he suffered so much weakness and plained, but was uniformly patient. O! pain, yet he never comHe was afraid to say or do any thing that would hurt the feelings of any body. how often did he acknowledge his gratitude to me for all that I had done for him, in waiting upon him, and watching with him, and instructing him. He often said that he did not know how to be grateful enough, that he was brought thus early to the knowledge and acceptance of the Saviour, while so many others were left in a state of impenitency and indifference. With great emotion he would say, "I do, and I hope I shall continue, to pray for all my irreligious companions." Often did he say, "Oh how kind has such and such a friend been to a poor little boy like me, but my heavenly Father gives me all I ask." I was struck with this remark, for it had seemed to me that this was literally his experience. I cannot express the delight he took in prayer. Once I said to him, "How do you feel when you pray?" He replied, "Very happy-Oh, how happy!" After singing a hymn one morning, he said to me, "Dear mother, I feel so happy that I cannot express even to you my feelings." At another time he called my attention to one of Watts's hymns, which he thought strikingly beautiful, commencing with the lines, "Lo! what a glorious sight appears, To our believing eyes." Adding, "Mother, I sometimes think I see the New Jerusalem, a beautiful city in the skies. Bright angels whisper, 'Happy spirit, come away; come to glory-come.' Mother, I am willing to go to my eternal home." At another time, when I was sitting beside him, I remarked to him, "that he was very weak." He replied, "Oh how happy I shall be to hear the archangel's trumpet sounding, 'Happy, happy spirit, welcome to your eternal home."" He seemed very often comforted with the idea that he was near his end, and would allude to a verse in the seventh chapter of Revelations, "Who are these arrayed in white?" On another occasion, when I had offered a short prayer, I remarked that he was so weak that he would not be able to pray or sing aloud much more. Raising himself in the bed, he repeated the following line, "I'll praise my Maker while I've breath." He seldom smiled after he was taken sick, except when he was told that some one had come to pray with him, and then he seemed perfectly happy. A few weeks before his death, he seemed almost uniformly not to have the least shadow of doubt of his interest in the Saviour; for like the beloved disciple, he reclined upon the bosom of the Redeemer. He seemed to look within the veil with great delight. One day, however, after he had had a most distressing fit, he remarked, "Mother, I am in great distress. I am afraid I have not done my duty." I replied, "I hope, my dear child, that you are not depending for your comfort or salvation, on any thing that you can do. Oh," I said, "look up to Jesus, the sinner's friend." He replied, "I am looking to Jesus." At another time he told me that the world plagued him. I told him that nothing would help him, at such times, so much as earnest prayer. He spoke about dying and his funeral, as if he had been going a journey. He desired that every body, at his funeral, would unite in singing and prayer, before they took his body to the church; and after they returned from the grave, to be sure and not let any worldly discourse begin, but to spend the time in singing and prayer as long as the company should tarry. He desired me to invite all his companions to attend his funeral, in the hope that they would get good to their souls. This request I hope I did faithfully comply with. I would not fail to mention, that often when I entered his room suddenly, I would hear him pleading hard with the Lord, to forgive his sins, with apparent contrition and humility. Once, after having listened to his penitential petitions, I said to him, "What sins, my dear, have you been guilty of?" He replied, with great earnestness, "Oh mother, I have broken the Sabbath, I have told lies, I have done many wicked things. And I have a wicked heart; I feel that I am a great sinner." I said, "But you know that you have a Saviour." He replied, He replied, "Yes, mother." I believe he was quite sensible to the last, and died with a glorious view of the happiness of heaven. Just before he expired, he looked earnestly at me and said, "I am dying now;" and raising up his little wasted hand, he repeated the name of "Father," and as it gently reclined upon his breast, the sweet lamb had fallen 288 EARLY RISING AND PRAYER. [DECEMBER, asleep in Jesus. Oh, how should the experience of this child strengthen the faith of Christian mothers in the early piety of children! To see one so young confessing his sins, and though subject to the fiery darts of the adversary, trusting in the Saviour-patiently bearing weakness and pain-submitting to the will of God-expressing himself willing to die-with so much faith and humble acquiescence, trusting that he should be for ever with the Lord-is something that we cannot behold without the fullest conviction that it was the work of the Holy Spirit. My maternal heart exclaims with exultation, "Yes, Lord, this was thine own work, and it was marvellous in my eyes." EARLY RISING AND PRAYER. BY HENRY VAUGHAN, 1695 When first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave Give him thy first thoughts then, so shalt thou keep Yet never sleep the sun up; prayer should Dawn with the day; there are set awful hours Walk with thy fellow-creatures: note the hush Serve God before the world; let him not go When the world's up, and every swarm abroad, Which must be carried on, and safely may : |