Annals of the Poor

by John Kendrick Bangs

  PART VIII.

  Who can conceive or estimate the nature of that change which the soul ofa believer must experience at the moment when, quitting its tabernacle ofclay, it suddenly enters into the presence of God? If, even while "wesee through a glass darkly," the views of divine love and wisdom are sodelightful to the eye of faith; what must be the glorious vision of God,when seen face to face! If it be so valued a privilege here on earth toenjoy the communion of saints, and to take sweet counsel together withour fellow-travellers towards the heavenly kingdom; what shall we see andknow when we finally "come unto mount Sion, and unto the city of theliving God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company ofangels, to the general assembly and church of the first-born, which arewritten in heaven, and to God the Judge of all, and to the spirits ofjust men made perfect, and to Jesus the mediator of the new covenant?"

  If, during the sighs and tears of a mortal pilgrimage, the consolationsof the Spirit are so precious and the hope full of immortality is soanimating to the soul; what heart can conceive, or what tongue utter itssuperior joys, when arrived at that state where sighing and sorrow fleeaway, and the tears shall be wiped from every eye?

  Such ideas were powerfully associated together in my imagination, as Itravelled onward to the house where, in solemn preparation for the grave,lay the remains of the Dairyman's daughter.

  She had breathed her last shortly after the visit related in my formeraccount. Permission was obtained, as before in the case of her sister,that I should perform the funeral service. Many pleasing yet melancholythoughts were connected with the fulfilment of this task. I retraced thenumerous and important conversations which I had held with her. Butthese could now no longer be maintained on earth. I reflected on theinteresting and improving nature of _Christian_ friendships, whetherformed in palaces or in cottages; and felt thankful that I had so longenjoyed that privilege with the subject of this memorial. I thenindulged a selfish sigh for a moment, on thinking that I could no longerhear the great truths of Christianity uttered by one who had drunk sodeep of the waters of the river of life. But the rising murmur waschecked by the animating thought, "She is gone to eternal rest--could Iwish her back again in this vale of tears?"

  At that moment the first sound of a tolling bell struck my ear. Itproceeded from a village church in the valley directly beneath the ridgeof a high hill, over which I had taken my way. It was Elizabeth'sfuneral knell.

  The sound was solemn; and, in ascending to the elevated spot over which Irode, it acquired a peculiar tone and character. Tolling at slow andregular intervals, (as was customary for a considerable time previous tothe hour of burial,) the bell, as it were, proclaimed the blessedness ofthe dead who die in the Lord, and also the necessity of the livingpondering these things, and laying them to heart. It seemed to say,"Hear my warning voice, thou son of man. There is but a step betweenthee and death. Arise, prepare thine house; for thou shalt die, and notlive."

  The scenery was in unison with that tranquil frame of mind which is mostsuitable for holy meditation. A rich and fruitful valley lay immediatelybeneath; it was adorned with corn fields and pastures, through which asmall river winded in a variety of directions, and many herds grazed uponits banks. A fine range of opposite hills, covered with grazing flocks,terminated with a bold sweep into the ocean, whose blue waves appeared ata distance beyond. Several villages, hamlets, and churches, werescattered in the valley. The noble mansions of the rich, and the lowlycottages of the poor, added their respective features to the landscape.The air was mild, and the declining sun occasioned a beautifulinterchange of light and shade upon the sides of the hills. In the midstof this scene, the chief sound that arrested attention was the belltolling for the funeral of the Dairyman's daughter.

  Do any of my readers inquire why I describe so minutely the circumstancesof prospect and scenery which may be connected with the incidents Irelate? My reply is, that the God of redemption is the God of creationlikewise; and that we are taught in every part of the word of God tounite the admiration of the beauties and wonders of nature to every othermotive for devotion. When David considered the heavens, the work ofGod's fingers, the moon and the stars which he has ordained, he wasthereby led to the deepest humiliation of heart before his Maker. Andwhen he viewed the sheep and the oxen and the beasts of the field, thefowls of the air and the fish of the sea, he was constrained to cry out,"O Lord, our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth!"

  I am the poor man's friend, and wish more especially that every poorlabouring man should know how to connect the goodness of God in creationand providence with the unsearchable riches of his grace in the salvationof a sinner. And where can he learn this lesson more instructively thanin looking around the fields where his labour is appointed, and theretracing the handiwork of God in all that he beholds? Such meditationshave often afforded me both profit and pleasure, and I wish my readers toshare them with me.

  The Dairyman's cottage was rather more than a mile distant from thechurch. A lane, quite overshadowed with trees and high hedges, led fromthe foot of the hill to his dwelling. It was impossible at that time tooverlook the suitable gloom of such an approach to the house of mourning.

  I found, on my entrance, that several Christian friends, from differentparts of the neighbourhood, had assembled together, to pay their lasttribute of esteem and regard to the memory of the Dairyman's daughter.Several of them had first become acquainted with her during the latterstage of her illness; some few had maintained an affectionate intercoursewith her for a longer period; but all seemed anxious to manifest theirrespect for one who was endeared to them by such striking testimonies oftrue Christianity.

  I was requested to go into the chamber where the relatives and a fewother friends were gone to take a last look at the remains of Elizabeth.

  It is not easy to describe the sensation which the mind experiences onthe first sight of a dead countenance, which, when living, was loved andesteemed for the sake of that soul which used to give it animation. Adeep and awful view of the separation that has taken place between thesoul and body of the deceased, since we last beheld them, occupies thefeelings: our friend seems to be both near, and yet far off. The mostinteresting and valuable part is fled away; what remains is but theearthly, perishing habitation, no longer occupied by its tenant. Yet thefeatures present the accustomed association of friendly intercourse. Forone moment, we could think them asleep. The next reminds us that theblood circulates no more: the eye has lost its power of seeing, the earof hearing, the heart of throbbing, and the limbs of moving. Quickly athought of glory breaks in upon the mind, and we imagine the deardeparted soul to be arrived at its long-wished-for rest. It issurrounded by cherubim and seraphim, and sings the song of Moses and theLamb on Mount Zion. Amid the solemn stillness of the chamber of death,imagination hears heavenly hymns chanted by the spirits of just men madeperfect. In another moment, the livid lips and sunken eye of the clay-cold corpse recall our thoughts to earth and to ourselves again. Andwhile we think of mortality, sin, death, and the grave, we feel theprayer rise in our bosom, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and letmy last end be like his!"

  If there be a moment when Christ and salvation, death, judgment, heaven,and hell, appear more than ever to be momentous subjects of meditation,it is that which brings us to the side of a coffin containing the body ofa departed believer.

  Elizabeth's features were altered, but much of her likeness remained. Herfather and mother sat at the head, her brother at the foot of the coffin.The father silently and alternately looked upon his dead child and thenlifted up his eyes to heaven. A struggle for resignation to the will ofGod was manifest in his countenance; while the tears, rolling down hisaged cheeks, at the same time declared his grief and affection. The poormother cried and sobbed aloud, and appeared to be much overcome by theshock of separation from a daughter so justly dear to her. The weaknessand infirmity of old age added a character to her sorrow which called formuch tenderne
ss and compassion.

  A remarkably decent-looking woman, who had the management of the fewsimple though solemn ceremonies which the case required, advanced towardsme, saying,--

  "Sir, this is rather a sight of joy than of sorrow. Our dear friendElizabeth finds it to be so, I have no doubt. She is beyond _all_sorrow: do you not think she is, sir?"

  "After what I have known, and seen, and heard," I replied, "I feel thefullest assurance, that while her body remains here, her soul is with herSaviour in paradise. She loved him _here_, and _there_ she enjoys thepleasures which are at his right hand for evermore."

  "Mercy, mercy upon a poor old creature, almost broken down with age andgrief!--What shall I do!--Betsy's gone. My daughter's dead--O my child!I shall never see thee more. God be merciful to me a sinner!" sobbed outthe poor mother.

  "That last prayer, my dear good woman," said I, "will bring you and yourchild together again. It is a cry that has brought thousands to glory.It brought your daughter there, and I hope it will bring you thitherlikewise. God will in no wise cast out any that come to him."

  "My dear," said the Dairyman, breaking the long silence he hadmaintained, "let us trust God with our child; and let us trust him withour own selves. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed bethe name of the Lord! We are old, and can have but a little further totravel in our journey, and then--," he could say no more

  The soldier, mentioned in my last paper, reached a Bible into my hand,and said, "Perhaps, sir, you would not object to reading a chapter beforewe go to the church?"

  I did so; it was the fourteenth of the book of Job. A sweet tranquillityprevailed while I read it. Each minute that was spent in this funeralchamber seemed to be valuable. I made a few observations on the chapter,and connected them with the case of our departed sister.

  "I am but a poor soldier," said our military friend, "and have nothing ofthis world's goods beyond my daily subsistence; but I would not exchangemy hope of salvation in the next world for all that this world couldbestow without it. What is wealth without grace? Blessed be God! as Imarch about from one quarter to another, I still find the Lord wherever Igo; and, thanks be to his holy name, he is here to-day in the midst ofthis company of the living and the dead. I feel that it is good to behere."

  Some other persons present began to take a part in our conversation, inthe course of which the life and experience of the Dairyman's daughterwere brought forward in a very interesting manner. Each friend hadsomething to relate in testimony of her gracious disposition. A youngwoman under twenty, who had hitherto been a very light and triflingcharacter, appeared to be remarkably impressed by the conversation ofthat day; and I have since had ground to believe that Divine grace thenbegan to influence her in the choice of that better part which shall notbe taken from her.

  What a contrast does such a scene as this exhibit, when compared with thedull, formal, unedifying, and often indecent manner, in which funeralparties assemble in the house of death!

  As we conversed the parents revived. Our subject of discourse wasdelightful to their hearts. Their child seemed almost to be alive again,while we talked of her. Tearful smiles often brightened theircountenances, as they heard the voice of friendship uttering theirdaughter's praises; or rather the praises of him who made her a vessel ofmercy and an instrument of spiritual good to her family.

  The time for departing to the church was now at hand.

  I went to take my last look at the deceased.

  There was much written on her countenance. She had evidently died with asmile. It still remained, and spoke the tranquillity of her departedsoul. According to the custom of the country she was decorated withleaves and flowers in the coffin: she seemed as a bride gone forth tomeet the bridegroom. These, indeed, were fading flowers, but theyreminded me of that paradise whose flowers are immortal, and where hernever-dying soul is at rest.

  I remembered the last words which I had heard her speak, and wasinstantly struck with the happy thought, that "death was indeed swallowedup in victory."

  As I slowly retired, I said inwardly, "Peace, my honoured sister, be to_thy_ memory and to _my_ soul, till we meet in a better world."

  In a little time the procession formed: it was rendered the moreinteresting by the consideration of so many that followed the coffinbeing persons of a devout and spiritual character. The distance wasrather more than a mile. I resolved to continue with and go before them,as they moved slowly onwards. Immediately after the body came thevenerable father and mother, {87} bending with age, and weeping throughmuch affliction of heart. Their appearance was calculated to exciteevery emotion of pity, love, and esteem. The other relatives followedthem in order, and the several attendant friends took their placesbehind.

  After we had advanced about a hundred yards, my meditation wasunexpectedly and most agreeably interrupted by the friends who attendedbeginning to sing a funeral psalm. Nothing could be more sweet orsolemn. The well-known effect of the open air in softening and blendingthe sounds of music, was here peculiarly felt. The road through which wepassed was beautiful and romantic. It lay at the foot of a hill, whichoccasionally re-echoed the voices of the singers, and seemed to givefaint replies to the notes of the mourners. The funeral knell wasdistinctly heard from the church tower, and greatly increased the effectwhich this simple and becoming service produced.

  We went by several cottages: a respectful attention was universallyobserved as we passed; and the countenances of many proclaimed theirregard for the departed young woman. The singing was regularlycontinued, with occasional intervals of about five minutes during ourwhole progress.

  I cannot describe the state of my own mind as peculiarly connected withthis solemn singing. I was reminded of older times and ancient piety. Iwished the practice more frequent. It seems well calculated to exciteand cherish devotion and religious affections.

  Music, when judiciously brought into the service of religion, is one ofthe most delightful, and not least efficacious means of grace. I pretendnot too minutely to conjecture as to the actual nature of those pleasureswhich, after the resurrection, the re-united body and soul will enjoy inheaven; but I can hardly persuade myself that melody and harmony will bewanting, when even the sense of hearing shall itself be glorified.

  We at length arrived at the church. Looking upwards as I drew near thechurch, I observed a dial on the wall. The sun's declining rays directedthe shadow to the evening hour. As I passed underneath this simple butsolemn monitor, I was reminded of the lapse of time, the uncertainty oflife, and sure approach of eternity. I thought with David, "We arestrangers before thee, and sojourners, as were all our fathers; our dayson earth are as a shadow, and there is none abiding."

  "Lord, so teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts untowisdom."

  The service was heard with deep and affectionate attention. When we cameto the grave, the hymn which Elizabeth had selected was sung. All wasdevout, simple, animating. We committed our dear sister's body to theearth, in full hope of a joyful resurrection from the dead.

  Thus was the veil of separation drawn for a season. She is departed, andno more seen. But she will be seen on the right hand of her Redeemer atthe last day, and will again appear to his glory, a miracle of grace andmonument of mercy.

  My reader, rich or poor, shall you and I appear there likewise? Are we"clothed with humility," and arrayed in the wedding garment of aredeemer's righteousness? Are we turned from idols to serve the livingGod? Are we sensible of our own emptiness, and therefore flying to aSaviour's fulness to obtain grace and strength? Do we indeed live inChrist, and on him, and by him, and with him? Is he our all in all? Arewe "lost, and found?" "dead, and alive again?"

  My _poor_ reader, the Dairyman's daughter was a _poor_ girl, and thechild of a _poor_ man. Herein thou resemblest her: but dost thouresemble _her_ as she resembled Christ? Art thou made rich by faith?Hast thou a crown laid up for thee? Is thine heart set upon heavenlyriches? If not, rea
d this story once more, and then pray earnestly forlike precious faith.

  But if, through grace, thou dost love and serve the Redeemer that savedthe Dairyman's daughter, grace, peace, and mercy be with thee! The linesare fallen unto thee in pleasant places: thou hast a goodly heritage.Press forward in duty, and wait upon the Lord, possessing thy soul inholy patience. Thou hast just been with me to the grave of a departedbeliever. Now "go thy way till the end be; for thou shalt rest, andstand in thy lot at the end of the days."

  Elizabeth died May 30, 1801, aged 31 years.

  {The Dairyman's Daughter's Grave: p89.jpg}