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Solomon B. Shaw was a wise recorder of life-and-death scenes. His best-known book is “Dying Testimonies of Saved and Unsaved”, originally published in 1898.

In this most touching, and spiritually rewarding, book, Shaw records the death scenes, and the last words, of both the saved and unsaved, both famous and unknown. You will see the tremendous difference between those who are Born Again and those who have refused salvation, as they approach the hour of their death. As one physician once remarked, “Christians die well”. Biblical doctrines which saints of God have believed all their lives sustain them wonderfully in the hour of their death.

Many believers report seeing angels coming to escort them to Heaven and the lights of that wondrous abode shining around them as they lay dying.

Conversely, you will realize that many unsaved go through the agonies of Hell as they approach death, some even feeling the fires of Hell and seeing demons in the room, coming to take their spirits to the Abyss.

You will also discover that the Biblical doctrine that a person cannot come to Jesus on their own, but must be drawn by the Spirit — Who gives the very desire to come to salvation — is borne out by the testimonies of the unsaved. No one should put off the promptings of the Holy Spirit, thinking they can utter the correct words just before they die and go to Heaven. Truly, God is not mocked!

This book is wonderful, and we recommend it to all our readers.

Content:

001 — TRIUMPHANT DEATH OF IGNATIUS

Ignatius, one of the ancient fathers of the church, was born in Syria and brought up under the care of the Apostle John. About the year 67, he became the bishop of Antioch. In this important station, he continued above 40 years, both an honor and a safeguard to the Christian religion; undaunted in the midst of very tempestuous times, and unmoved with the prospect of suffering a cruel death. He taught men to think little of the present life; to value and love the good things to come; and never to be deterred from a course of piety and virtue, by the fear of any temporal evils whatever; to oppose only meekness to anger, humility to boasting, and prayers to curses and reproaches.

This excellent man was selected by the emperor Trajan, as a subject whose sufferings might be proper to inspire terror and discouragement in the hearts of the Christians at Rome. He was condemned to die for his faith in Christ, and ordered to be thrown among wild beasts to be devoured by them. This cruel sentence, far from weakening his attachment to the great cause he had espoused, excited thankfulness of heart, that he had been counted worthy to suffer for the sake of religion. “I thank thee, O Lord,” said he, “that thou hast condescended thus to honor me with thy love; and hast thought me worthy, with thy apostle Paul, to be bound in chains.”

On his passage to Rome, he wrote a letter to his fellow Christians there, to prepare them to acquiesce in his sufferings and to assist him with their prayers. “Pray for me,” said he, “that God would give me both inward and outward strength, that I may not only say, but do well; that I may not only be called a Christian but be found one.” Animated by the cheering prospect of the reward of his sufferings, he said: “Now, indeed, I begin to be a disciple; I weigh neither visible nor invisible things, in comparison with an interest in Jesus Christ.” With the utmost Christian fortitude, he met the wild beasts assigned for his destruction and triumphed in death. — Power of Religion.

002 — WONDERFUL CONVERSION OF MARY LONES

We were requested to visit a young woman, nearly gone with consumption, who resisted every effort that was made to bring her to Christ. We went, trusting in the Lord for help. She received us respectfully but seemed quite careless about her soul. The Spirit of the Lord soon touched her heart, and she became distressed on account of her sins; at one time while praying with her she began to plead in real earnest for herself and continued in prayer until she could say, “I am the Lord’s and He is mine.” A sweet peace settled down on her soul and soon after she received the clear witness that her sins were forgiven. Although she was very weak and could hardly speak above a whisper, yet, when the Lord set the seal of His Spirit to the work wrought in her soul, her shouts of victory could be heard through the entire building.

She soon began to yearn for entire sanctification, and her soul was greatly drawn out in prayer for the blessing. At one time we read to her the fourth chapter of 1 John and encouraged her to look to be made perfect in love, to believe for it, and expect it every moment until it was given. “Oh!” said she, “that is just what I need and I am praying for it all the while” — although she did not know the name of the blessing she was seeking. She had many conflicts with the powers of darkness before she obtained this victory. At length, the all-cleansing touch was given. It was about five o’clock one Sabbath evening a few weeks before her death. Her soul had been much drawn out in prayer all day for purity of heart. She said the Spirit fell on her and seemed to go through both soul and body. She had been confined to her bed and was so weak we thought she would never again stand on her feet; but when she received the blessing she not only had the use of her voice but also walked the floor back and forth shouting aloud; “Glory to God.” We were told that she had naturally a fiery disposition, but after this baptism, she was all patience, resignation, love, and praise. Her sufferings were very great toward the last, but not a murmur or complaint was ever heard. Neither tongue nor pen can describe some of the scenes witnessed in that little room. From the time that she received the blessing of perfect love, until her death, her sky was unclouded, her conversation in heaven, and her experience, although a young convert, was that of a mature Christian. Her light on the things of God and the state of deceived professors of religion was wonderful. She seemed to have an unclouded view of her heavenly inheritance and longed to depart and be with Christ. On one occasion, when we were singing —

Filled with delight, my raptured soul Would here no longer stay, Though Jordan’s waves around me roll, fearless, I launch away —

She raised her hand in triumph and repeated the word, “fearless, fearless,” while glory unspeakable beamed from her countenance. At times, when talking or singing of her heavenly home, she appeared more like an inhabitant of heaven than of earth. She was truly the most beautiful, angelic-looking being we ever saw. She died in triumph; was conscious to the last, and whispered, “I walk through the valley in peace;” then pointing to each one that stood around her bed, she raised her hand, as if to say, “Meet me in Heaven.” She then folded her hands on her breast, looked up, smiled, and was gone.

Glory to God and the Lamb forever; another safely landed. — Brands From The Burning.

003 — THE AWFUL DEATH OF SIR FRANCIS NEWPORT

Sir Francis Newport was trained in early life to understand the great truths of the gospel; and while in early manhood it was hoped that he would become an ornament and a blessing to his family and the nation, the result was far otherwise. He fell into a company that corrupted his principles and his morals. He became an avowed infidel, and a life of dissipation soon brought on an incurable disease. When he felt that he must die, he threw himself on the bed, and after a brief pause, he exclaimed as follows: “Whence this war in my heart? What argument is there now to assist me against matters of fact? Do I assert that there is no hell, while I feel one in my own bosom? Am I certain there is no after retribution when I feel present judgment? Do I affirm my soul to be as mortal as my body, when this languishes, and that is vigorous as ever? O that anyone would restore unto me that ancient gourd of piety and innocence! Wretch that I am, whither shall I flee from this breast? What will become of me?”

An infidel companion tried to dispel his thoughts, to whom he replied. “That there is a God, I know because I continually feel the effects of His wrath; that there is a hell I am equally certain, having received an earnest of my inheritance there already in my breast; that there is a natural conscience I now feel with horror and amazement, being continually upbraided by it with my impieties, and all my iniquities, and all my sins brought to my remembrance. Why God has marked me out for an example of His vengeance, rather than you, or any one of my acquaintance, I presume is because I have been more religiously educated, and have done greater despite to the Spirit of grace. O that I was to lie upon the fire that never is quenched a thousand years, to purchase the favor of God and be reunited to Him again! But it is a fruitless wish. Millions of millions of years will bring me no nearer to the end of my torments than one poor hour. O, eternity, eternity! Who can discover the abyss of eternity? Who can paraphrase upon these words — forever and ever?”

Lest his friends should think him insane, he said: “You imagine me melancholy, or distracted. I wish I were either, but it is part of my judgment that I am not. No; my apprehension of persons and things is more quick and vigorous than it was when I was in perfect health, and it is my curse because I am thereby more sensible of the condition I am fallen into. Would you be informed why I am becoming a skeleton in three or four days? See now, then; I have despised my Maker and denied my Redeemer. I have joined myself to the atheist and profane, and continued this course under many convictions, till my iniquity was ripe for vengeance, and the just judgment of God overtook me when my security was the greatest, and the checks of my conscience were the least.”

As his mental distress and bodily disease were hurrying him into eternity, he was asked if he would have prayer offered on his behalf; he turned his face, and exclaimed, “Tigers and monsters! are you also become devils to torment me? Would you give me the prospect of heaven to make my hell more intolerable?”

Soon after, his voice failing, and uttering a groan of inexpressible horror, he cried out, “OH, THE INSUFFERABLE PANGS OF HELL!” and died at once, dropping into the very hell of which God gave him such an awful earnest, to be a constant warning to multitudes of careless sinners. —

004 — POLYCARP, THE SAINTED CHRISTIAN FATHER

Polycarp, an eminent Christian father, was born in the reign of Nero. Ignatius recommended the church of Antioch to the care and superintendence of this zealous father, who appears to have been unwearied in his endeavors to preserve the peace of the church and to promote piety and virtue amongst men.

During the persecution which raged at Smyrna, in the year 167, the distinguished character of Polycarp attracted the attention of the enemies of Christianity. The general outcry was, “Let Polycarp be sought for.” When he was taken before the proconsul, he has solicited to reproach Christ, and save his life: but with holy indignation, he nobly replied: “Eighty-six years have I served Christ, who has never done me any injury: how then can I blaspheme my King and Saviour?”

When he was brought to the stake, the executioner offered, as usual, to nail him to it; but he said, “Let me alone as I am: He who has given me strength to come to the fire, will also give me the patience to abide in it, without being fastened with nails.”

Part of his last prayer at his death, was as follows: “O God, the Father of Thy beloved Son, Jesus Christ, by whom we have received the knowledge of Yourself; O God of angels and powers, of every creature, and of all the just who live in Your presence; I thank you that You have graciously vouchsafed, this day and this hour, to allow me a portion amongst the number of martyrs. O Lord, receive me; and make me a companion of saints in the resurrection, through the merits of our great High Priest, the Lord Jesus Christ. I praise and adore Thee, through thy beloved Son, to whom, with Thee, and Thy Holy Spirit, be all honor and glory, both now and forever. Amen.” — Power of Religion.

005 — THE MARTYR PATRICK HAMILTON

On the first of March, 1528, some eight years before Tyndale was betrayed by a Romish spy, Archbishop Beaton condemned Patrick Hamilton to be burned because he advocated the doctrines of the Reformation and exposed the errors of popery.

The principal accusations were that he taught that it was proper for the poor people to read God’s Word and that it was useless to offer masses for the souls of the dead. Hamilton admitted the truth of these charges, and boldly defended his doctrine. But his judges, Archbishop Beaton and the bishops and clergy associated with him in council could not endure the truths presented by their prisoner, which indeed were great to their disadvantage; for a people before whom an open Bible is spread will soon test by it the lives and teachings of their pastors, and to abolish masses for the dead is to cut off a chief source of the revenues of Rome’s priesthood. Hamilton, therefore, was quickly condemned, and in a few hours afterward, to avoid any possibility of his rescue by influential friends, the stake was prepared before the gate of St. Salvador College.

When the martyr was brought to the stake, he removed his outer garments and gave them to his servant, with the words, “These will not profit me in the fire, but they will profit you. Hereafter you can have no profit from me except the example of my death, which I pray you to keep in memory, for, though bitter to the flesh and fearful before man, it is the door of eternal life, which none will attain who denies Christ Jesus before this ungodly generation.”

His agony was prolonged by a slow fire so that his execution lasted some six hours; but, through it all, he manifested true heroism and unshaken faith in the truth of the doctrines which he preached. His last words were, “How long, O Lord, shall darkness brood over this realm? How long will You suffer this tyranny of man? Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.”

Thus, in the bloom of early manhood, died Scotland’s first Reformation martyr, and his death was not in vain. A Romanist afterward said, “The smoke of Patrick Hamilton infected all it blew upon.” His mouth was closed, but the story of his death was repeated by a thousand tongues. It emboldened others to seek a martyr’s crown and stirred up many more to defend the truths for which he died, and to repudiate the hierarchy which found it necessary to defend itself by such means. “Humanly speaking,” says the author of “The Champions of the Reformation,” to whom we are chiefly indebted for the facts of our sketch, “could there have been found a fitter apostle for ignorant, benighted Scotland than this eloquent, fervent, pious man? Endowed with all those gifts that sway the heads of the masses, a zealous, pious laborer in season and out of season, what Herculean labors might he not have accomplished! What signal triumphs might he not have achieved! So men may reason, but God judged otherwise. A short trial, a brief essay in the work he loved and longed for, was permitted to him, and then the goodly vessel, still in sight of land, was broken in pieces. “Heroes and Heroines”

006 — REV. E. PAYSON’S JOYFUL EXPERIENCES AND TRIUMPHANT DEATH

He was asked, by a friend, if he could see any particular reason for this dispensation. He replied, “No; but I am as well satisfied as if I could see ten thousand reasons.”

In a letter dictated to his sister he writes: “Were I to adopt the figurative language of Bunyan, I might date this letter from the land of Beulah, of which I have been for some time such a happy inhabitant. The celestial city is full in view. Its glories beam upon me; its breezes fan me; its odors are wafted to me; its sounds strike upon my ears and its spirit is breathed into my heart. Nothing separates me from it but the river of death, which now appears as an insignificant rill, which can be crossed at a single step, whenever God shall give permission. The Sun of Righteousness has been gradually drawing nearer and nearer, appearing larger and brighter as He approached, and now fills the whole hemisphere, pouring forth a flood of glory, in which I seem to float like an insect in the beams of the sun, exulting, yet almost trembling, while I gaze on this excessive brightness, and wondering why God should deign thus to shine upon a sinful worm.”

On being asked, “Do you feel reconciled?” he replied, “O, that is too cold; I rejoice; I triumph; and this happiness will endure as long as God himself, for it consists in admiring and adoring Him. I can find no words to express my happiness. I seem to be swimming in a river of pleasure, which is carrying me to the great fountain. It seems as if all the bottles in heaven were opened, and all its fullness and happiness have come down into my heart. God has been depriving me of one blessing after another, but as each one has removed, He has come in and filled up its place. If God had told me some time ago, that He was about to make me as happy as I could be in this world, and that He should begin by crippling me in all my limbs, and removing from me all my usual sources of enjoyment, I should have thought it a very strange mode of accomplishing His purposes, now, when I am a cripple, and not able to move, I am happier than I ever was in my life before, or ever expected to be.

“It has often been remarked, that people who have passed into the other world cannot come back to tell us what they have seen; but I am so near the eternal world, that I can almost see as clearly as if I were there; and I see enough to satisfy me of the truth of the doctrines I have preached. I do not know that I should feel at all surer had I been really there.”

“Watchman, what of the night!” asked a gray-headed member of his church. “I should think it was about noonday,” replied the dying Payson.

The ruling passion being strong in death, he sent a request to his pulpit, that his people should repair to his sick-chamber. They did so in specified classes, a few at a time, and received his dying message.

To the young men of his congregation, he said: “I felt desirous that you might see that the religion I have preached can support me in death. You know that I have many ties which bind me to earth; a family to which I am strongly attached, and a people whom I love almost as well; but the other world acts like a much stronger magnet, and draws my heart away from this.”

“Death comes every night and stands by my bedside in the form of terrible convulsions, every one of which threatens to separate the soul from the body. These grow worse and worse, till every bone is almost dislocated with pain. Yet, while my body is thus tortured, my soul is perfectly, perfectly happy, and peaceful. I lie here and feel these convulsions extending higher and higher, but my soul is filled with joy unspeakable! I seem to swim in a flood of glory, which God pours down upon me. Is it a delusion, that can fill the soul to overflowing with joy in such circumstances? If so, it is a delusion better than any reality. It is no delusion. I feel it is not. I enjoy this happiness now. And now, standing as I do, on the ridge that separates the two worlds — feeling what intense happiness the soul is capable of sustaining, and judging of your capacities by my own, and believing that those capacities will be filled to the very brim with joy or wretchedness forever, my heart yearns over you, my children, that you may choose life, and not death. I long to present every one of you with a cup of happiness, and see you drink it.”

“A young man,” he continued, “just about to leave the world, exclaimed, ‘The battle’s fought, the battle’s fought, but the victory is lost forever!’ But I can say, The battle’s fought — and the victory is won — the victory is won forever! I am going to bathe in the ocean of purity, and benevolence, and happiness, to all eternity. And now, my children; let me bless you, not with the blessing of a poor, feeble, dying man, but with the blessing of the infinite God.” He then pronounced the apostolic benediction.

A friend said to him, “I presume it is no longer incredible to you, that martyrs should rejoice and praise God in the flames and on the rack?”

“No,” said he; “I can easily believe it. I have suffered twenty times as much as I could in being burned at the stake, while my joy in God so abounded as to render my sufferings not only tolerable but welcome.”

At another time, he said: “God is literally now my all in all. While He is present with me, no event can in the least diminish my happiness; and were the whole world at my feet, trying to minister to my comfort, they could not add one drop to my cup.”

To Mrs. Payson, who observed to him, “Your head feels hot and seems to be distended”; he replied: “It seems as if the soul disdained such a narrow prison, and was determined to break through with an angel’s energy, and I trust with no small portion of an angel’s feeling until it mounts on high.”

“It seems as if my soul had found a new pair of wings, and was so eager to try them, that in her fluttering, she would rend. the fine network of the body in pieces.”

THE CLOSING SCENE

On Sabbath, October 21, 1827, his last agony commenced, attended with that labored breathing and rattling in the throat which rendered articulation extremely difficult. His daughter was summoned from the Sabbath school, and received his dying kiss and “God bless you, my daughter.” He smiled on a group of church members and exclaimed, with holy emphasis, “Peace, peace! victory!” He smiled on his wife and children and said, in the language of dying Joseph, “I am going, but God will surely be with you!”

He rallied from the deadly conflict and said to his physician “that although he had suffered the pangs of death, and got almost within the gates of Paradise, yet, if it was God’s will that he should come back and suffer still more, he was resigned.” He passed through a similar scene in the afternoon and again revived.

On Monday morning, his dying agonies returned in all their severity. For three hours every breath was a groan. On being asked if his sufferings were greater than on the preceding Sunday night, he answered, “incomparably greater.” He said the greatest temporal blessing of which he could conceive would be one breath of air.

Mrs. Payson, fearing from the expression of suffering on his countenance that he was in mental distress, questioned him. He replied, “Faith and patience hold out.” These were the last words of the dying Christian hero.

He gradually sunk away, till about the going down of the sun his chastened and purified spirit, all mantled with the glory of Christian triumph in life and death, ascended to share the everlasting glory of his Redeemer before the eternal throne. — Fifty Years and Beyond.

007 — THE AWFUL DEATH OF AN INFIDEL SON

“I will never be guilty of founding my hopes for the future upon such a compiled mess of trash as is contained in that book (the Bible), mother. Talk of that being the production of an Infinite mind; a boy ten years of age, if he was half-witted, could have told a straighter story, and made a better book. I believe it to be the greatest mess of lies ever imposed upon the public. I would rather go to hell (if there is such a place) than have the name of bowing to that impostor — Jesus Christ — and be dependent on his merits for salvation.”

“Beware! Beware! my son, ‘for God is not mocked,’ although ‘He bears with the wicked long, yet he will not keep His anger forever.’ And ‘all manner of sin shall be forgiven men, except the sin against the Holy Ghost, which has no forgiveness.’ And many are the examples, both in sacred and profane history, of men who have been smitten down in the midst of their sinning against that blessed Spirit.”

“Very well, father, I’ll risk all the cutting down that I shall get for cursing that book, and all the agonies connected therewith. Let it come, I’m not at all scared.”

“O Father, lay not this sin to his charge, for he knows not what he does.”

“Yes, I do know what I’m about, and what I say — and mean it.”

“John, do you mean to drive your mother raving distracted? Oh, my God! what have I done that this dreadful trial should come upon me in my old age?”

“Mother, if you don’t want to hear me speak my sentiments, why do you always begin the subject? If you do not want to hear it, don’t even broach the subject again, for I shall never talk of that book, in any other way.”

The above conversation took place between two fond parents and an only son, who was at home on a visit from college, and now was about to return. And the cause of this outburst was, the kind-hearted Christian parents had essayed to give him a few words of kind admonition, which, alas! proved to be the last. And the above was his last words which he spoke to them as he left the house.

How anxiously those fond parents looked after him as though something told them that something dreadful would happen. What scalding tears were those that coursed their way down these furrowed cheeks! Oh! that they might have been put in the bottle of mercy! The poor, wretched young man, it had been better for him had the avalanche from the mountain crushed him beneath its deadly weight ere those words escaped his lips. Little did he think that He who said, “Honour thy father and mother,” and, “He that hardeneth his heart, and stiffened his neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and that without remedy,” was so soon going to call him to give an account for those words, so heart-rending to his aged parents, and so dreadful in the sight of a holy God. He had imbibed those dreadful principles from an infidel roommate at college. Beware, young men, with whom you associate, lest you fall as did this unfortunate young man.

John B. left his home and hastened to the depot where he took the cars which were to bear him to, where he was in a few months to finish his studies. The whistle blew, and away swept the cars “across the trembling plain.” But alas! they had gone but a few miles, when the cars, coming round a curve in a deep cut, came suddenly upon an obstruction on the track, which threw the engine and two of the cars at once from the rails.

As fate would seem to have it, the wicked son (John B.) was that moment passing between them. He was thrown in an instant from the platform, his left arm being “broken, and his skull fractured by the fall; and in an instant, one of the wheels passed directly over both his legs near the body, breaking and mangling them most dreadfully. Strange as it may seem, no one else was injured. The dreadful news soon reached his already grief-stricken parents; and ere long that beloved, yet ungrateful son, was borne back to them; not as he left, but lying upon a litter a poor, mangled, raving maniac. Why these pious parents were called to pass through this dreadful trial, He “whose ways are in the deep and past finding out,” only knows; except that by this sad example of His wrath many might be saved. Many skillful physicians were called, but the fiat of the Almighty had gone forth, and man could not recall it. When the news reached the college, his classmates hastened to see him. When they came, nature was fast sinking, but the immortal part was becoming dreadfully alive. Oh! that heart-rending scene. His reason for returning brought with it a dreadful sense of his situation. His first words were, and oh, may never mortal hear such a cry as that again upon the shores of time:

“Mother! I’m lost! lost! lost! damned! damned! damned forever!” and as his classmates drew near to the bed, among whom was the one who had poisoned his mind with infidelity, with a dreadful effort he rose in the bed and cried, as he fixed his glaring eyes upon him: “J___, you have brought me to this, you have damned my soul! “May the curses of the Almighty and the Lamb rest upon your soul forever.”

Then like a hellish fiend, he gnashed his teeth and tried to get hold of him that he might tear him in pieces. Then followed a scene from which the strongest fled with horror. But those poor parents had to hear and see it all, for he would not suffer them to be away a moment. He fell back upon his bed exhausted, crying, “O mother” mother, get me some water to quench this fire that is burning me to death”; then he tore his hair and rent his breast; the fire had already begun to burn, the smoke of which shall ascend forever and ever. And then again he cried, “O mother, save me, the devils have come after me. O mother, take me in your arms, and don’t let them have me.” And as his mother drew near to him, he buried his face in that fond bosom which had nourished and cherished him, but, alas, could not now protect or shield from the storm of the Almighty’s wrath, for he turned from her, and with an unearthly voice, he shrieked, “Father! mother! father, save me; they come to drag my soul — my soul to hell.” And with his eyes starting from their sockets, he fell back upon his bed a corpse. The spirit had fled — not like that of Lazarus, borne on the wings of a convoy of angels, but dragged by fiends to meet a fearful doom. May his dreadful fall prove a warning to those who would unwittingly walk in the same path. — Earnest Christian, September 1867

008 — “CHILDREN, IS THIS DEATH? HOW BEAUTIFUL! HOW BEAUTIFUL!”

A preacher in Oregon, Rev. J. T. Leise, writes us as follows: “I thought it might be to the glory of God to give you an account of my mother’s death. She died July 28, 1888, in the township of Winnebago City, Faribault County, Minnesota. About six months before her death, I left home to enter the work of the Lord. At that time, and also for years before, mother had what we often call an up-and-down experience. About July 1st, of the same year she died, I got word to return home to see her die. On my arrival, I found my mother very low but having a strong faith in God. I said, ‘Mother, you have a better experience than you have ever had.’ ‘Yes, Johnnie,’ she said, ‘about three months ago I got what I have longed for years.’ Mother’s disease was of a dropsical character. With limbs swollen, she would suffer intensely; but her faith in Jesus never wavered. She would often speak of the glorious prospects in view. The morning she died, about four o’clock, a sister and I were sitting by her bed fanning her, when she suddenly opened her eyes and said, ‘Children, is this death? How beautiful; how beautiful.’ I said, ‘Mother, you will soon be at rest. It won’t be long before you shall have crossed over and are at home.’ Mother never could sing well, but on this occasion, she sang as if inspired from Heaven,

O I long to be there, And His glories to share, And to lean on my Savior’s breast.

About four hours after we were around her bed having family worship, when, without a struggle, she passed away to be forever with the Lord. Amen-

009 — “MA, I CAN’T DIE TILL YOU PROMISE ME.”

At the close of a series of meetings in Springfield, Mass., a mother handed me a little girl’s picture wrapped in two one-dollar bills, at the same time relating the following touching incident:

Her only child, at the age of six years, gave her heart to the Saviour, giving, as the pastor with whom I was laboring said, the clearest evidence of conversion.

At once she went to her mother and said, “Ma, I have given my heart to Jesus and He has received me; now, won’t you give your heart to Him?” (The parents were both unconverted at the time.) The mother replied, “I hope I shall some time, dear Mary.” The little girl said, “Do it now, ma,” and urged the mother, with all her childlike earnestness, to give herself to the Saviour then.

Finding she could not prevail in that way, she sought to secure a promise from her mother, feeling sure she would do what she promised; for her parents had made it a point never to make her a promise without carefully fulfilling it. So time after time she would say, “Promise me; and the mother would reply, “I do not like to promise you, Mary, for fear I shall not fulfill.”

This request was urged at times for nearly six years, and finally, the little petitioner had to die to secure the promise.

Several times during her sickness the parents came to her bedside to see her die, saying to her, “You are dying now, dear Mary.” But she would say, “No, ma, I can’t die till you promise me.” Still, her mother was unwilling to make the promise, lest it should not be kept. She intended to give her heart to Jesus sometime, but was unwilling to do it “now.”

Mary grew worse, and finally had uttered her last word on earth: her mother was never again to hear that earnest entreaty, “Promise me, ma.”

But the little one’s spirit lingered as if it were detained by the angel sent to lead the mother to Jesus, that the long-sought promise might be heard before it took its flight.

The weeping mother stood watching the countenance of the dying child, who seemed to say, by her look, “Ma, promise me, and let me go to Jesus.” There was a great struggle in her heart as she said to herself, “Why do I not promise this child? I mean to give my heart to Jesus; why not now? If I do not promise her now I never can.”

The Spirit inclined her heart to yield. She roused her child and said, “Mary, I will give my heart to Jesus.” This was the last bolt to be drawn; her heart was now open, and Jesus entered at once, and she felt the joy and peace of sins forgiven.

This change was so marked, she felt constrained to tell the good news to her child, that she might bear it with her where she went to live with Jesus; so, calling her attention once more, she said, “Mary, I have given my heart to Jesus, and He is my Saviour now.”

For six years Mary had been praying to God and pleading with her mother for these words; and now, as they fell upon her ear, a peaceful smile lighted up her face, and, no longer able to speak, she raised her little, pale hand, and pointing upward, seemed to say, “Ma, we shall meet up there.” Her life’s work was done, and her spirit returned to Him who gave it.

The mother’s heart was full o£ peace, though her loved one had gone. She now felt very anxious that her husband should have this blessing which she found in Christ.

The parents went into the room where Mary’s body was resting, to look upon the face of her who slept so sweetly in death, when the mother said, ‘Husband, I promised our little Mary that I would give my heart to Jesus, and He has received me. Now, won’t you promise?”

The Holy Spirit was there. The strong man resisted for a while, then yielded his will, and taking the little cold hand in his, kneeled and said, “Jesus, I will try to seek Thee.”

The child’s body was laid in the grave. The parents were found in the house of prayer — the mother happy in Jesus, and the father soon having some evidence of love to Christ.

When I closed my labors in Springfield, Dr. Ide said to his congregation, “I hope you will all give Brother Earle some token of your regard for his services before he leaves.” As Mary’s mother heard these words, she said she could, as it were, see her little Mary’s hand pointing down from heaven, and heard her sweet voice saying, “Ma, give him my two one-dollars.”

Those two one-dollars I have now, wrapped around the picture of that dear child, and wherever I go, little Mary will speak for the Saviour.

Reader, is there not some loved one now pointing down from heaven and saying to you, “Give your heart to Jesus”? Are you loving some earthly object more than Jesus? God may sever that tie — may take away your little Mary, or Willie, or some dear friend. Will you not come to Jesus, without such a warning? — Bringing in Sheaves

010 — THE CHILD MARTYR

The noted evangelist, E. P. Hammond, writes us from his home at Hartford, Conn., Aug. 11, 1898, and sends us the following reliable and very touching article for this work:

I have been surprised to notice how many children have died a martyr’s death rather than deny Jesus. I want to tell you about one of these young martyrs. In Antioch, where the disciples were first called Christians, a deacon from the church of Caesarea was called to bear cruel torture to force him to deny the Lord who bought him with His precious blood. While he was being tortured he still declared his faith, saying: “There is but one God and one mediator between God and man, Christ Jesus.” His body was almost torn in pieces. The cruel emperor, Galerius, seemed to enjoy looking upon him in his suffering. At length, this martyr begged his tormentors to ask any Christian child whether it was better to worship one God, the maker of heaven and earth, and one Saviour, who had died for us and was able to bring us to God or to worship the gods whom the Romans served. There stood nearby a Roman mother who had brought with her a little boy, nine years of age, that he might witness the sufferings of this martyr from Caesarea. The question was asked the child. He quickly replied, “God is one and Christ is one with the Father.”

The persecutor was filled with fresh rage and cried out, “O base and wicked Christian, that you have taught this child to answer this.” Then turning to the boy, he said more mildly, “Child, tell me who taught you thus to speak? Where did you learn this faith?”

The boy looked lovingly into his mother’s face and said, “It was God that taught it to my mother, and she taught me that Jesus Christ loved little children, and so I learned to love Him for his first love for me.”

“Let us see what the love of Christ can do for you,” cried the cruel judge, and at a sign from him the officers who stood by with their rods, after the fashion of the Romans, quickly seized the boy and made ready to torture him.

“What can the love of Christ do for him now?” asked the judge, as the blood streamed from the tender flesh of the child. “It helps him,” answered the mother, “to bear what his master endured for him when he died for us on the cross.”

Again they smote the child, and every blow seemed to torture the agonized mother as much as the child. As the blows, faster and heavier, were laid upon the bleeding boy, they asked, “What can the love of Christ do for him now?”

Tears fell from heathen eyes as that Roman mother replied, “It teaches him to forgive his tormentors.” The boy watched his mother’s eyes and no doubt thought of the sufferings of his Lord and Saviour, and when his tormentors asked if he would now serve the gods they served, he still answered, “I will not deny Christ. There is no other God but one, and Jesus Christ is the redeemer of the world. He loved me and died for me, and I love him with all my heart.”

The poor child, at last, fainted between the repeated strokes, and they cast the torn and bleeding body into the mother’s arms, saying, supposing that he was dead, “See what the love of Christ has done for your Christian boy now.”

As the mother pressed him to her heart she answered, “That love would take him from the wrath of man to the peace of heaven, where God shall wipe away all tears!”

But the boy had not yet passed over the river. Opening his eyes, he said, “Mother, can I have a drop of water from our cool well upon my tongue?”

As he closed his eyes in death the mother said, “Already, dearest, you have tasted of the well that springs up unto everlasting life. Farewell! Your Saviour calls for you. Happy, happy martyr! for His sake may He grant your mother grace to follow in your bright path.”

To the surprise of all, after they thought he had closed his eyes and had breathed his last, he finally raised his eyes and looked to where the elder martyr was, and said in almost a whisper, “There is but one God and Jesus Christ whom He has sent.” And with these words upon his parched lips, he passed into God’s presence, “where is fullness of joy, and to His right hand, where are pleasures forevermore.”

Are you, my dear reader, a Christian? If not, you can become one now. That same Jesus who bled and died to save that little Roman boy suffered on the cross for you, and He is ever ready to give you a new heart so that you will love Him so much that you would be willing to die a death of suffering rather than deny Him.

011 — THE SAD DEATH OF A LOST MAN

Near the town of K___, in Texas, there lived and prospered, a wealthy farmer, the son of a Methodist preacher, with whom the writer was intimately acquainted. He was highly respected in the community in which he lived. He was a kind-hearted and benevolent man; however, had one great fault — he was very profane. He would utter the most horrible oaths without, seemingly, the least provocation. On several occasions, I remember having seen him under deep conviction for salvation, during revival meetings. On one occasion, during a camp meeting, he was brought under powerful conviction. He afterward said he was suddenly frightened, and felt as if he wanted to run away from the place. Just one year from that time, another camp meeting was held at the same place, and he was again brought under conviction but refused to yield; after which he was suddenly taken ill and died in three days. I was with him in his last moments. He seemed to be utterly forsaken of the Lord from the beginning of his sickness. The most powerful medicines did not affect him whatever. Just as the sun of a beautiful Sunday morning rose in its splendor over the eastern hills, he died — in horrible agony. All through the night previous to his death, he suffered untold physical and mental torture. He offered the physicians all his earthly possessions if they would save his life. He was stubborn till the very last; and would not acknowledge his fear of death until a few moments before he died; then, suddenly he began to look, then to stare, horribly surprised and frightened, into the vacancy before him; then exclaimed, as if he beheld the king of terrors in all of his merciless wraths, “My God!” The indescribable expression of his countenance, at this juncture, together with the despairing tones in which he uttered these last words, made every heart quake. His wife screamed and begged a brother to pray for him, but he was so terror-stricken that he rushed out of the room. The dying man continued to stare in dreadful astonishment, his mouth wide open, and his eyes protruding out of their sockets, till at last with an awful groan,

“Like a flood with rapid force, death bore the wretch away.”

His little three-year-old son, the idol of his father’s heart, was convulsed with grief. This little boy, then so innocent, grew up to be a wicked young man and died a horrible death. Oh how sad! When we reflect that in hell there are millions of fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, hopelessly lost, given over forever to the mad ravages of eternal, pitiless wrath, ever frightened by real ghosts, tortured by serpents and scorpions, gnawed by the worm that never dies; and when we reflect that this, the future state of the wicked, will never abate its fury but, according to the natural law of sin, degradation and wretchedness, will grow worse and more furious as the black ages of eternity roll up from darker realms, we turn for relief from the sad reverie to the Man of Sorrows, who tasted death for every man, then to the beautiful city, whose builder and maker is God, to the bliss of the glorified who will shine as the stars forever and ever; then with renewed efforts we continue with gratitude to work out our own, and the salvation of others, with fear and trembling. — The Ambassador

012 — THE COURAGE AND TRIUMPHANT DEATH OF ST. LAURENCE THE MARTYR

Laurentius, usually called St. Laurence, was archdeacon under Sextus, and when that bishop was led out to execution, Laurence accompanied and comforted him. As they parted from each other for the last time, Sextus warned his faithful follower that his martyrdom would soon come after his own: that this prophecy was true is indicated by the tradition that has been handed down to us telling of his subsequent seizure and cruel death.

The Christian church of Rotor, even at this early period, had in its treasury considerable riches — both in money and in gold and silver vessels used at the services of the church. All these treasures were under the watchful eye of Laurence, the archdeacon. Besides maintaining its clergy, the church supported many poor widows and orphans; nearly fifteen hundred of these poor people, whose names Laurence kept upon his list, lived upon the charity of the church. Sums of money were also constantly needed to help struggling churches that had been newly established in distant parts of the world.

Macrianus, governor of Rome under the emperor Valerian, had heard of these riches, and longed to seize them; he, therefore, sent soldiers to arrest Laurence, who was soon taken and dragged before the governor. As soon as Macrianus’ pitiless eyes rested upon the prisoner, he said harshly:

“I hear that you who call yourselves Christians possess treasures of gold and silver and that your priests use golden vessels at your services. Is this true?”

Laurence answered: “The church, indeed, has great treasures.”

“Then bring those treasures forth,” said Macrianus. “Do not your sacred books tell you to render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s? The emperor needs those riches for the defense of the empire; therefore you must render them up.”

After reflecting deeply for a few moments, Laurence replied: “In three days I will bring before you the greatest treasures of the church.”

This answer satisfied the governor; so Laurence was set free, and Macrianus impatiently awaited the time when the expected stores of gold and silver should be placed before him.

On an appointed day Macrianus, attended by his officers, came to the place where the Christians usually assembled. They were calmly received by Laurence at the entrance and invited to pass into an inner room.

“Are the treasures collected?” was the first question of Macrianus.

“They are, my lord,” replied Laurence; “will you enter and view them?”

With these words, he opened a door and displayed to the astounded gaze of the governor, the poor pensioners of the church, a chosen number — a row of the lame, a row of the blind, orphans and widows, the helpless and the weak. Astonished by the sight, the governor turned fiercely upon Laurence, saying: “What mean you by this mockery? Where are the treasures of gold and silver you promised to deliver up?”

“These that you see before you,” replied the undaunted Laurence, “are the true treasures of the church. In the widows and orphans, you behold her gold and silver, her pearls and precious stones. These are her real riches. Make use of them by asking for their prayers; they will prove your best weapon against your foes.”

Enraged and disappointed at not securing the hoped-for gold (which had been carried to a place of safety during the three days that had elapsed), the governor furiously commanded his guards to seize Laurence and take him to a dungeon. There, terrible to relate, a great fire was built upon the stone floor, and a huge gridiron placed upon it; then the martyr was stripped of his clothing and thrown upon this fiery bed, to slowly perish in the scorching heat.

The cruel tyrant gazed down upon this dreadful sight to gratify his hatred and revenge, but the martyr had strength and spirit to triumph over him even to the last. Not a murmur escaped him, but with his dying breath, he prayed for the. The Christian church at Rome, and for the conversion of the entire empire to God; and so, lifting his eyes to heaven, he gave up the ghost.

A Roman soldier, named Romanus, who looked on at the sufferings of St. Laurence, was so much affected by the martyr’s courage and faith that he became a convert to Christianity. As soon as this was known the soldier was severely scourged, and afterward beheaded. — Foxe’s Book of Martyrs

013 — TRIUMPHANT DEATH OF GEORGE EDWARD DRYER

This saint of God went to heaven from Reedsburg, Wisconsin, on Feb. 1, 1896. His sister, Mrs. Evaline Dryer Green, sends us the following:

Dear readers, come with me for a little while as I look at memory’s walls. See, there are many things written there! Here is one story, sweet and sacred, almost too sacred to relate; yet as” with hushed voices, we talk of this, our hearts shall melt and we shall feel that heaven is drawing nearer.

I remember my baby brother — though I was a child of but four years when he came into our home. I well remember that little face as I saw it first. I remember the chubby brown hands when he was a wee boy, always in mischief then. 1 was a frail girl, and he soon outgrew me. Then those sweet years of home life, and later the glad homecomings when I was away at school. On my return George was always the first to wave his hand and shout for joy — perhaps toss his hat high in the air and give a certain “whoop” and three cheers that I loved to hear. We were right loyal friends, my brother and me.  And then — ah, it’s here I’d wish to draw the veil, and forget. We thought he would accomplish his ambitions — so strong, so full of life!  But we will only glance at those long months of suffering and hasten to the last. Nearly eighteen months of weariness from coughing, and there he lay, the picture of patient endurance, saying from his heart’s depths,

“Farewell, mortality — Jesus is mine. Welcome, eternity — Jesus is mine!”

Often he would call me near him and say, “Oh, sister, the Lord does so save me!” To the doctor, the boys of his own age, to neighbors, and all who came, he testified how Jesus saved him, through and through.

The last hours were drawing near. One of the Lord’s servants came and prayed. George prayed for her father, mother, brothers, and sisters. A little later in the evening a sweat, deathly cold, cover