Chapter 9
There was sorrow in the stately mansion, as well as in the home of the cottager. The steps of the servants had grown more noiseless day by day, and before the door, was spread the thick, soft rug, that no sound of hurrying steps might disturb the sich man so near his end.
At last there was no hope: the doctor had said that recovery was impossible. Mrs. Irving was in despair. Never before had she waited on the bed of sickness; it was a new experience for her, a trial filled with horrors. She had loved to shine in the gay ball room, in the flashing theater; she had never prepared to meet trouble in any form. Now, she must stand and see the end of earth; she must realize that she was born for something besides living. She must think whether, if that time come to her, was she prepared to give up the company she so loved, the pomp, vanities; and movies she so delighted in, whether here the gay laugh would be fitting, the dazzling jewel, the costly robes,—the sneer at things sacred! How great the contrast between the watcher, surrounded with every luxury; and Daniel’s mother who was a child of God!
“All that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world. And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof but he that doeth the will of God abideth forever,” 1 John 2:16, 1716For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world. 17And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever. (1 John 2:16‑17).
Lilly’s Aunt was strangely disquieted, the question would come to her mind,
“Do you love Jesus?” and since she had heard that there was no hope for her brother, she had thought of nothing else. Was he prepared to leave this world? She wished she might have been a comfort to him.
Lilly seemed the only one who retained composure at the eventful time. She was so thoughtful, it was a pleasure to have her in the room. One day as the pale sun shone on the dying man, he called for Lilly, and for the first time, he said, with a peaceful smile,
“Daughter, I can say ‘Jesus’ now.”
“O, father! I am so glad,” she said, kissing him. “I’ll go and tell the lame boy; and does Jesus come and talk to you?”
“Yes, darling, He did last night,”
“Didn’t I tell you so?” cried the child in triumphant tones. “And is He lovely, father?”
“Too glorious for mortal lips to dcribe. Praise God, I shall soon see the brightness of His glory.”
“Don’t you suppose mother will say ‘Jesus’ too?” she whispered.
“Ask her, my lamb; tell her He smoothes the pillow of death.” Mrs. Irving heard it and wept.
“Jesus! the Name we love so well,
The Name we love to hear!
No saint on earth its worth can tell,
No heart conceive how dear.
This Name shall shed its fragrance still
Along this thorny road,
Shall sweetly smooth the rugged hill
That leads us up to God.”
This child whom they devoted to the world, would she lead them all to Christ?
“Can you say ‘Jesus can make’?” said the child.
“Yes, darling,” and he repeated it slowly, clasping his hands, his voice low and fervent.
“O, that is good, and now you will get well.”
“No, darling, father is going to heaven, to be with the Lord Jesus.”
“Going to leave me all alone?” she said, a shade coming over her brow.
“Not all alone, dear, for Jesus will be with you, and mother, and Aunt, and soon you will all come to me.”
“When, father?”
“When Jesus calls you.”
“Can’t you let me go to Him?”
“O, my dear, I wish I had learned to say ‘Jesus’ when I was as young as you.” Tears of joy, of faith, of blessedness bewed the dying man’s face, “Surely this child is an heir of glory, one of those whom Jesus came to call, she will lead the others to Christ, I die happy.”
ML 08/17/1941