XXIII.
JANUARY 1, 1851
IT is a great while since I wrote that."God has been just as good as ever"; I want to say that before I say another word.But He has indeed smitten me very sorely.
While we were in the midst of our rejoicings about James and Helen, and the bright future that seemed opening before them, he came home one day very ill.Ernest happened to be in and attended to him at once.But the disease was, at the very outset, so violent, and raged with such absolute fury, that no remedies had any effect.Everything, even now, seems confused in my mind.It seems as if there was a sudden transition from the most brilliant, joyous health, to a brief but fearful struggle for life, speedily followed by the awful mystery and stillness of death.Is it possible, I still ask myself, that four short days wrought an event whose consequences must run through endless years ?-- Poor mother! Poor Helen!-When it was all over, Ido not know what to say of mother but that she behaved and quieted herself like a weaned child.Her sweet composure awed me; I dared not give way to my own vehement, terrible sorrow; in the presence of this Christ-like patience, all noisy demonstrations seemed profane.Ithought no human being was less selfish, more loving than she had been for many years, but the spirit that now took possession of her flowed into her heart and life directly from that great Heart of love, whose depth I had never even begun to sound.There was, therefore, something absolutely divine in her aspect, in the tones of her voice, in the very smile on her face.We could compare its expression to nothing but Stephen, when he, being full of the Holy Ghost, looked up steadfastly to heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing on the right hand of God.As soon as James was gone Helen came to our home; there was never any discussion about it, she came naturally to be one of us.Mother's health, already very frail, gradually failed, and encompassed as I was with cares, I could not be with her constantly.Helen took the place to her of a daughter, and found herself welcomed like one.The atmosphere in which we all lived was one which cannot be described; the love for all of us and for every living thing that flowed in mother's words and tones passed all knowledge.The children's little joys and sorrows interested her exactly as if she was one of themselves; they ran to her with every petty grievance, and every new pleasure.During the time she lived with us she had won many warm friends, particularly among the poor and the suffering.As her strength would no longer allow her to go to them, those who could do so came to her, and I was struck to see she had ceased entirely from giving counsel, and now gave nothing but the most beautiful, tender compassion and sympathy.I saw that she was failing, but flattered myself that her own serenity and our care would prolong her life still for many years.I longed to have my children become old enough to fully appreciate her sanctified character; and I thought she would gradually fade away and be set free, As light winds wandering through groves of bloom, Detach the delicate blossoms from the tree.
But God's thoughts are not as our thoughts not His ways as our ways.
Her feeble body began to suffer from the rudest assaults of pain; day and night, night and day, she lived through a martyrdom in which what might have been a lifetime of suffering was concentrated into a few months.To witness these sufferings was like the sundering of joints and marrow, and once, only once, thank God! my faith in Him staggered and reeled to and fro."How can He look down on such agonies?" Icried in my secret soul; "is this the work of a God of love, of mercy?" Mother seemed to divine my thoughts, for she took my hand tenderly in hers and said, with great difficulty:
"Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.He is just as good as ever." And she smiled.I ran away to Ernest, crying, "Oh, is there nothing you can do for her?""What should a poor mortal do where Christ has done so much, my darling?" he said, taking me in his arms."Let us stand aside and see the glory of God, with our shoes from off our feet." But he went to her with one more desperate effort to relieve her, yet in vain.
Mrs.Embury, of whom mother was fond, and who is always very kind when we are in trouble, came in just then, and after looking on a moment in tears she said to me:
"God knows whom He can trust! He would not lay His hand thus on all His children."Those few words quieted me.Yes, God knows.And now it is all over.
My precious, precious mother has been a saint in heaven more than two years, and has forgotten all the battles she fought on earth, and all her sorrows and all her sufferings in the presence of her Redeemer.
She knew that she was going, and the last words she uttered-and they were spoken with somewhat of the playful, quaint manner in which she had spoken all her life, and with her own bright smile-still sound in my ears:
"I have given God a great deal of trouble, but He is driving me into pasture now!"And then, with her cheek on her hand, she fell asleep, and slept on, till just at sundown she awoke to find herself in the green pasture, the driving all over for ever and ever.
Who by searching can find out God? My dear father entered heaven after a prosperous life path wherein he was unconscious of a pang, and beloved James went bright and fresh and untarnished by conflict straight to the Master's feast.But what a long lifetime of bereavement, sorrow, and suffering was my darling mother's pathway to glory!
Surely her felicity must be greater than theirs, and the crown she has won by such a struggle must be brighter than the stars! And this crown she is even now, while I sit here choked with tears, casting joyfully at the feet of her Saviour!
My sweet sister, my precious little Helen, still nestles in our hearts and in our home.Martha made one passionate appeal to her to return to her, but Ernest interfered:
