Part 2
I then made up the poor’s account, and found the amount to be 181l 16s. 1d thus liberally had she dispensed abroad. But her desire of communicating comfort to the afflicted, was very extensive: I do not think she ever heard of a person in distress, but, if in her power to do it, she, by some means contrived to send relief. To comfort the distressed, was always a real comfort to her. With regard to this world’s wealth, it was no more to her, than dust in the balance. She has often said, and I am sure with great truth, “Gold is no more to me than dust; the gold of Ophir than the stones of the brook.” At another time she would say, “It is not so important what we have, as how we use it.” Indeed she was truly diligent, so to occupy with this and every talent, as to be always well-pleasing in the sight of the Lord.
Her love to every one was so abundant, that she was unwilling to find a fault in any one; but, ever desirous of casting the mantle of love over the failings of each, she would seek out the excellencies of those with whom she was concerned, and would find an excuse for the conduct of any, if the case would admit of it. And while her kindness was thus extensively manifested to all with whom she had any intercourse, her gratitude to others who shewed marks of love to her, was no less; for when her kind friends sent her any thing they thought would be acceptable, it was her study to think how she could return them an equal token of love; and if nothing was brought to her mind to do for them at the time, she would say, “Well, if I can do no more for them, I can pray for them:”—then would she fervently cry to the Lord, that he would repay them for her, and impart to them spiritual blessings for all the temporal good they had communicated to her. I never knew her sit down to partake of any thing that was the gift of a friend, without first praying for the donor. She would have thought herself very guilty to have omitted this, but it was a thing she made such a point of, that I do not think she ever forgot, even in one single instance.
And while her gratitude to the creature was thus evidently discerned, her praise and thanksgiving to the Creator was still more abundant. Never was any one more completely sensible of surrounding mercies, or more fully satisfied with divine appointments. She has for a long time lived in the spirit of praise, frequently saying, “What blessings has the Lord bestowed upon me! how comfortable has he made me in my old age; though I am left here, and my dearly beloved husband, and my Sally, my child, in glory, yet I know no lack; for how has the Lord fulfilled that word, given me so many years ago, _God will make you a comfortable habitation_. {30} And what a comfortable habitation has he made me! all is so suitable, every thing that I want; and such a loving people, I may well say I dwell among my own people: and that the Lord should bring you from a distance, first to be my spiritual child, and now my careful housekeeper, my tender nurse, my faithful friend.”
This was the way that in her common conversation she enumerated the mercies of the Lord; and as the close of life drew nigh, the spirit of praise increased more and more. Not quite three weeks before she was taken from us, she mentioned to some friends, a dream she had had many years ago. She dreamt she was going down a rough road, with a short wall by the side of it, which she leaned upon, and called the wall of salvation: all the light she had, while getting along with difficulty, was a twinkling star. She persevered to the end, but then found a mud-pond, which when she saw, she thought, well, if this is the way, I’ll plunge in; but while she was thinking to do so, in a moment of time, the twinkling star became a bright comet; and by the blazing light it gave, she discovered a clean narrow path by which she was instantly over, she hardly knew how. After our friends were gone, she said to me, “That dreamt came so powerfully to my mind, I could not help repeating it; it is being accomplished now.” Several times after that evening, she said to me, “I am going down the rough walk; this illness has been a long and painful one, but I lean upon the wall of salvation, and the comet will come.” She seemed to be assured, from the time this dream was so impressed upon her mind, that in an instant of time she should be removed from a state of suffering to an inconceivable blaze of glory, that would as much outweigh every spiritual enjoyment upon earth, as the comet in her sleep outshone the twinkling star.
Before this last three weeks of her life, in which such a striking application of her dream was made to her, the enemy had at times suggested what a state of suffering lay before her, if at the end of her affliction she should be long confined to a sick bed; or it might be that I may be so wearied by long fatigue, as not to be able to assist her in that helpless state; and to have had strangers about her would have been a most peculiar trial. But out of all this, how soon did the Lord deliver her: indeed the trial never lasted long, for she knew
“That as her day, her strength had been,”
and believed,
“So it would for ever be.”
One day, when her sufferings were great, she said, “How sweet are the words of the Apostle, The sufferings of this life are not worthy to be compared with the glory that shall follow.” And on the 11th of November she mentioned the divine aid she found in these words, “Call upon me in the time of trouble; so will I hear thee, and thou shalt glorify me:” these were words she frequently mentioned, and sometimes would add, “Yes, my Lord, I will call upon thee; and I shall glorify thee too.”
Another time she said, with peculiar energy, “They that trust in the Lord, shall never be confounded.” And one day, after naming some sentences which she felt a spring of pleasure in, she added, with much animation in her countenance, “And that given so many years ago now comes with fresh power, _Thou shalt walk with me in white_: and when I answered, how can that be, seeing I am not worthy? it was repeated, but thou shalt walk with me in white, for will make thee worthy; I will thoroughly purge away thy dross, and take away thy tin; everlasting life is won, glory is on earth begun.” {34}
One night she spake of finding a powerful application of these words, “I will trust, and will not be afraid, for the Lord Jehovah is my strength and my song; he also is become my salvation.”
On the 18th of November, with much animation she often repeated, “I am thine, and thou art mine, a bond eternal hath us joined!” On the 20th, she said, “Just as I was waking, after my first sleep last night, I felt these words come so powerfully, Sufficient is his arm alone, and our defence is sure:—I instantly answered, _our_, what my friend and me? it then seemed spoken again with still greater weight, Sufficient is his arm alone, and our defence is sure. This (continued she) was at the beginning of the night, and a suffering night it has been; but a night in which I have seen the pleasure of the Lord, and felt his goodness rest upon me.”
Indeed, the goodness of the Lord, and the great things that faith will do, were subjects on which she delighted to dwell. I have often heard her say, “The particular commission the Lord had given her, was to encourage souls to believe:” and herein she was greatly blessed to many.
On the 23d, she many times repeated these words, which she said came to her with unusual sweetness in the night,
My Saviour and King, Thy succour afford, Thy righteousness bring; Thy righteousness wearing, and cleans’d by thy blood, Bold shall I appear in the presence of God.
All this day she had a great degree of fever upon her, and would sometimes say to me, “What were the sweet words the Lord gave me last night?” As soon as I pronounced the first words, “My Saviour,” she would go on with them, and add, “I feel the power of them, though my head was so confused, with this fever, that I could not recollect them.”
She was always exceedingly affectionate to me; and as it pleased God through her means, to kindle the first spark of spiritual life in my soul, I ought also to say, that nothing has ever been wanting on her part to increase the kindled fire, on the contrary, she was always a helper of my faith, as well as the most indulgent friend: numberless are the times she has expressed her strong attachment _to_, and great affection _for_, me. Never was any thing more expressive, than, on the 6th of December, while looking on me with a look of the tenderest affection, she said, “My faithful friend, my dearest friend, ten thousand blessings on her head.” Several other times, especially in the last week of her life, with eyes and hands lifted up to heaven, she would exclaim, “What shall I do for my friend?” She has for years been in the habit of repeating the following verse;
“Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss Has made my cup run o’er; And, in a kind and faithful friend, Has doubled all my store.”
She would often be crying to God for a blessing upon such and such particular souls; and all her relations, though so far from her in body, were to the last interested in her prayers: she would frequently plead with the Lord, that one day she might meet them all in glory. Ever after December begun, she was much inclined to doze, when the cough and the oppression upon her breath would allow her a degree of ease: this she would complain of, saying, “I lose my time; I want every moment to be spent in prayer or praise.”
One day, I think the 6th of December, when waking out of a doze, she said, “I am drawing near to glory:” and soon after, “There is my house and portion fair;” and again, “Jesus come, my hope of glory:” and, after a short pause, “He lifts his hands, and shews that I am graven there.”
On the 7th of December, taking my hand in her’s, she said, “My precious, my invaluable friend, I have prayed that light and wisdom may guide you in all, in every difficulty, and it will be so, I know it will; my prayer for thee is heard, my choice friend.” This afternoon Mrs. Harper called to see her, but finding her much inclined to doze, she soon left the room: when Mrs. Fletcher opened her eyes, and found she was gone, she said, “O! she’s gone, without a parting word; I should have taken leave of her.” As Mrs. H. was but just gone, I called her back: she then took her by the hand, and said, “May the Lord be abundantly with you, and your daughter; and I pray for your son too.” All this day, at every waking interval, she would be saying, “What mercies! Surrounded with mercies! how full of mercies I am!” All her soul seemed lost in love and praise.
The day following, the 8th, was as the day before, a day of praise for fullness of blessing; after saying, “What mercies I am surrounded with! the use of my hands, what a comfort! how different would it be if I was not able to help myself; and with how many this is the case, who have illnesses that take away the power of helping themselves with their own hands; but I can use mine, and what a mercy!”—then, affectionately looking at me, she continued, “and what a comfort art thou, my choice friend! and the love of Jesus, O how precious!” Mrs. Perks was this evening in the room with her, but she was too heavy to converse; on Mrs. Perks going, however, she came quite to herself, and said, “The Lord bless you, your partner, and children.” Mrs. Perks kindly offered to sit up, but she would never hear of any one sitting up with her till (she said) she felt the need of more help than I could give. My sister, also, was desirous of being in the room, but this she would not admit of.
All this day her breathing was exceedingly difficult: in the morning she had walked into the other room, as usual, with only the help of my arm; at the middle of the day she wished to go into the chamber again, and I led her, as at other times; but she was now weaker, and I could scarcely keep her from falling: I therefore asked her to sit down in a chair, which she did, and I wheeled her back again: with this she was much pleased, and said, the exercise had done her good. At dinner she eat a small bit of light pudding, with as much appetite as usual, but she had taken very little for some time. All the afternoon she was extremely ill, either hot to a great degree, shivering with cold, or very drowsy.
But through all, her mouth was full of the loving kindness of the Lord. She said she would not go to bed till after ten o’clock. We always prayed together before we went into the chamber, her breath being so greatly oppressed: she prayed very sweetly, but short, and then said, “Now you call upon the Lord; I can enjoy your prayer, though not able to speak:” I did so, and found an uncommon degree of liberty while pleading the gracious promises made to the people of God. When I had ended, she said it had been to her soul a peculiar time of enjoyment, while I was calling upon the Lord; and concluded saying, “O this has done me good.” In the afternoon, hearing that Dr. Yonge, (who has always shewn her the greatest attention,) was ill, she twice prayed particularly for him.
When we were ready to go into the chamber, and it was after ten, I got her into the chair, but she was now weaker than at noon; however I wheeled her to the bed side, and could not but look upon her as dying; and indeed so she considered herself, for when got into bed, she said, “My love, this is the last time I shall get into bed; it has been hard work to get in, but it is work I shall do no more: this oppression upon my breath cannot last long, but all is well; the Lord will shower down ten thousand blessings upon thee, my tender nurse, my kind friend.”
After these and many more kind expressions to the same effect, and having embraced her, and put all her things as usual, she desired I would make haste to bed. I entreated her to let me sit up, repeatedly saying, “Do let me watch with you this one night:” but with all the tenderness imaginable, yet with that degree of firmness which made me unwilling to urge the request further, she said, “Go to bed; you have done all for me you can do, and you know you can be with me in a moment if I want you; but if you sit up, it will make me uncomfortable: I cannot rest without you go to bed.” I told her I had a few things to do, before I could get into bed; she replied, “Then make haste and do them, for I want you in bed: I cannot rest till I know you are in bed.” After I had made all the excuses I could for remaining up, and looking upon her dear countenance as long as her kind concern for me would admit, she still urged my going to bed, and I therefore laid me within the bed-clothes, without taking my own off; and when she again put the question, “Are you my love in bed?” I answered “Yes:” she then said, “That’s right, now if I can rest I will; but let our hearts be united in prayer, and the Lord bless both thee and me.”
These were the last words her beloved lips uttered; for an hour after this, about one o’clock in the morning of December 9th, the noise her breath had so long made, ceased. I thought, is she dropped asleep? it immediately came to my mind, “Asleep in Jesus: see a soul escape to bliss.” I went directly to her bed side, where I found the beloved body without the immortal spirit, which had entered the realms of endless day. My feelings are not to be described; I clung to the casket of the saint, I knelt down by the side of it, and cried to him who had just now called home the spirit of my friend, that the mantle might rest on me. At length I thought I should injure her dear remains, if I did not call the family up; I therefore went and called my sister and the servant, at half past one; after which I sent for Mrs. Perks, who kindly came over immediately. I never left the chamber, while any thing could be done for her: I had promised to be with her to the last, and the Lord enabled me so to do.
Her countenance was as sweet a one as was ever seen in death. There was at last neither sigh, groan, or struggle, but all the appearance of a person in the most composed slumber. When I first undrew the curtain, and saw her dear head dropped off the pillow, and looking so sweetly composed, I could not persuade myself the spirit was fled, till I took her in my arms, and found no motion left. I then perceived, the moment she had so much longed for, had arrived; for I think I have heard her some hundreds of times exclaim, with the most vehement desire, “O, my Jesus, when shall I fly to thy arms!” She was always looking and waiting for the happy moment when she should gain the blissful shore, and
“See the Lamb in glory stand, Encircled with his radiant band, And join the angelic pow’rs.”
Well,
“All that height of glorious bliss Her everlasting portion is, And all that heaven is her’s.”
For the last two years of her life she was remarkably partial to the two following hymns of Mr. Wesley’s; but as the print of the book they were in was small and pale, I wrote them out upon a sheet of paper, which lay in a desk by her side, to the last. These she greatly delighted in, calling them, her sweet hymns. As they are not in our common hymn books, I here insert them.
FIRST HYMN.
AND shall I, Lord, the cup decline, So wisely mixt by Love divine, And tasted first by thee The bitter draught thou drankest up, And but this single, sacred drop, Hast thou reserved for me.
Lord, I receive it at thy hand, And bear, by thy benign command, The salutary pain: With thee to live, I gladly die And suffer here, above the sky With my dear Lord to reign.
Here only can I shew my love, By suffering, my obedience prove, And when thy heaven I share, I cannot mourn for Jesu’s sake, I cannot there thy cup partake, I cannot suffer there.
Full gladly, then, for thee I grieve, The honor of thy cross receive, And bless the happy load; Who would not in thy footsteps tread, Who would not bow with thee his head, And sympathize with God.
SECOND HYMN.
JESUS! thy Sovereign Name I bless! Sorrow is joy, and pain is ease, To those that trust in thee: All things together work for good, To me, the purchase of thy blood, The much-loved sinner, me.
With thee, O Christ, on earth I reign, In all the awful pomp of pain; But send me piercing eyes, Th’ eternal things unseen to see, The crown of life prepared for me, And glittering in the skies.
As sure as now thy cross I bear, I shall thy heavenly kingdom share, And take my seat above; Celestial joy is in this pain, It tells me, I with thee shall reign, In everlasting love.
The more my sufferings here increase, The greater is my future bliss; And thou my griefs dost tell; They in thy book are noted down, A jewel added to my crown Is every pain I feel.
So be it, then, if thou ordain, Crowd all my happy life with pain, And let me daily die: I bow, and bless the sacred sign, And bear the cross, by grace divine, Which lifts me to the sky.
Having before mentioned the unwearied love and strong attachment she so invariably manifested towards me, I will here insert a short letter or two, which she wrote in different years, but each in the season of bodily affliction, when, to human appearance, death was nigh at hand. The first was occasioned by my expressing a wish, if I died at Madeley, that I might be buried in the same grave with her. After we had been conversing on the subject, I was called away from her, and on my return found on the table, a paper, on which she had written the following words:
My dear Friend,
As you have expressed a wish to be buried in our grave, if you should continue to wish it, I here declare my _desire_ that it should _be so_. You are to me a faithful helper, and as a gracious gift of providence, I esteem and value you: and my prayer is, that after my death you may meet with the same measure from others, that you have measured unto me.
MARY FLETCHER.
I think this was written in the year 1802 or 3, but not being dated, am not certain. The following, I think was in 1806 or 7, but it also has no date.
My dear and faithful friend,
I wish to give you comfort, when I am taken from you; and to assure you how great a favor I consider your being given to me, in the place of my dear Sally, now in glory. It is often said, God takes nothing from us, but he gives something better in the place; and so it has been, for though she was the most disinterested and tender friend, yet, in many things you are a still further help than she was able to be. Your tender care and attention to me, encourages me to hope, you will never want assistance, nor be left friendless; for the promise is, “what you do unto another, shall be done unto you.” We are joined together in the Lord, and shall therefore be eternally one. My beloved husband and me, my friend Ryan, my Sally, and you, shall be an eternal knot which can never be separated. You know what proofs I have had that my friends in heaven do not forget me; therefore, believe we are waiting for you, yea, and longing to hail you on the shore. I might have been far more useful than I have been; but I cast all my sins on my atoning God. I pray the Spirit may richly be poured on you; and may showers of love and grace descend on the dear people. You are called to labour _here_, and God will be with you. I do believe the Lord will answer my prayer, by supplying all your wants. I wish I could do more for you, but I commend you to him who hath said, “No manner of thing that is good shall be withheld.”
Grieve not, my dear, for me. You shall soon be with me; and perhaps I shall be oftener with you than you think for; the spirits of the departed are very near to us. “We are come to them,” says the Apostle.
The Lord bless and keep you, and return all your kindness a hundred fold, prays your most faithful
everlasting friend, M. FLETCHER.
Another of these kind tokens of her love was dated February 11th, 1810, at which time it was thought she would very soon be removed from us, but the gracious Lord had compassion upon his people, and spared her to us for above five years longer: and, O! how was every year fraught with the fruits of righteousness. Well, she laboured, and while she did so, kept her eye upon the Saviour, whose example
“She tracked, the world she disdain’d. And constantly trampled on pleasure and pain.”
But to return to her kind epistle, written with a view to comfort me in the separation likely to take place:
Feb. 11th, 1810.
My very dear child,
The gracious gift of God to me, how do I feel for you, who I am sensible will feel a great deal in my loss; but I know the Lord will be with you, and count your every hair. Let not Satan tempt you, that you could have done any thing more for me than you have done; for you have been the most tender creature in the world to me, and a great comfort. I wish I could have done more for you in a temporal way, but my gracious father, who hath cared for me, will care for you, I am confident. To his gracious protection, I commit you: we shall be one in spirit, though divided in the flesh. You may perhaps stay a little behind me, to help the dear souls in Madeley, and I trust the Spirit of the Lord will be poured out on all you are called to do in his cause, and then we shall be again re-united to part no more.