IN a village which lay at the outskirts of a Canadian city, an aged Christian was dying. I was asked to visit her. Having reached the house, I inquired of a woman of middle age, who happened to be in the garden, if Mrs.— lived inside.
“Yes, my mother is within; but she is very ill,” was the reply.
“May I come in and see her?" And so I followed into the clean little bed-room, where lay the dying saint. Her face was toward the wall, and she her-self was either sleeping, or else sweetly anticipating the bright future before her.
Her daughter touched her gently on the shoulder, and said, "Mother, a gentleman wants to see you,” and then took her place at the foot of the bed.
“I do not know you, sir," said the old woman.
“No," said I; “but I heard you were a dying Christian woman, and that perhaps you would like me to read or speak to you, and so I came.”
Well, I was made welcome. We enjoyed together some happy thoughts in common,—thoughts of a Saviour's dying love, and of present all-sustaining grace. I found that she had, long since, been converted to God, and had spent her days amongst the Wesleyans. There did not seem a shade of fear in her soul as to her being soon with the Lord.
After about half-an-hour's conversation, I said, “Would you like me to pray beside you? Have you any special request that I may lay before the Lord?”
“No, thank you," said she.
Now, you know, my reader, that dying people are, as a rule, exceedingly fond of being prayed for. They do not feel easy the future is dark, uncertain the waters of the dreaded Jordan are deep. The clergyman must come, must go through some religious form, in order to satisfy God for the faults of his dying parishioner or church-member; and such an one could not die happy without this religious exercise. What a mad thing to trust to the prayers, &c., of a fellow-mortal by your deathbed side I "It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God." Oh! to think of meeting Him unprepared!
However, our dear old friend cared for none of such forms. She was saved, and ready to depart.
Hence the appropriate, "No, thank you.”
“Oh yes! there is one thing," she abruptly said, “a heavy burden on my heart. I have four children, all grown up, and only one of them is converted. My daughter there, at the foot of my bed, is one of the three. Now," said the dear old tender-hearted mother, “will you pray God to save my unsaved children?”
I turned to the daughter and said, “Is it true that you are unsaved?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Not ready for death?”
“No, sir.”
“Would not meet your dear mother if you died as you are?”
A silence like death, and then, with tears, “No, sir.”
“Through grace your mother is going to heaven, and you, alas, are at present on your way to hell Ah there is no prospect of your seeing her again if you remain as you are. Look into your mother's face. The eyes that have watched over your infancy, childhood, girlhood, and early womanhood, as only a mother's eyes can watch, will soon be closed in death. Tell me," I said earnestly," have you no wish to meet those eyes, to see that face, in heaven?”
I need hardly say the question was answered by a muffled "Yes.”
Who can stand unmoved beside his mother's deathbed? What heart so callous as to shed no tear at such a moment? How many a resolution has there been made, that, alas, was afterward broken? How many a prodigal, when all else is squandered, retains the imperishable memory of his mother's last and tenderest appeal? And what an appeal was spoken by the beseeching eyes of this dying mother!
I explained the way of salvation, through the death and resurrection of Christ, and faith therein, to the weeping daughter, and, believing that this might be the moment of her blessing, I said, “Let me give you two texts. First, `I will give to him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely.' And second, Whosoever will, let him take of the water of life freely.' In the first, Jesus says, ' I will give;' in the second, Whosoever will, let him take.' See how the two truths dove-tail, I will give,' Let him take.' Come, said I, shall it be take, or taken, with you; a thing of the future, or a thing of the past?”
A silence, then in a whisper, "T-a-k-e-n." “A little louder please." And so," TAKEN," said she.
“Louder still please." “TAKEN," clear and distinct, fell from her lips, to the unbounded joy of her dear dying mother. What a moment of gladness and of praise!
The mother just dying, the daughter just beginning to live.
Then a moment of prayer and farewell.
A while after, a young Christian man corroborated the good news to me. She had, through grace, taken the water of life. Dear reader, have you?
J. W. S.
CHRIST bore my sorrows in His life, that He might sympathize; He bore my sins in His death, that He might save. I thus find Him first to be my Saviour, and then my succorer in all the sorrows of the way. W. T. P. W.