Post by Deleted on Mar 11, 2010 7:11:04 GMT -6
A VISION OF PEACEFUL DEATH
I was pastor of a church and in that church there was one of the most faithful, godly women I ever saw in my life. Her husband was wealthy, and she gave with a princely hand to the poor and to every good cause, and it was joy to her heart to do for the Master. And finally her time came to pass out of this world. I visited her in her last illness. She was dying of consumption, and had spent several winters in Florida. When I would go into her room and talk to her, she would frequently say, “I dread to die, not the results of death,” she said, “but the agonies of death.”
And I talked to her and encouraged her all I could. She said, “I am so frail, I am so weak I can scarcely lift my hands, and, oh! how can I grapple with physical death?”
The last time I visited her before she died she motioned to the company present to leave the room — I suppose she did, for they all got up and walked out at once and left me alone with her. Then she said:
A FORETASTE OF HEAVEN
“My pastor, I have some things of importance to say to you that I never want you to mention while I live, for the world makes light of such things, and what I say to you is a sacred to me as my own soul.”
She said, “You know I told you when you were here last that I was afraid of the agonies of death; not of the beyond.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.
“Well,” she says, “I am not now.”
“Well,” said I, “what brought about the change!”
She said, “Yesterday I was lying in my room there and I put my handkerchief over my face and I was thinking of Heaven, and,” she says, “all at once a scene just as natural as life presented itself.
It seemed that I stood upon the moss-covered banks of a beautiful river, and the noiseless water was rolling gently by.” And she said, “All at once a little boat ran its prow out right at my feet, and the oarsman invited me into the boat; I stepped into the little boat and it mored off so noiselessly, and we disembarked on the other bank amid the shouts of the angels and the songs of the redeemed, and,” she said, “they carried me up a beautiful avenue to a palace, and we walked up to the door of the palace and the door stood ajar.”
She said, “They carried me into the palace, and I felt like a stranger in a strange place. They carried me up to the King and introduced me to him, and as soon as my eyes fell upon him, I saw and recognized immediately that it was the world’s Redeemer, my precious Saviour, and I was at home from that time on. Now,” she said, “I am not afraid to die.”
Just a few days afterwards, as her husband sat with her, she called him in a whisper. He went to her. She said: “Husband, I feel so delightfully strange; what do you think is the matter with me?”
He felt her hand and felt her arm to her body, and it was cold.
“Oh, precious wife,” he said, “you are dying.”
She raised her arms and clasped them around his neck, and said: “Oh, husband, if this is death, what a glorious thing to die.” And she fell back upon her pillow and never breathed another breath.
A JOYOUS REUNION
Just eleven days after that I was walking along by the hotel, and the husband of this good woman said: “Mr. Jones, my little Annie is very sick. I wish you would come and see her.”
She was the only child of that man and the good sister that had died. As I walked into the room, there was little Annie, little ten-year-old Annie, sick with diphtheria. I walked in and took her hand, and said: “Sweet darling, are you suffering much?”
She said in a whisper: “Yes, sir; a good deal.”
I said: “Darling, do you want me to talk to you?”
And she said: “Yes, air: if you please.”
“What about?”, I asked.
She said: “I want you to talk to me about Heaven.”
I said: “Well, darling, it is a great country, a glorious place, where little girls never suffer, and mamma is never sick, and where all is life and health and peace.”
And her little eyes would fairly dance like diamonds in her head while I talked. And directly the doctors walked in, and her father said: “Annie, darling, the doctors want to cauterize, to burn your throat again.”
She looked up so pleadingly, and said: “Papa, please, sir, don’t let them burn my throat any more. Mamma has been calling me all the morning and I want to go.”
“Why” he said, “sweet darling, if you go papa won’t have any little girl. Won’t you stay with papa?”
“Well,” she said, “they may burn my throat, but it won’t do any good. I am going to mamma.”
They burned her throat, and she lay perfectly quiet a minute or two. Then she was visited by some Sunday school children, and she turned and said: “Won’t you sing, ‘Shall we gather at the river?’”
And she said: “I have heard them singing it over there, and mamma is joining in.”
The little children began to sing, and just as they commenced the chorus the sweet spirit of little Annie left the body with a placid, heavenly smile on its face, and went home to live with her mamma forever. No nonder the old prophet said:
“Let me live the life of the righteous and die a happy death, and may my last end be like his . . . Mark the perfect man and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace."
from "Gospel Sermons", by Sam Jones
I was pastor of a church and in that church there was one of the most faithful, godly women I ever saw in my life. Her husband was wealthy, and she gave with a princely hand to the poor and to every good cause, and it was joy to her heart to do for the Master. And finally her time came to pass out of this world. I visited her in her last illness. She was dying of consumption, and had spent several winters in Florida. When I would go into her room and talk to her, she would frequently say, “I dread to die, not the results of death,” she said, “but the agonies of death.”
And I talked to her and encouraged her all I could. She said, “I am so frail, I am so weak I can scarcely lift my hands, and, oh! how can I grapple with physical death?”
The last time I visited her before she died she motioned to the company present to leave the room — I suppose she did, for they all got up and walked out at once and left me alone with her. Then she said:
A FORETASTE OF HEAVEN
“My pastor, I have some things of importance to say to you that I never want you to mention while I live, for the world makes light of such things, and what I say to you is a sacred to me as my own soul.”
She said, “You know I told you when you were here last that I was afraid of the agonies of death; not of the beyond.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.
“Well,” she says, “I am not now.”
“Well,” said I, “what brought about the change!”
She said, “Yesterday I was lying in my room there and I put my handkerchief over my face and I was thinking of Heaven, and,” she says, “all at once a scene just as natural as life presented itself.
It seemed that I stood upon the moss-covered banks of a beautiful river, and the noiseless water was rolling gently by.” And she said, “All at once a little boat ran its prow out right at my feet, and the oarsman invited me into the boat; I stepped into the little boat and it mored off so noiselessly, and we disembarked on the other bank amid the shouts of the angels and the songs of the redeemed, and,” she said, “they carried me up a beautiful avenue to a palace, and we walked up to the door of the palace and the door stood ajar.”
She said, “They carried me into the palace, and I felt like a stranger in a strange place. They carried me up to the King and introduced me to him, and as soon as my eyes fell upon him, I saw and recognized immediately that it was the world’s Redeemer, my precious Saviour, and I was at home from that time on. Now,” she said, “I am not afraid to die.”
Just a few days afterwards, as her husband sat with her, she called him in a whisper. He went to her. She said: “Husband, I feel so delightfully strange; what do you think is the matter with me?”
He felt her hand and felt her arm to her body, and it was cold.
“Oh, precious wife,” he said, “you are dying.”
She raised her arms and clasped them around his neck, and said: “Oh, husband, if this is death, what a glorious thing to die.” And she fell back upon her pillow and never breathed another breath.
A JOYOUS REUNION
Just eleven days after that I was walking along by the hotel, and the husband of this good woman said: “Mr. Jones, my little Annie is very sick. I wish you would come and see her.”
She was the only child of that man and the good sister that had died. As I walked into the room, there was little Annie, little ten-year-old Annie, sick with diphtheria. I walked in and took her hand, and said: “Sweet darling, are you suffering much?”
She said in a whisper: “Yes, sir; a good deal.”
I said: “Darling, do you want me to talk to you?”
And she said: “Yes, air: if you please.”
“What about?”, I asked.
She said: “I want you to talk to me about Heaven.”
I said: “Well, darling, it is a great country, a glorious place, where little girls never suffer, and mamma is never sick, and where all is life and health and peace.”
And her little eyes would fairly dance like diamonds in her head while I talked. And directly the doctors walked in, and her father said: “Annie, darling, the doctors want to cauterize, to burn your throat again.”
She looked up so pleadingly, and said: “Papa, please, sir, don’t let them burn my throat any more. Mamma has been calling me all the morning and I want to go.”
“Why” he said, “sweet darling, if you go papa won’t have any little girl. Won’t you stay with papa?”
“Well,” she said, “they may burn my throat, but it won’t do any good. I am going to mamma.”
They burned her throat, and she lay perfectly quiet a minute or two. Then she was visited by some Sunday school children, and she turned and said: “Won’t you sing, ‘Shall we gather at the river?’”
And she said: “I have heard them singing it over there, and mamma is joining in.”
The little children began to sing, and just as they commenced the chorus the sweet spirit of little Annie left the body with a placid, heavenly smile on its face, and went home to live with her mamma forever. No nonder the old prophet said:
“Let me live the life of the righteous and die a happy death, and may my last end be like his . . . Mark the perfect man and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace."
from "Gospel Sermons", by Sam Jones