Part 22 (1/2)

The truth and excellence of the religion of Jesus Christ appear to be remarkably established by the union of similarity with variety, in the effect which it produces on the hearts and lives of true believers. In the grand and essential features of Christian experience, the whole household of G.o.d possess an universal sameness of character, a family likeness, which distinguishes them from all the world besides: yet, in numerous particulars, there also exists a beautiful variety.

On the one hand, in the aged and the young, in the wise and the unlearned, in the rich and the poor; in those of stronger and weaker degrees of mental capacity, in more sanguine or more sedate dispositions; and in a mult.i.tude of otherwise varying circ.u.mstances, there is a striking conformity of principles and feeling to Christ, and to each other. Like the flowers of the field and the garden, they are ”all rooted and grounded” in the soil of the same earth; they are warmed by the same sun, refreshed by the same air, and watered by the same dews.

They each derive nourishment, growth, and increase from the same life- giving Source. As the flower puts forth its leaves and petals, adorns the place which it inhabits with its beauty, and possesses an internal system of qualities, whereby it is enabled to bring forth its seed or fruit in the appointed season; so does the Christian.

But, on the other hand, like the flowers also, some Christians may be said to grow on the mountain tops, some in valleys, some in the waters, and others in dry ground. Different colours, forms, and sizes, distinguish them from each other, and produce a diversity of character and appearance which affords a delightful variety, both for the purposes of use and beauty. Yet is that variety perfectly consistent with their essential unity of nature in the vegetable kingdom, to which they all equally belong.

In another particular they likewise resemble. They both die a natural death. The Lord ever preserves ”a seed to serve him,” from generation to generation; for as one disappears, another springs up to supply his place. But ”it is appointed unto all men once to die.”--Man ”cometh forth like a flower and is cut down: he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not.”--”All flesh is as gra.s.s, and all the glory of man as the flower of the gra.s.s. The gra.s.s withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away.”

In the midst of such diversity of Christian characters there is much to love and admire. I have selected the case of little Jane, as one not undeserving of notice.

It is true, she was only a child--a very poor child--but a child saved by divine grace, enlightened with the purest knowledge, and adorned with unaffected holiness; she was a child, humble, meek, and lowly. She ”found grace in the eyes of the Lord” while she was on earth; and, I doubt not, will be seen on his right hand at the last day. As such, there is preciousness in the character, which will account for my attempting once more to write concerning her, and describe her last moments before she went to her final rest.

At a very early hour on the morning of the following day, I was awoke by the arrival of a messenger, bringing an earnest request that I would immediately go to the child, as her end appeared to be just approaching.

It was not yet day when I left my house to obey the summons. The morning star shone conspicuously clear. The moon cast a mild light over the prospect, but gradually diminished in brightness as the eastern sky became enlightened. The birds were beginning their songs, and seemed ready to welcome the sun's approach. The dew plentifully covered the fields, and hung suspended in drops from the trees and hedges. A few early labourers appeared in the lanes, travelling towards the scene of their daily occupations.

All besides was still and calm. My mind, as I proceeded, was deeply exercised by thoughts concerning the affecting event which I expected soon to witness.

The rays of the morning star were not so beautiful in my sight, as the spiritual l.u.s.tre of this young Christian's character. ”Her night was far spent;” the morning of a ”better day was at hand.” The sun of eternal blessedness was ready to break upon her soul with rising glory. Like the moon, which I saw above me, this child's exemplary deportment had gently cast a useful light over the neighbourhood where she dwelt. Like this moon she had for a season been permitted to s.h.i.+ne amidst the surrounding darkness; and her rays were also reflected from a luminary, in whose native splendour her own would quickly be blended and lost.

The air was cool, but the breezes of the morning were refres.h.i.+ng, and seemed to foretell the approach of a beautiful day. Being accustomed, in my walks, to look for subjects of improving thought and a.s.sociation, I found them in every direction around me as I hastened onwards to the house where Jane lay, waiting for a dismissal from her earthly dwelling.

I felt that the twilight gravity of nature was, at that hour, peculiarly appropriate to the circ.u.mstances of the case; and the more so, because that twilight was significantly adorned with the brilliant sparklings of the star on one hand, and the clear, pale l.u.s.tre of the waning moon on the other.

When I arrived at the house, I found no one below; I paused for a few minutes, and heard the girl's voice very faintly saying, ”Do you think he will come? I should be so glad--so very glad to see him before I die.”

I ascended the stairs--her father, mother, and brother, together with the elderly woman before spoken of, were in the chamber. Jane's countenance bore the marks of speedy dissolution. Yet, although death was manifest in the languid features, there was something more than ever interesting in the whole of her external aspect. The moment she saw me, a renewed vigour beamed in her eye; grateful affection sparkled in the dying face.

Although she had spoken just before I entered, yet for some time afterwards she was silent, but never took her eyes off me. There was animation in her look--there was more--something like a foretaste of heaven seemed to be felt, and gave an inexpressible character of spiritual beauty, even in death.

At length she said, ”This is very kind, sir--I am going fast--I was afraid I should never see you again in this world.”

I said, ”My child, are you resigned to die?”

”Quite.”

”Where is your hope?”

She lifted up her finger, pointed to heaven, and then directed the same downward to her own heart, saying successively as she did so, ”Christ _there_, and Christ _here_.”

These words, accompanied by the action, spoke her meaning more solemnly than can easily be conceived.

A momentary spasm took place. Looking towards her weeping mother, she said, ”I am very cold--but it is no matter--it will soon be over--”

She closed her eyes for about a minute, and, on opening them again, said, ”I wish, sir, when I am gone, you would tell the other children of the parish how good the Lord has been to me, a poor sinner--tell them, that they who seek him early will find him--tell them, that the ways of sin and ignorance are the ways to ruin and h.e.l.l--and pray tell them, sir, from me, that Christ is indeed the Way, the Truth, and the Life--he will in no wise cast out any that come. Tell them that I, a poor girl--”

She was quite exhausted, and sunk for a while into a torpid state, from which, however, she recovered gradually, uttering these expressions: ”Where am I?--I thought I was going--Lord, save me!”

”My dear child, you will soon be for ever in _His_ arms who is now guiding you by his rod and staff through the valley of the shadow of death.”