provide. Do ask Him to take me out of this world. Oh, mother, there is nothing here worth living for"; and engaging sweetly in prayer, uttered, with many other sentences, the following--"Pardon all our sins, dear and precious Lord--past sins, present sins, and sins to come. Wash us in Thy precious blood, for Thou knowest how sinful we are, and Thou rememberest we are but dust. Oh, make us love Thee more! Thy love is an everlasting love. Take us, dear Lord, take us to Thyself, and then we shall love and serve Thee better."

The second Lord's Day of her affliction, she inquired what day it was. I informed her, and asked, "Would you not like to spend a Sabbath in heaven?" "Oh, yes, mother!" was the rejoinder. "That would be a Sabbath of Sabbaths."

With pleasure I remember some particular times when my precious child seemed almost overpowered by the sweetness and glories of Immanuel, who is "G.o.d with us," not only in our nature, but in our condition. At these times, with uplifted hands, she would exclaim, "Oh, my precious Jesus!

Oh, my precious Christ!"

One day she said, "Mother, my pains are very great. Can you do anything to give me relief?" What an appeal to maternal tenderness! What a moment of agonizing weakness! I reminded her of the divine sufficiency, and she poured out a copious argumentative prayer, not like the prayer of a child, pleading the Lord's own Word, and the merits of Christ, as the only ground of her expectation. "I know," she would say, "I am not worthy. I am a guilty sinner. Oh, wash me in Thy precious blood! Give me patience to endure my pains, and to wait all Thy will; and take me to be where Thou art, for ever and ever. Amen."

Seeing me weep very much, on one occasion, she exclaimed, "My precious mother, I do love you! Why do you grieve about me? I am not afraid to die. I want to go to my precious Lord, and be with Him for ever." I said, "My dear child, why do you believe you shall go to heaven? Do you think you have _merited_ it?" "Oh, no, mother," was her immediate reply.

"I am a guilty sinner. It is through the Lord Jesus, and for His sake, that I hope to be saved. Do you not think, dear mother, He will pardon me?" I said, "Yes, if you feel your need of Him." She answered, "I believe He has pardoned me."

After the prayer previously mentioned, and partly recorded, she said, "How good the Lord is to me! Oh, my precious Jesus," &c. "Oh, mother,"

she said, in reply to a question, "I know I love the Lord. Yes, I do; better than everything else in the world."

At another time she cried out, in a loud impressive tone, "Oh, mother, what is there in this world worth living for? It is all stuff and vanity--it is, mother. Oh, I do not want to live here! Pray the dear Lord to take me to Himself. Oh, how blessed to be with my precious Jesus for ever!"

When informed of the death and burial of her brother, she appeared excited, but at last said, "Dear boy! I hope I shall soon be with him, and then we shall meet to part no more." She then asked me to pray again that G.o.d would take her. How could I? "Nature has soft but powerful bands," and the ligaments were not yet severed. She seemed my earthly all. Could I surrender her to the arms of the destroyer? Could I look up and say, "Thy will be done"? What grace we need to glorify G.o.d in the fires!

Nine days after her illness she raised herself up in her bed, and, looking at her departing sister, said, "There is my dying sister. Where is she going? Where? Why, to the realms of bliss? And who of us next?

Why, myself, I believe, mother. But I am not afraid of death," &c.

At another time she said, "Do read to me, dear mother"; and upon my asking her _where_, she replied, "Read about the sufferings of Christ" I did so, and she afterwards engaged in prayer.

At another time the nurse heard her, during the night, earnestly praying for both her parents and herself.

Once she requested me to read the seventeenth chapter of John, remarking at the time, "That is sweet reading." After listening for a time she fell into a short sleep, and I laid the Book down. When she awoke she exclaimed, "Won't you read to me, my dear mother?" I said, "You dropped off into a sleep, my dear." She then tried to read herself, but failing, returned the Book, immediately adding, "Give it me again and let me kiss it, for I love it very much."

At different times she expressed earnest desires to go to her brother and sister, and for her father and mother and sister to go also; and would try to sing a part of that Sabbath School hymn, chorusing--"Oh, that will be joyful," &c.

Two days before she died she exclaimed, with sweet simplicity, "Suffer the little children to come unto Me"; and shortly after, "Precious Bible! what a treasure," &c.

The night on which she died, a friend coming in, she seemed pleased, remarking that I could then take some rest. Shortly after this her voice began to fail. She called for "Hephzibah," looked at me wishfully, exclaimed, "Mother," and talked earnestly for some time; but her voice was "thick in death," and language failed as an interpreter of "the thoughts and intents of the heart." In vain she laboured to make me comprehend her ideas. The bridge had been broken down; the fortress was dismantled. Only a word or two was distinct enough to be understood, but from these I found her discourse was of a spiritual nature. Overcome by the scene, I burst into tears, and said, "My dear child, how I wish I could understand you! It almost breaks my heart." At this she looked at me so very affectionately, and exclaimed, "Heaven! heaven! heaven!"

She spoke not again, but for twelve long hours "her spirit struggled with her clay," when the conflict mercifully ceased, and all was peace, and righteousness, and quietness, and a.s.surance for ever. She exchanged worlds on December 14th, 1851, aged eleven years and three months.

"May death conclude my toils and tears; May death conclude my sins and fears; May death, through Jesus, be my Friend; May death be life when life shall end!"

Thus ends the interesting memoirs of three happy children; and as reflection should follow reading, we proceed from narrative to reflections.

REFLECTIONS.

1. From these memoirs we learn how greatly the Lord sometimes tries the righteous. In little more than a fortnight, three out of four children were borne to their long home. The father had been previously afflicted with paralysis, and was at that time unable to follow his employment, having lamed himself.

2. We learn that human affliction may consist with divine affection.

Lazarus sickened and died, though Jesus loved him. "And what son is there whom the Father chasteneth not?"

3. We have another lesson upon the inscrutable providence of G.o.d. "I beheld," says Solomon, "all the works of G.o.d, that a man cannot find out the work that is done under the sun; because, though a man labour to seek it out, yet shall he not find it; yea, further, though a wise man think to know it, yet shall he not find it." No man knoweth divine love or hatred by the distributions of providential good and evil.

4. But if the events of life are so complicated, and if no application, however skilfully conducted, nor any human capacity, whatever its range, can fathom the "mysteries of G.o.d," then, how unseemly is immoderate grief or unmeasured joy! How premature our decisions, and how utterly senseless all those infidel cavils against a system which the most enlightened, philosophical, and Spirit-taught mind can neither understand nor deal with!

5. Nevertheless, we read that "the righteous, and the wise, and their works, are in the hand of G.o.d" (Eccles. ix. 1), from which we conclude that the people of G.o.d, wherever located, and however circ.u.mstanced, are protected by His power, sustained by His agency, supplied by His mercy, are under His special care, and safe in His approbation. Let this suffice. We walk by faith.

6. We see here the sovereignty of G.o.d, both in His providence and grace.

We read of one being taken and another left; but here three are taken, and only one left.

7. Does not G.o.d, sometimes, put peculiar honour upon His professing people, however He sees fit to try them? If He takes one of a Gentile city, He takes two of a Christian family, and brings them to Zion.

8. We observe, too, the earliness and efficacy of His work on the minds of some, so that "out of the mouths of babes and sucklings He perfects His own praise."

9. Attention, however, may be called to the value of early and maternal instruction. These children were instructed for the most part by their mother, who watched over them with incessant care, keeping them separate from the ma.s.ses, and attending to their education as an important duty.

"There is not a grand inspiring thought, There is not a truth by wisdom taught, There is not a feeling pure or high, That may not be read in a mother's eye.

"There are teachings on earth, and sky, and air; The heavens the glory of G.o.d declare; But more loud than the voice beneath, above, Is the voice that speaks through a mother's love."

W. P.

BROUGHT TO THE FOLD.

Louisa Ann Jeeves, of Pewsey, Wilts, died on March 24th, 1888, aged twenty-four years. She sat under the truth until she was about twenty, when she left the place for a short time. But, when taken seriously ill, it appears that the Lord laid the weight of her sins upon her, and she felt that she had slighted the means of truth, which was a trouble to her. The clergyman called, and wished to administer the Sacrament to her, but she refused, and told him she dare not, for she had not felt the pardon of her sins. From this time she sank very low, and felt her sins to be a heavy burden. She now eagerly read her Bible, in which she marked many portions. Her bodily sufferings were very great, but she bore them without a murmur. Her sins, and the state of her soul before G.o.d, seemed always uppermost.

I had known her from a child, and hoped there was some good thing in her; but when she left the place of truth, I was afraid my hope was vain.

I visited her often after my return to Pewsey, and found her in great concern about her soul. She said she knew that nothing but an application of the blood of Christ could suffice for her great sins, and this she longed to feel. She asked me to read and pray with her, which I was enabled to do, believing the Lord had given her true conviction of sin. Each time I called she was greatly distressed, and seemed without hope; and this went on until the last week of her life, when she begged me to stay with her altogether, and whenever we were alone she wished me to read and pray. She would cry out in agony, "Oh, what shall I do if I don't get to heaven?"

On the Tuesday, when she had been greatly tried, this word was brought with comfort to her mind, "I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee." I said, "If the Lord has given you those words, He will, in His own time, bless you with pardon and peace"; and, as she was drawing near her end, I said, "When He comes, if you are unable to speak, raise your hand."

But the next day the Lord was pleased to bless her soul with joy and peace. She called for her mother, and when she came, she said, her face at the time beaming with joy, "Oh, mother, I am so happy! I am going home to be with Jesus! He has put away all my sins by His own precious blood, and you will come, too." She would have us sing some hymns, herself joining in while able--among others, "How sweet the name of Jesus sounds," and "Rock of Ages." When we had finished one she named another, and said, "Beautiful! beautiful!"

She gradually sank, but the fear of death was taken away. She was quite conscious to the last, and turned her head to look at the clock several times. The enemy of souls was not permitted to hara.s.s her in her last hours, and just before she breathed her last, she raised her arms and clapped her hands three times, evidently remembering what I had said to her. It may be truly said, she died in peace. She was a constant reader of the LITTLE GLEANER.

C. G.

TO lay the salve of our services upon the wound of our sins is as if a man who is stung by a wasp should wipe his face with a nettle.