Stepping Heavenward [67]
life. The truth is, I hate sentimentalism so cordially, and have besides such an instinct to conceal my deepest, most sacred emotions, that I do not wonder people misunderstand and misjudge me.
"I did not refer to her playfulness," father returned. "Old people must make allowances for the young; they must make allowances. What pains me is that this child, full of life and gayety as she is, sees death approach without that becoming awe and terror which befits mortal man."
Ernest was going to reply, but I broke in eagerly upon his answer:
"It is true that I expressed no anxiety when I believed death to be at hand. I felt none. I had given myself away to Christ, and He had received me and why should I be afraid to take His hand and go where He led me? And it is true that I asked for no counsel. I was too weak to ask questions or to like to have questions asked;, but my mind was bright and wide awake while my body was so feeble, and I took counsel of God. Oh, let me read to you two passages from the life of Caroline Fry which will make you understand how a poor sinner looks upon death. The first is an extract from a letter written after learning that her days on earth were numbered.
"'As many will hear and will not understand, why I want no time of, preparation, often desired by far holier ones than I, I tell you why, and shall tell others, and so shall you. It is not because I am so holy but because I am so sinful. The peculiar character of my religious experience has always been a deep, an agonizing sense of sin; the sin of yesterday, of to-day, confessed with anguish hard to be endured, and cried for pardon that could not be unheard; each day cleansed anew in Jesus' blood, and each day more and more hateful in my own sight; what can I do in death I have not done in life? What, do in this week, when I am told I cannot live, other than I did last week, when knew it not? Alas, there is but one thing undone, to serve Him better; and the death-bed is no place for that. Therefore I say, if I am not ready now, I shall not be by delay, so far as I have to do with it. If He has more to do in me that is His part. I need not ask Him not to spoil His work by too much haste.'
"And these were her dying words, a few days later:
"'This is my bridal-day, the beginning of my life. I wish there should be no mistake about the reason of my desire to depart and to be with Christ. I confess myself the vilest, chiefest of sinners, and I desire to go to Him that I may be rid of the burden of sin-the sin of my nature-not the past, repented of every day, but the present, hourly, momentary sin, which I do commit, or may commit -the sense of which at times drives me half mad with grief!"'
I shall never forget the expression of father's face, as I finished reading these remarkable words. He rose slowly from his seat, and came and kissed me on the forehead. Then he left the room, but returned with a large volume, and pointing to a blank page, requested me to copy them there. He com plains that I do not write legibly, so I printed them as plainly as I could, with my pen.
JUNE 20.-On the first of May, there came to us, with other spring flowers, our little fair-haired, blue-eyed daughter. How rich I felt when I heard Ernest's voice, as he replied to a question asked at the door, proclaim, "Mother and children all well." To think that we, who thought ourselves rich before are made so much richer now!
But she is not large and vigorous, as little Ernest was, and we cannot rejoice in her without some misgiving. Yet her very frailty makes her precious to us. Little Ernest hangs over her with an almost lover-like pride and devotion, and should she live I can imagine what a protector he will be for her. I have had to give up the care of him to Martha. During my illness I do not know what would have become of him but for her. One of the pleasant events of every day at that time, was her bringing him to me in such exquisite order, his face shining with health and happiness, his hair and dress so beautifully neat and clean. Now that she
"I did not refer to her playfulness," father returned. "Old people must make allowances for the young; they must make allowances. What pains me is that this child, full of life and gayety as she is, sees death approach without that becoming awe and terror which befits mortal man."
Ernest was going to reply, but I broke in eagerly upon his answer:
"It is true that I expressed no anxiety when I believed death to be at hand. I felt none. I had given myself away to Christ, and He had received me and why should I be afraid to take His hand and go where He led me? And it is true that I asked for no counsel. I was too weak to ask questions or to like to have questions asked;, but my mind was bright and wide awake while my body was so feeble, and I took counsel of God. Oh, let me read to you two passages from the life of Caroline Fry which will make you understand how a poor sinner looks upon death. The first is an extract from a letter written after learning that her days on earth were numbered.
"'As many will hear and will not understand, why I want no time of, preparation, often desired by far holier ones than I, I tell you why, and shall tell others, and so shall you. It is not because I am so holy but because I am so sinful. The peculiar character of my religious experience has always been a deep, an agonizing sense of sin; the sin of yesterday, of to-day, confessed with anguish hard to be endured, and cried for pardon that could not be unheard; each day cleansed anew in Jesus' blood, and each day more and more hateful in my own sight; what can I do in death I have not done in life? What, do in this week, when I am told I cannot live, other than I did last week, when knew it not? Alas, there is but one thing undone, to serve Him better; and the death-bed is no place for that. Therefore I say, if I am not ready now, I shall not be by delay, so far as I have to do with it. If He has more to do in me that is His part. I need not ask Him not to spoil His work by too much haste.'
"And these were her dying words, a few days later:
"'This is my bridal-day, the beginning of my life. I wish there should be no mistake about the reason of my desire to depart and to be with Christ. I confess myself the vilest, chiefest of sinners, and I desire to go to Him that I may be rid of the burden of sin-the sin of my nature-not the past, repented of every day, but the present, hourly, momentary sin, which I do commit, or may commit -the sense of which at times drives me half mad with grief!"'
I shall never forget the expression of father's face, as I finished reading these remarkable words. He rose slowly from his seat, and came and kissed me on the forehead. Then he left the room, but returned with a large volume, and pointing to a blank page, requested me to copy them there. He com plains that I do not write legibly, so I printed them as plainly as I could, with my pen.
JUNE 20.-On the first of May, there came to us, with other spring flowers, our little fair-haired, blue-eyed daughter. How rich I felt when I heard Ernest's voice, as he replied to a question asked at the door, proclaim, "Mother and children all well." To think that we, who thought ourselves rich before are made so much richer now!
But she is not large and vigorous, as little Ernest was, and we cannot rejoice in her without some misgiving. Yet her very frailty makes her precious to us. Little Ernest hangs over her with an almost lover-like pride and devotion, and should she live I can imagine what a protector he will be for her. I have had to give up the care of him to Martha. During my illness I do not know what would have become of him but for her. One of the pleasant events of every day at that time, was her bringing him to me in such exquisite order, his face shining with health and happiness, his hair and dress so beautifully neat and clean. Now that she