Part 8
faith and patience." Fore-fancy such an end as that to your feeble mind
also.
Did you ever know a family, or, rather, the relics of a family, where
there was just a decrepit old father and a lone daughter left to nurse
him through his second childhood? All his other children are either
married or dead; but both marriage and death have spared Miss
Much-afraid to watch over the dotage-days of Mr. Despondency; till
one summer afternoon the old man fell asleep in his chair to waken
where old men are for ever young. And in a day or two there were two
new graves side by side in the old churchyard. Even death could not
divide this old father and his trusty child. And so when the time was
come for them to depart, they went down together to the brink of the
river. The last words of Mr. Despondency were, "Farewell night and
welcome day." His daughter went through the river singing, but none
could understand what it was she said. Fore-fancy that, all you godly
old men, with a daughter who has made a husband and children to
herself of her old father.
As I hear Old Honest shouting "Grace reigns!" I always remember
what a lady told me about a saying of her poor Irish scullery-girl. The
mistress and the servant were reading George Eliot's Life together in
the kitchen, and when they came to her deathbed, on the pillow of
which Thomas A'Kempis lay open, "Mem," said the girl, "I used to read that old book in the convent; but it is a better book to live upon than to
die upon." Now, that was exactly Old Honest's mind. He lived upon one
book, and then he died upon another. He lived according to the
commandments of God, but he died according to the comforts of the Gospel. Now, we read in his history how that the river at that time
overflowed its banks in some places. But Mr. Honest had in his lifetime
spoken to one Good-conscience to meet him at the river, the which he
also did, and lent him his hand, and so helped him over. All the same,
the last words of Mr. Honest still were, "Grace reigns!" And so he left the world. Forefancy whether or no you are making, as one has said,
"an assignation with terror" at that same river-side.
Standfast was the last of the pilgrims to go over the river.
Standfast was left longest on this side the river because his Master
could best trust him here. His Master had to take away many of His
other servants from the evil to come, but He could trust Standfast. You
can safely trust a man who takes to his knees in every hour of
temptation, as Standfast was wont to do. "This river," he said, "has been a terror to many. Yea, the thoughts of it have often frighted me
also. The waters, indeed, are to the palate bitter, and to the stomach
cold; yet the thoughts of what I am going to, and of the conduct that
awaits me on the other side, doth lie as a glowing coal at my heart. I
see myself now at the end of my journey, and my toilsome days are all
ended. I am going now to see that head that was crowned with thorns,
and that face that was spit upon for me. His name has been to me as a
civet-box, yea, sweeter than all perfumes. His word I did use to gather
for my food, and for antidotes against my faintings. He has held me up,
and I have kept myself from mine iniquities. Yea, my steps hath He
strengthened in the way." Now, while he was thus in discourse his
countenance changed, his strong man bowed down under him, and
after he had said, "Take me, for I come to Thee," he ceased to be seen of
them. Fore-fancy, if you have the face, an end like that for yourself.
This, then, is how Christian and Hopeful and Christiana and Old
Honest and all the rest did in the swelling river. But the important
point is, HOW WILL YOU DO? Have you ever fore-fancied how you will
do? Have you ever, among all your many imaginings, imagined
yourself on your deathbed? Have you ever thought you heard the
doctor whisper, "To-night"? Have you ever lain low in your bed and
listened to the death-rattle in your own throat? And have you still
listened to the awful silence in the house after all was over? Have you
ever shot in imagination the dreadful gulf that stands fixed between
life and death, and between time and eternity? Have you ever tried to get a glimpse beforehand of your own place where you will be an hour
after your death, when they are putting the grave-clothes on your still
warm body, and when they are measuring your corpse for your coffin?
Where will you be by that time? Have you any idea? Can you fancy it?
Did you ever try? And if not, why not? "My lord," wrote Jeremy Taylor to the Earl of Carbery, when sending him the first copy of the Holy
Dying, - "My lord, it is a great art to die well, and that art is to be learnt by men in health; for he that prepares not for death before his last
sickness is like him that begins to study philosophy when he is going
to dispute publicly in the faculty. The precepts of dying well must be
part of the studies of them that live in health, because in other notices
an imperfect study may be supplied by a frequent exercise and a
renewed experience; but here, if we practise imperfectly once, we
shall never recover the error, for we die but once; and therefore it is
necessary that our skill be more exact since it cannot be mended by
another trial." How wise, then, how far-seeing, how practical, and how
urgent is the prophet's challenge and demand. "How wilt thou do in
the swelling of Jordan?"
Well, then, let us be practical before we close, and let us descend
to particulars. Let us take the prophet's question and run it through
some parts and some practices of our daily life as already dying men.
And, to begin with, I have such a great faith in good books, whether we
are to live or die, that I am impelled to ask you all at this point, and
under shelter of this plain-spoken prophet, What books have you laid
in for your deathbed, and for the weeks and months and even years
before your death bed? What do you look forward to be reading when
Jordan is beginning to swell and roll for you and to leap up toward
your doorstep? If you get good from good books - everybody does not
- but supposing you are one of those who do, what books can you
absolutely count upon, without fail, to put you in the best possible
frame for the river, and for the convoy across, and for the ceremonies
of joy on the other side? What special Scriptures will you have read
every day to you? "Read," said John Knox to his weeping wife, "read where I first cast my anchor." An old lady I once knew used to say to
me at every visit, "The Fifty-first Psalm." She was the daughter of a Highland minister, and the wife of a Highland minister, and the mother
of a Highland minister, and of an elder to boot. "The Fifty-first Psalm,"
she said, and sometimes, "One of Hart's hymns also." What is your
favourite psalm and hymn? Mr. James Taylor of Castle Street has
several large-type libraries in his catalogue. Mr. Taylor might start a
much worse paying speculation than a large-type library for the river-
side; or, some select booklets for deathbeds. The series might well
open with "The Ninetieth Psalm" in letters an inch deep. Scholars die as well as illiterates, and there might be provided for them, among
other things, The Phaedo in two languages, Plato's and Jowett's. Then
The Seven Sayings from the Cross. Bellarmine's Art of Dying Well
would stand well beside John Bunyan's Dying Sayings. And, were I the
editor, I would put in Bishop Andrewes' Private Devotions, if only for
my own last use. Then Richard Baxter's Saint's Rest, and John Howe's
Platonico-Puritan book, Blessedness of the Righteous. Then Bernard's
"New Jerusalem," "The Sands of Time are sinking," "Rock of Ages," and such like. These are some of the little books I have within reach of my
bed against the hour when the post blows his first horn for me. You
might tell me some of your deathbed favourites.
Who will be your most welcome minister during your last days
on earth? For whom would you send to-night if the post were
suddenly to sound his horn at your side on your way home from
church? I can well believe it would not be your own minister. I have
known fathers and mothers in this congregation to send for other
ministers than their own minister when terrible trouble came upon
them, and both my conscience and my common sense absolutely
approved of the step they took. Five students were once sitting and
talking together in a city in which there was to be an execution to-
morrow morning. They were talking about the murderer who was to
be executed in the morning, and about the minister he had sent for to
come to see him. And, like students, they began to put it to one
another - Suppose you were to be executed to-morrow, for what
minister in the city, or even in the whole land, would you send? And,
like students again, they said - Let each one write down on a piece of
paper the name of the minister he would choose to be beside him at
the last, and we shall see each man's last choice. They did so, when to
their astonishment it was discovered that they had all written the
same minister's name! I do not know that they all went to his church
every Sabbath while they were young and, well, and not yet under sentence of death. I do not think they did. For when I was in his church
there was only a handful of old and decayed-looking people in it. The
chief part of the congregation seemed to me to be a charity school.
And I gathered from all that a lesson - several lessons, and this among
the rest - that crowded passages do not always wait upon the best
pastors; and this also, that a waft of death soon discovers to us a true
minister from an incompetent and a counterfeit minister.
Writing to one of his correspondents about his correspondent's
long-drawn-out deathbed, Samuel Rutherford said to him, "It is long-
drawn-out that you may have ample time to go over all your old
letters and all your still unsettled accounts before you take ship." Have you any such old letters lying still unanswered? Have you any such old
accounts lying still unsettled? Have you made full reparation and
restitution for all that you and yours have done amiss? Fore-fancy that
you will soon be summoned into His presence who has said:
"herefore, if thou bring thy gift before the altar, and there
rememberest that thy brother hath aught against thee, leave there thy
gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy brother,
and then come and offer thy gift. Agree with thine adversary quickly,
whiles thou art in the way with him." You know all about Zacchaeus. I
need not tell his story over again. But as I write these lines I take up a
London newspaper and my eyes light on these lines: "William Avary
was a man of remarkable gifts, both of mind and character. He
dedicated the residue of his strength wholly to works of piety. In
middle age he failed in business, and in his old age, when better days
came, he looked up such of his old creditors as could be found and
divided among them a sum of several thousand pounds." Look up such
of your old creditors as you can find, and that not in matters of money
alone. And, be sure you begin to do it now, before the horn blows. For,
as sure as you take your keys and open your old repositories, you will
come on things you had completely forgotten that will take more time
and more strength, ay, and more resources, than will then be at your
disposal. Even after you have begun at once and done all that you can
do, you will have to do at last as Samuel Rutherford told George
Gillespie to do: "Hand over all your bills, paid and unpaid, to your
Surety. Give Him the keys of the drawer, and let Him clear it out for
Himself after you are gone."
And then, pray often to God for a clear mind between Him and
you, and for a quick, warm, and heaven-hungry heart at the last. And
take a promise from those who watch beside your bed that they will
not drug and stupefy you even though you should ask for it. Whatever
your pain, and it is all in God's hand, make up your mind, if it be
possible, to bear it. It cannot be greater than the pain of the cross, and
your Saviour would not touch their drugs, however well-intended. He
determined to face the swelling of Jordan and to enter His Father's
house with an unclouded mind. Try your very uttermost to do the
same. I cannot believe that the thief even would have let the gall so
much as touch his lips after Christ had said to him, "To-day thou shalt
be with Me in Paradise!" Well, if your mind was ever clear and keen,
let it be at its clearest and its keenest at the last. Let your mind and
your heart be full of repentance, and faith, and love, and hope, and all
such saying graces, and let them all be at their fullest and brightest
exercise, at that moment. Be on the very tip-toe of expectation as the
end draws near. Another pang, another gasp, one more unutterable
sinking of heart and flesh as if you were going down into the dreadful
pit - and then the abundant entrance, and the beatific vision! What
wilt thou do then? What wilt thou say then? Hast thou thy salutation
and thy song ready? And what will it be?