THE DAIRYMAN’S DAUGHTER
A true account by Rev.Legh Richmond of the Isle of Wight (1772–1825)
[Reproduced (with minor editing) from a booklet produced by Academy Books,U.K., 1994, with written permission.]
Part 2 of 2

Final Days

I one day received a short note to the following effect:

Dear Sir,

I should be very glad, if your convenience will allow, that you would come andsee a poor unworthy sinner: my hourglass is nearly run out, but I hope I canask Christ to be precious to my soul. Your conversation has often been blessedto me, and I now feel the need of it more than ever. My father and mother sendtheir duty to you.

From your obedient and unworthy servant,
Elizabeth Wallbridge.

I obeyed the summons that same afternoon. On my arrival at the dairyman’scottage, his wife opened the door. The tears streamed down her cheeks, as shesilently shook her head. Her heart was full.

She tried to speak, but could not. I took her by the hand, and said: “My goodfriend, all is right, and as the Lord of wisdom and mercy directs.”

“Oh, my Betsy, my dear girl, is so bad, sir; what shall I do without her? Ithought I should have gone first to the grave, but….”

“But the Lord sees good that, before you died yourself, you should behold yourchild safe home to glory. Is there no mercy in this?”

“Oh, sir, I am very old and weak, and she is a dear child, the staff and propof a poor old creature, as I am.”

As I advanced, I saw Elizabeth sitting by the fireside, supported in anarmchair by pillows, with every mark of rapid decline and approaching death.She appeared to me within three or four weeks at the farthest from her end. Asweet smile of friendly complacency enlightened her pale countenance, as shesaid: “This is very kind indeed, sir, to come so soon after I sent to you. Youfind me daily wasting away, and I cannot have long to continue here. My fleshand my heart fail, but God is the strength of my weak heart, and I trust willbe my portion for ever.”

The conversation which followed was occasionally interrupted by her cough andwant of breath. Her tone of voice was clear, though feeble; her manner solemnand collected; and her eye, though more dim than formerly, by no means wantingin liveliness as she spoke. I had frequently admired the superior language in whichshe expressed her ideas, as well as the scriptural consistency with which shecommunicated her thoughts. She had a good natural understanding, and grace, asis generally the case, had much improved it. On the present occasion I couldnot help thinking she was peculiarly favoured. The whole strength of grace andnature seemed to be in full exercise.

After taking my seat between the daughter and the mother (the latter fixing herfond eyes upon her child with great anxiety while we were conversing), I saidto Elizabeth,

“I hope you enjoy a sense of the divine presence, and canrest all upon Him who has ‘been with thee,’ and has kept ‘thee in all placeswhither thou has gone,’ and will bring thee into ‘the land of pure delight,where saints immortal reign.’”

“Sir, I think I can. My mind has lately been sometimes clouded, but I believeit has been partly owing to the great weakness and suffering of my bodilyframe, and partly to the envy of my spiritual enemy, who wants to persuade methat Christ has no love for me, and that I have been a self-deceiver.”

“And do you give way to his suggestions? Can you doubt, amidst such numeroustokens of past and present mercy?”

“No, sir, I mostly am enabled to preserve a clear evidence of His love. I donot wish to add to my other sins that of denying His manifest goodness to mysoul. I would acknowledge it to His praise and glory.”

“What is your present view of the state in which you were before He called youby His grace?”

“Sir, I was a proud; thoughtless girl, fond of dress and finery; I loved theworld and the things that are in the world; I lived in service among worldlypeople, and never had the happiness of being in a family where worship wasregarded and the souls of the servants cared for, either by master or mistress.I went once on a Sunday to church, more to see and be seen than to pray, orhear the Word of God. I thought I was quite good enough to be saved, anddisliked and often laughed at religious people. I was in great darkness; I knewnothing of the way of salvation; I never prayed, nor was sensible of the awfuldanger of a prayerless state. I wished to maintain the character of a goodservant, and was much lifted up whenever I met with applause. I was tolerablymoral and decent in my conduct, from motives of carnal and worldly policy; butI was a stranger to God and Christ; I neglected my soul: and had I died in sucha state, hell must, and would justly, have been my portion.”

“How long is it since you heard the sermon which you hope, through God’s blessing,affected your conversion?”

“About five years ago.”

“How was it brought about?”

“It was repeated that a Mr. —, who was detained by contrary winds fromembarking on board ship, as chaplain, to a distant part of the world, was topreach at — church. Many advised me not to go, for fear he should turn my head;as they said he held strange notions. But curiosity, and an opportunity ofappearing in a new gown, which I was very proud of, induced me to ask leave togo. Indeed, sir, I had no better motives than vanity and curiosity. Yet thus itpleased the Lord to order it for His own glory.

“I accordingly went to church and saw a great crowd of people collectedtogether. I often think of the contrary states of my mind during the former andlatter part of the service. For a while, regardless of the worship of God, Ilooked around me, and was anxious to attract notice to myself. My dress, likethat too many gay, vain, and silly girls, was much above my station, and verydifferent from that which becomes an humble sinner who has a modest sense ofpropriety and decency. The state of my mind was visible enough from the foolishfinery of my apparel. At length the clergyman gave out his text: ‘Be ye clothedwith humility.’ He drew a comparison between the clothing of the body and thatof the soul. At a very early part of his discourse I began to feel ashamed ofmy passion for fine dressing and apparel; but when he came to describe thegarment of salvation with which a Christian is clothed, I felt a powerfuldiscovery of the nakedness of my own soul. I saw that I had neither thehumility mentioned in the text, nor any one part of the true Christiancharacter. I looked at my gay dress, and blushed for shame on account of mypride. I looked at the minister, and he seemed to be as a messenger sent fromheaven to open my eyes. I looked at the congregation, and wondered whether anyone else felt as I did. I looked at my heart, and it appeared full of iniquity.I trembled as he spoke, and yet I felt a great drawing of heart to the words heuttered.

“He opened the riches of divine grace in God’s method of saving the sinner. Iwas astonished at what I had been doing all the days of my life. He describedthe meek, lowly, and humble example of Christ; I felt proud, lofty, vain and self-consequential.He represented Christ as ‘Wisdom’; I felt my ignorance. He held Him forth as‘Righteousness’; I was convinced of my own guilt. He proved Him to be‘Sanctification’; I saw my corruption. He proclaimed Him as ‘Redemption’; Ifelt my slavery to sin and my captivity to Satan. He concluded with an animatedaddress to sinners, in which he exhorted them to flee from the wrath to come,to cast off the love of outward ornaments, to put on Christ, and be clothedwith true humility.

“From that hour I never lost sight of the value of my soul and the danger of asinful state. I inwardly blessed God for the sermon, although my mind was in astate of great confusion.

“The preacher had brought forward the ruling passion of my heart which waspride in outward dress; and by the grace of God it was made instrumental to theawakening of my soul. Happy, sir, would I be if many a poor girl like myselfwere turned from the love of outward adorning and putting on of fine apparel,to seek that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quietspirit, which is in the sight of God of great price.

“The greater part of the congregation, unused to such faithful and scripturalsermons, disliked and complained of the severity of the preacher; while a few,as I afterwards found, like myself, were deeply affected, and earnestly wishedto hear him again. But he preached there no more.

“From that time I was led, through a course of private prayer, reading, andmeditation, to see my lost estate as a sinner, and the great mercy of God,through Jesus Christ in raising sinful dust and ashes to a share in theglorious happiness of heaven. And oh, sir, what a Saviour have I found! He ismore than I could ask or desire. In His fullness I have found all that my povertycould need; in His bosom I have found a resting place from all sin and sorrow;in His Word I have found strength against doubt and unbelief.”

“Were you not soon convinced,” said I, “that your salvation must be an act ofentire grace on the part of God, wholly independent of your own previous worksor deservings?”

“Dear sir, what were my works before I heard that sermon but evil, carnal,selfish, and ungodly? The thoughts of my heart, from my youth upward, were onlyevil, and that continually. And my deservings, what were they but thedeservings of a fallen, depraved, careless soul that regards neither law norgospel? Yes, sir, I immediately saw that, if ever I was saved, it must be bythe free mercy of God, and that the whole praise and honour of the work wouldbe His from first to last.”

“What change did you perceive in yourself with respect to the world?”

“It appeared all vanity and vexation of spirit. I found it necessary to mypeace of mind to ‘come out from among them, and be separate.’ I gave myself toprayer; and many a precious hour of secret delight I enjoyed in communion withGod. Often I mourned over my sins, and sometime had a great conflict throughunbelief, fear, temptation, to return back again to my old ways, and a varietyof difficulties which lay in my way. But He who loved me with an everlastinglove drew me by His loving kindness, showed me the way of peace, graduallystrengthened me in my resolutions of leading a new life, and taught me that,while without Him I could do nothing, I yet might do all things through Hisstrength.”

“Did you not find many difficulties in your situation, owing to your change ofprinciple and practice?”

“Yes, sir, every day of my life. I was laughed at by some, scolded at byothers, scorned by enemies, and pitied by friends. I was called hypocrite,saint, false deceiver, and many more names, which were meant to render mehateful in the sight of the world. But I esteemed the reproach of the cross anhonour. I forgave and prayed for my persecutors, and remembered how very latelyI had acted the same part towards others myself. I thought also that Christendured the contradiction of sinners; and as the disciple is not above hisMaster, I was glad to be in any way conformed to His sufferings.”

“Did you not then feel for your relatives at home?”

“Yes, that I did indeed, sir; they were never out of my thoughts. I prayedcontinually for them, and had a longing desire to do them good. In particular,I felt for my father and mother, as they were getting into years, and were veryignorant and dark in matters of religion.”

“Aye,” interrupted her mother, sobbing, “ignorant and dark, sinful andmiserable we were till this dear Betsy… this dear Betsy… this dear child, sir,brought Christ Jesus home to her poor father and mother’s house.”

“No, dearest mother, say rather Christ Jesus brought your poor daughter home totell you what He had done for her soul, and I hope to do the same for your.”

At this moment the dairyman came in with two pails of milk hanging from theyoke on his shoulders. He had stood behind the half-opened door for a fewminutes, and heard the last sentences spoken by his wife and daughter.

“Blessing and mercy upon her,” said he, “it is very true; she would leave agood place of service on purpose to live with us, that she might help us bothin soul and body. Sir, don’t she look very ill? I think, sir, we shan’t haveher here long.”

“Leave that to the Lord,” said Elizabeth. “All our times are in His hand, andhappy it is that they are. I am willing to go; are not you willing, my father,to part with me into His hands who gave me to you at first?”

“Ask me any question in the world but that,” said the weeping father.

“I know,” said she, “you wish me to be happy.”

“I do, I do,” answered he: “let the Lord do with you and us as best pleasesHim.”

I then asked her on what her present consolations chiefly depended, in theprospect of approaching death.

“Entirely, sir, on my view of Christ. When I look at myself, many sins,infirmities, and imperfections cloud the image of Christ, which I want to seein my own heart. But when I look at the Saviour Himself, He is altogetherlovely: there is not one spot in His countenance, nor one cloud over all Hisperfections. I think of His coming in the flesh, and it reconciles me to thesufferings of the body; for He had them as well as I. I think of Histemptations, and believe that He is able to succour when I am tempted. Then Ithink of His cross, and learn to bear my own. I reflect on His death, and longto die unto sin, so that it may no longer have dominion over me. I sometimesthink on His resurrection, and trust that He has given me a part in it, for Ifeel that my affections are set upon things above. Chiefly I take comfort inthinking of Him as at the right hand of the Father, pleading my cause, andrendering acceptable even my feeble prayers, both for myself and, I hope, formy dear friends.

“These are the views which, through mercy, I have of my Saviour’s goodness; andthey have made me wish and strive in my poor way to serve Him, to give myselfup to Him, and to labour to do my duty in that state of life into which it haspleased Him to call me.

“A thousand times I should have fallen and fainted, if He had not upheld me. Ifeel that I am nothing without Him. He is all in all.

“Just so far as I can cast my care upon Him, I find strength to do His will.May He give me grace to trust Him to the last moment. I do not fear death,because I believe He has taken away its sting. And oh, what happiness beyond!Tell me, sir, whether you think I am right. I hope I am under no delusion. Idare not look, for my hope, at anything short of the entire fullness of Christ.When I ask my own heart a question, I am afraid to trust it, for it istreacherous, and has often deceived me. But when I ask Christ, He answers mewith promises which strengthen and refresh me, and leave me no room to doubtHis power and will to save. I am in His hands, and would remain there; and I dobelieve that He will never leave nor forsake me, but will perfect the thingthat concerns me. He loved me and gave Himself for me, and I believe that Hisgifts and calling are without repentance. In this hope I live, in this I wishto die.”

I looked around me as she was speaking, and thought, “Surely this is none otherthan the house of God and the gate of heaven.” Everything appeared neat,cleanly, and interesting. The afternoon had been rather overcast with darkclouds; but just now the setting sun shone brightly and rather suddenly intothe room. It was reflected from three or four rows of bright pewter plates andwhite earthenware arranged on shelves against the wall; it also gave brilliancyto a few prints of sacred subjects that hung there also, and served formonitors of the birth, baptism, crucifixion, and resurrection of Christ. Alarge map of Jerusalem, and a hieroglyphic of “the old and new man,” completedthe decorations on that side of the room. Clean as was the whitewashed wall, itwas no cleaner than the rest of the place and its furniture. Seldom had the sunenlightened a house where order and general neatness—those sure attendants ofpious and decent poverty—were more conspicuous.

This gleam of setting sunshine was emblematical of the bright and serene closeof this young Christian’s departing season. One ray happened to be reflectedfrom a little looking-glass upon the face of the young woman. Amidst her pallidand decaying features there appeared a calm resignation, triumphant confidence,unaffected humility, and tender anxiety, which fully declared the feelings ofher heart.

Some further affectionate conversation and a short prayer closed thisinterview.

As I rode home by departing daylight, a solemn tranquillity reigned throughoutthe scene. The gentle lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep just penned intheir folds, the humming of the insects of the night, the distant murmur of thesea, the last notes of the birds of day, and the first warblings of thenightingale, broke upon the ear, and served rather to increase than lessen thepeaceful serenity of the evening and its corresponding effects on my own mind.It invited and cherished just such meditations as my visit had alreadyinspired. Natural scenery, when viewed in a Christian mirror, frequentlyaffords very beautiful illustrations of divine truth. We are highly favouredwhen we can enjoy them, and at the same time draw near to God in them.

Dying Moments

Soon after this I received a hasty summons, to inform me that my young friendwas dying. It was brought by a soldier, whose countenance bespoke seriousness,and sense, and piety.

“I am sent, sir, by the father and mother of Elizabeth Wallbridge, at her ownparticular request, to say how much they all wish to see you. She is goinghome, sir, very fast indeed.”

“Have you known her long?” I replied.

“About a month, sir; I love to visit the sick, and hearing of her case from aperson who lives close by our camp, I went to see her. I bless God that ever Idid go. Her conversation has been very profitable to me.”

“I rejoice,” said I, “to see in you, as I trust, a brother soldier. Though wediffer in our outward regimentals, I hope we serve under the same spiritualCaptain. I will go with you.”

My horse was soon ready. My military companion walked by my side, and gratifiedme with very sensible and pious conversation. He related some remarkabletestimonies of the excellent disposition of the dairyman’s daughter, as theyappeared from some recent intercourse which he had had with her.

“She is a bright diamond, sir,” said the soldier, “and will soon shine brighterthan any diamond upon earth.” Conversation beguiled the distance and shortenedthe apparent time of our journey till we were nearly arrived at the dairyman’scottage.

As we approached it, we became silent. Thoughts of death, eternity, andsalvation, inspired by the sight of a house where a dying believer lay, filledmy own mind, and, I doubt not, that of my companion also. No living object yetappeared, except the dairyman’s dog, keeping a kind of mute watch at the door;for he did not, as formerly, bark at my approach. He seemed to partake so farof the feelings appropriate to the circumstance of the family as not to wish togive a hasty or painful alarm. He came forward to the little wicket-gate, thenlooked back at the house door, as if conscious there was sorrow within. It wasas if he wanted to say, “Tread softly over the threshold, as you enter thehouse of mourning; for my master’s heart is full of grief.”

A solemn serenity appeared to surround the whole place. It was only interruptedby the breeze passing through the large elm trees which stood near the house,which my imagination indulged itself in thinking were plaintive sighs ofsorrow. I gently opened the door; no one appeared, and all was still silent.The soldier followed; we came to the foot of the stairs.

“They are come,” said a voice which I knew to be the father’s; “they are come.”He appeared at the top; I gave him my hand, and said nothing. On entering theroom above, I saw the aged mother and her son supporting the much-loveddaughter and sister; the son’s wife sat weeping in a window-seat, with a childon her lap; two or three persons attended in the room to discharge any officewhich friendship or necessity might require. I sat down by the bedside. Themother could not weep, but now and then sighed deeply, as she alternatelylooked at Elizabeth and at me. The big tear rolled down the brother’s cheek,and testified an affectionate regard. The good old man stood at the foot of thebed, leaning upon the post, and unable to take his eyes off the child from whomhe was so soon to part.

Elizabeth’s eyes were closed, and as yet she perceived me not. But over herface, though pale, sunk, and hollow, the peace of God, which passeth allunderstanding, had cast a triumphant calm.

The soldier, after a short pause, silently reached out his Bible towards me,pointing with his finger at 1 Corinthians 15:55–57. I then broke silence byreading the passage, “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thyvictory? The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. Butthanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

At the sound of these words her eyes opened, and something like a ray of divinelight beamed on her countenance, as she said, “Victory, victory! through ourLord Jesus Christ.”

She relapsed again, taking no further notice of any one present.

“God be praised for the triumph of faith,” I said.

“Amen,” replied the soldier.

The dairyman’s uplifted eye showed that the Amen was in his heart, though histongue failed to utter it. A short struggling for breath took place in thedying young woman, which was soon over, and then I said to her:

“My dear friend, do you not feel that you are supported?”

“The Lord deals very gently with me,” she replied.

“Are not His promises now very precious to you?”

“They are all yea and amen in Christ Jesus.”

“Are you in much bodily pain?”

“So little that I almost forget it.”

“How good the Lord is!”

“And how unworthy am I!”

“You are going to see Him as He is.”

“I think… I hope… I believe that I am.”

She again fell into a short slumber.

Looking at her mother, I said, “What a mercy to have a child so near heaven asyours is!”

“And what a mercy,” she replied in broken accents, “if her poor old mother mightbut follow her there! But, sir, it is so hard to part….”

“I hope through grace, by faith, you will soon meet, to part no more; it willbe but a little while.”

“Sir,” said the dairyman, “that thought supports me, and the Lord’s goodnessmakes me feel more reconciled than I was.”

“Father,… mother,” said the reviving daughter, “He is good to me; trust Him,praise Him evermore.”

“Sir,” added she in a faint voice, “I want to thank you for your kindness tome… I want to ask a favour;… you buried my sister… will you do the same forme?”

“All shall be as you wish, if God permit,” I replied.

“Thank you, sir, thank you. I have another favour to ask: When I am gone,remember my father and mother. They are old, but I hope the good work is begunin their souls. My prayers are heard… Pray come and see them… I cannot speakmuch, but I want to speak for their sakes. Sir, remember them.”

The aged parents now sighed and sobbed aloud, uttering broken sentence, andgained some relief by such an expression of their feelings.

At length I said to Elizabeth, “Do you experience any doubts or temptations onthe subject of your eternal safety?”

“No, sir; the Lord deals very gently with me, and gives me peace.”

“What are your views of the dark valley of death, now that you are passingthrough it?”

“It is not dark.”

“Why so?”

“My Lord is there, and He is my light and my salvation.”

“Have you any fears of more bodily suffering?”

“The Lord deals so gently with me, Lord, I am Thine, save me… Bless Jesus…Blessed Saviour… His blood cleanseth from all sin… Who shall separate?… Hisname is Wonderful… Thanks be to God… He giveth us the victory… I, even I, amsaved… O grace, mercy, and wonder—Lord, receive my spirit.”

“Dear sir… dear father, mother, friends, I am going… but all is well, well,well….”

She relapsed again. We knelt down to prayer: the Lord was in the midst of us,and blessed us.

She did not again revive while I remained, nor ever speak any more words, whichcould be understood. She slumbered for about ten hours, and at last sweetlyfell asleep in the arms of the Lord who had dealt so gently with her.

I left the house an hour after she had ceased to speak.

I pressed her hand as I was taking leave, and said, “Christ is the resurrectionand the life.” She gently returned the pressure, but could neither open hereyes nor utter a reply. I never had witnessed a scene so impressive as thisbefore. It completely filled my imagination as I returned home.

“Farewell,” thought I, “dear friend, till the morning of an eternal day shallrenew our personal intercourse. Thou wast a brand plucked from the burning,that thou mightest become a star shining in the firmament of glory. I have seenthe light and thy good works, and I will therefore glorify our Father which isin heaven. I have seen in thy example what it is to be a sinner freely saved bygrace. I have learned from thee, as in a living mirror, who it is that begins,continues, and ends the work of faith and love. Jesus is all in all; He willand shall be glorified. He won the crown, and alone deserves to wear it. May noone attempt to rob Him of His glory; He saves, and saves to the uttermost.Farewell, dear sister in the Lord. Thy flesh and thy heart may fail; but God isthe strength of thy heart, and shall be thy portion for ever.”

Another Funeral

I was soon called to attend the funeral of my friend, who breathed her lastshortly after my visit. Many pleasing yet melancholy thoughts were connectedwith the fulfilment of this task. I retraced the numerous and important conversationwhich I had held with her. But these could now no longer be held on earth. Ireflected on the interesting and improving nature of Christian friendships,whether formed in palaces or in cottages; and felt thankful that I had so longenjoyed that privilege with the subject of this memorial. I indulged a sigh,for a moment, on thinking that I could no longer hear the great truths ofChristianity uttered by one who had drunk so deep at the waters of life. Butthe rising murmur was checked by the animating thought, “She is gone to eternalrest—could I wish to bring her back to this vale of tears?”

As I travelled onward to the house where lay her remains in solemn preparationfor the grave, the first sound of a tolling bell struck my ear. It proceededfrom a village church in the valley directly beneath the ridge of a high hill,over which I had taken my way—it was Elizabeth’s funeral knell. It was a solemnsound, but it seemed to proclaim at once the blessedness of the dead who die inthe Lord, and the necessity of the living pondering these things and layingthem to heart.

On entering the cottage, I found that several Christian friends, from differentparts of the neighbourhood, had assembled together to show their last tributeof esteem and regard to the memory of the dairyman’s daughter.

I was requested to go into the chamber, where the relatives and a few otherfriends were gone to take a last look at the remains of Elizabeth.

If there be a moment when Christ and salvation, death, judgement, heaven andhell appear more than ever to be momentous subjects of meditation, it is thatwhich brings us to the side of a coffin containing the body of a departedbeliever.

Elizabeth’s features were altered, but much of her likeness remained. Herfather and mother sat at the head, her brother at the foot of the coffin,manifesting their deep and unfeigned sorrow. The poor mother cried and sobbedaloud. The weakness and infirmity of old age added a character to her sorrow,which called for much tenderness and compassion.

A remarkably decent-looking woman, who had the management of the few simplethough solemn ceremonies, which the case required, advanced toward me, saying,

“Sir, this is rather a sight of joy than of sorrow. Ourdear friend Elizabeth finds it to be so, I have no doubt. She is beyond allsorrow. Do you not think she is, sir?”

“After what I have known and seen and heard,” I replied, “I feel the fullestassurance that, while her body remains here, her soul is with her Saviour inparadise. She loved Him here, and there she enjoys the pleasures which are atHis right hand for evermore.”

“Mercy, mercy upon a poor old creature almost broken down with age and grief!…what shall I do?… Betsy’s gone… my daughter’s dead… Oh, my child, I shall neversee thee more!… God be merciful to me a sinner?” sobbed out the poor mother.

“That last prayer, my dear good woman,” said I, “will bring you together again.It is a cry that has brought thousands to glory. It brought your daughterthither, and I hope it will bring you there likewise. He will in no wise castout any that come to Him.”

“My dear,” said the dairyman, breaking the long silence he had maintained, “letus trust God with our child, and let us trust Him with our own selves. The Lordgave, and the Lord has taken away: blessed be the name of the Lord. We are old,and can have but a little farther to travel in our journey, and then….” Hecould say no more.

The soldier before mentioned reached a Bible into my hand, and said, “Perhaps,sir, you would not object to reading a chapter before we go to the church.”

I did so; it was the fourteenth of the Book of Job. A sweet tranquillityprevailed while I read it. Each minute that was spent in this funeral chamberseemed to be valuable. I made a few observations on the chapter, and connectedthem with the case of our departed sister.

“I am but a poor soldier,” said our military friend, “and have nothing of thisworld’s goods beyond my daily subsistence; but I would not exchange my hope ofsalvation in the next world for all that this world could bestow without it.What is wealth without grace? Blessed be God, as I march about from one quarterto another, I still find the Lord wherever I go; and thanks be to His holyname, He is here today in the midst of this company of the living and the dead.I feel that it is good to be here.”

Some other persons present began to take part in the conversation, in thecourse of which the life and experience of the dairyman’s daughter were broughtforward in a very interesting manner; each friend had something to relate intestimony of her gracious disposition. One distant relative, a young womanunder twenty, who had hitherto been a very light and trifling character,appeared to be remarkably impressed by the conversation of that day; and I havesince had ground to believe that divine grace then began to influence her inthe choice of that better part which shall not be taken from her.

What a contrast does such a scene as this exhibit, when compared with the dull,formal, unedifying, and often indecent manner in which funeral parties assemblein the house of death!

But the time for departure to the church was now at hand. I went to take mylast look at the deceased. There was much written on her countenance: she hadevidently departed with a smile. It still remained, and spoke the tranquillityof her departing soul.

According to the custom of the place, she was decorated with leaves and flowersin the coffin; these indeed were fading flowers, but they remind me of thatparadise whose flowers are immortal, and where her never-dying soul is at rest.

I remembered the last words which I had heard her speak, and was instantlystruck with the happy thought, that “death was indeed swallowed up in victory.”

As I slowly retired, I said inwardly, “Peace, my honoured sister, to thymemory, and to my soul, till we meet in a better world.”

In a little time the procession formed; it was rendered the more interesting bythe consideration of so many that followed the coffin being persons of truly seriousand spiritual character.

After we had advanced about a hundred yards, my meditation was unexpectedly andmost agreeably interrupted by the friends who followed the family beginning tosing a funeral psalm. Nothing could be more sweet or solemn. The well-knowneffect of the open air in softening and blending the sounds of music was herepeculiarly felt.

The road through which we passed was beautiful and romantic; it lay at the footof a hill, which occasionally re-echoed the voices of the singers, and seemedto give faint replies to the notes of the mourners. The funeral knell wasdistinctly heard from the church tower, and greatly increased the effect whichthis simple and becoming service produced. I cannot describe the state of myown mind as peculiarly connected with the solemn singing. I never witnessed asimilar instance before or since. I was reminded of older times and ancientpiety. I wished the practice more frequent. It seems well calculated to exciteand cherish devotion and religious affections.

We at length arrived at the church. The service was heard with deep andaffectionate attention. When we came to the grave, the hymn which Elizabeth had selectedwas sung. All was devout, simple, decent, animating. We committed our dearfriend’s body to the grave, in full hope of a joyful resurrection from thedead.

Thus the veil of separation drawn for a season. She is departed, and no moreseen. But she will be seen at the right hand of her Redeemer at the last day,and will again appear to His glory, a miracle of grace and a monument of mercy.

Word of Exhortation

My reader, rich or poor, shall you and I appear there likewise? Are we “clothedwith humility,” and arrayed in the wedding garment of a Redeemer’srighteousness? Are we turned from idols to serve the Living God? Are wesensible of our own emptiness, flying to a Saviour’s fullness to obtain graceand strength? Do we live in Him, and on Him, and by Him, and with Him? Is Heour all in all? Are we “lost and found”? “dead, and alive again”?

My poor reader, the dairyman’s daughter was a poor girl, and the child of apoor man. Herein thou resemblest her: but does thou resemble her, as sheresembled Christ? Art thou made rich by faith? Has thou a crown laid up forthee? Is thy heart set upon heavenly riches? If not, read this story once more,and then pray earnestly for like precious faith. If, through grace, thou dostlove and serve the Redeemer that saved the dairyman’s daughter, grace, peace,and mercy be with thee. The lines are fallen unto thee in pleasant places; thouhast a goodly heritage. Press forward in duty, and wait upon the Lord,possessing thy soul in holy patience. Thou hast just been with me to the graveof a departed believer. Now, “go thou thy way till the end be; for thou shaltrest, and stand in thy lot at the end of the days” (Daniel 12:13).

[Editor’s note: “Precious in the sight of the LORD is thedeath of his saints” (Ps 116:15). This brief account of the dying days of asimple, ordinary child of God has been published many times in differentlanguages. It has been used by the Lord for the conversion of many who wereeither unbelieving or complacent about their faith. I trust that it has morevalue to you than many of the dubious fantastical stories floating on the Internet.May the Lord use it to encourage us to live gratefully for the Lord JesusChrist everyday in this present life granted us.

—J.J. Lim
20 January 2002]

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