ANNIE was for about four years a scholar in a Sunday school at a place called Coolie Bazar, on the outskirts of Calcutta. Although she was thirteen years of age, you would scarcely have taken her for more than ten. She was a pale, delicate child.
Soon after her illness commenced, she said to her mother, one day, “Mother, I once read in a tract that a doctor said to a dying patient of his, ‘I fear, sir, there is no hope.’ ‘I know, I know,’ replied the despairing sinner. ‘You say there is no hope for my body, and I feel there is no hope for my soul. No hope! no hope!’ But oh, mother,” continued Annie, “how thankful I am, though my body die, I have hope for my soul. Blessed Jesus, through Thee I have obtained this hope, and I shall not be ashamed.”
Reading the Bible was her great delight, and when she became too weak to hold the book, she used to beg her friends to read to her.
On one occasion, at night, when the burning fever was so great as to cause excessive thirst, she said, as her mother got up to give her some tea, “Jesus will soon satisfy me.” An hour passed, and Annie’s mother was again awakened. She heard the most joyous sounds from the afflicted child, though at the time, she was racked with bodily pain. “Happy, happy, happy! oh, I am so happy!” exclaimed the dying girl “songs in the night;” and was it not so in Annie’s experience? gave him “songs in the night;” and was it not so in Annie’s experience?
Her own simple account of God’s dealings with her soul was to me very touching. She said, “About, two years ago, I was much impressed, and I then determined to follow Christ. But I soon left the path He showed me. Then God made me ill, and once more I seemed to come back to Him; but again, when I got well, I wandered. Oh, how wicked I was! Yes! God had to make me ill once more, and to keep me ill, before I would give my heart wholly to Him; but now I am His, and soon I shall be with Him in glory.”
Although Annie was so confident of her Saviour’s love, she deeply felt her own sinfulness in the sight of God; so much so, that she would never allow anyone to call her “a good girl;” and when the expression was used in her hearing, she would burst out into tears, and exclaim, “Oh, I am so bad: do not call me good!”
On the evening before she died, a friend called to see her, and asked her how she did. “Weaker, but happier,” was the reply. The night following was spent in restlessness and great bodily pain, and, when the morning dawned, it was evident to all that it would not be long before her weary spirit would be at rest. Annie knew it too, and calling her little brother to her, she said, “Henry, here is my beautiful red and gilt Bible for you, which Mrs. B— gave me last year. I thought perhaps you would read it. Do read it, Henry, darling.” And then, turning to her mother, she said, “Mother, you will meet me in heaven. Oh, how delightful that will be!” The stupor of death was fast overpowering her bodily senses; but, making one last effort, she threw her arms around the neck of her cousin―a girl some years older than herself―and begged and entreated her to be a Christian, saying, “Oh, Maria, seek the Lord while He may be found: He is so precious on a dying bed.” She then asked her mother to read to her the hymn in which these words occur―
“Nothing in my hands I bring.”
When this request had been complied with, the dear child fell back on her pillow, and softly murmured, “I am going to sing the new song, ‘Worthy is the Lamb that was slain... when thou passest through the waters I will be with thee... in my Father’s house are many mansions.’ Oh, my Father, I bless Thy name! I thank Thee, I thank Thee, my Father!” And with these sweet words on her lips, her spirit passed away to be forever with the Lord.