The Annals of the Poor Part 24

A VISIT TO THE INFIRMARY.

I went a few months since to visit a paris.h.i.+oner, then in the county infirmary, within some miles of which I reside, and was informed that in an adjoining ward there lay a very good old man, confined by a mortification in his foot, who would take particular satisfaction in any Christian conversation which my time would allow me to afford him.

The nurse conducted me into a room where I found him alone on a bed. The character of his countenance was venerable, cheerful, contented, and pious. His h.o.a.ry hairs proclaimed him to be aged, although the liveliness in his eye was equal to that of the most vigorous youth.

"How are you, my friend?" I said.

"Very well, sir, very well. Never better in all my life. Thank G.o.d for all his mercies!" replied the man, with so cheerful a tone of voice as at once surprised and delighted me.

"Very well! How so? I thought from what I heard you were in much pain and weakness," said I.

"Yes, sir, that is true; but I am very well for all that. For G.o.d is so good to my soul, and he provides everything needful for my body. The people in the house are very kind; and friends come to see me, and talk and pray with me. Sir, I want nothing but more grace to praise the Lord for all his goodness."

"Why, my friend, you are an old pilgrim, and I am glad to see that you have learned thankfulness as you travel through the wilderness."

"Thankfulness!" quickly returned he. "No, sir; I never did thank the Lord, I never could thank him; no, nor I never shall thank him as I ought, till I get to glory. And then--oh, then--how I will thank him for what he has done for me!" Tears of affection filled his eyes as he spoke.

"What a good Master you serve!" I added.

"Ay, sir, if the servant was but as good as the Master. But here I am, a poor old sinner, deserving nothing, and receiving everything which I need. Sir, I want nothing but more grace to serve him better. I lie here on this bed, and pray and sing by night and day. Sir, you must let me sing you my hymn; I always begin it about four o'clock in the morning, and it keeps my spirits alive all the day through."

Without waiting for my reply, he raised himself up, and in an aged and broken, but very affecting tone of voice, he sang two or three verses, expressive of G.o.d's goodness to him, and his own desire to live to G.o.d's glory. The simplicity, serenity, and heartfelt consolation, with which this venerable disciple went through it, gave a colouring to the whole, and left an impression on my mind which it would be impossible to convey to the reader.

As soon as he had finished his hymn, he said, "Do not be offended, sir, at my boldness: you love the Lord, too, I hope; and then I am sure you won't be angry to hear me praise him. But now, sir, talk to me about Jesus Christ. You are his minister, and he has sent you here to-day to see a poor unworthy soul, that does not deserve the least of his mercies.

Talk to me, sir, if you please about Jesus Christ."

"Neither you nor I are able to talk of him as we ought," I answered; "and yet, if we were to hold our peace, the very stones would cry out."

"Ay, and well they might, sir, cry shame, shame upon us, if we refused to speak of his goodness," said the old man.

"Jesus Christ," I continued, "is a sure refuge, and a present help in time of trouble."

"That's right, sir; so he is."

"Jesus Christ has taken care of you, and watched over you all the days of your life; and he will be your guide and portion in death."

"That's right again, sir; so he will."

"You have committed your soul into his keeping long since, have you not?"

"About forty years ago, sir; about forty years ago, (when I first used to hear Mr. Venn and Mr. Berridge,) he came to seek and to save me, a vile sinner, who deserved nothing but his wrath. I can never praise him enough."

"Well, my friend, and this very Saviour, Jesus Christ, whom you love, and in whom you trust, lived for you, and died for you; he rose again for you, and has sanctified you by his Holy Spirit, and now lives to make daily intercession for you: and having done all this, do you think he will leave you to perish at last?"

"No, sir," said the old man: "faithful is he that hath promised, and will do it. Mine, alack, is a changing heart; but he changeth not. I believe that he hath laid up a crown of glory for me; and though the old enemy of souls sometimes tells me I shan't have it, I believe in Christ sooner than in him, and I trust I shall have it at last."

"And do you not find by experience," I added, "that his yoke is easy, and his burden light? His commandments are not grievous, are they?"

"No, sir, no: it is a man's meat and drink, if he loves the Lord, to do what he bids him."

"Where were you before you came into this infirmary?"

"In the parish workhouse of S---."

"Have you a wife?"

"She died some years since, and got to her heavenly home before me."

"Have you any children?"

"Yes, sir, I have two sons married, and settled in the world with families. One of them has been here to see me lately, and I hope he is in a good way for his own soul, and brings up his children in the fear of G.o.d."

"Have you any worldly cares upon your mind?"

"_Not one_, sir. I am come to this house, I plainly see, to end my days; for this mortification in my leg must, before it be very long, bring me to the grave. And I am quite willing, sir, to go, or to wait the Lord's own time. I want nothing, sir, but more grace to praise him." Which last words he often repeated in the course of the conversation.

"You have reason," I said, "to feel thankful that there is such a house as this for poor and sick people to be brought to, for both food, lodging, and medicine."

"That I have, indeed, sir; it is a house of mercies to me, and I am ashamed to hear how unthankful many of the patients seem to be for the benefits which the Lord provides for them here. But, poor creatures, they neither know nor love him. The Lord have mercy upon them, and show them the right way. I should never have known that good way, sir, if he had not taken compa.s.sion upon me, when I had none upon myself."

Tears ran down his aged cheeks as he spoke these last words. "Here,"

thought I, "is a poor man that is very rich, and a weak man that is very strong." At this moment the nurse brought in his dinner. "There, sir, you see, more and more mercies! The Lord takes care of me, and sends me plenty of food for this poor, old worn-out body."

"And yet," said I, "that poor old worn-out body will one day be renewed and become a glorified body, and live along with your soul in the presence of G.o.d for ever."

"That's right, sir," said the good old man, "so it will: 'though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see G.o.d.' But, come, sir," seeing me look at my watch, "you must speak a word _to_ your Master, if you please, as well as _for_ him. I will put down my dinner while you pray with me."

I did so, the man often adding his confirmation of what I offered up by voice, gesture, and countenance, in a manner highly expressive of the agreement of his heart with the language of the prayer.

Having ended, he said, "G.o.d be with you, sir, and bless your labours to many poor souls! I hope you will come to see me again, if my life be spared. I am so glad to see those who will talk to me about Jesus Christ, and his precious salvation."

I replied, "May the G.o.d of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, who carried them through the days of their pilgrimage, and brought them safe to a city which hath foundations, bring you there too, and bless you all the remaining days of your journey till you get home! I am going to see several serious friends this evening, who would be glad, I know, to receive a message from one who has had so much experience of a Saviour's mercies. What shall I say to them?"

"Tell them, sir, with my Christian love and respects, that you have been to see a poor dying old man, who wants nothing at all in this world but more grace to praise the Lord with."

So ended our first interview. I could not help reflecting, as I returned homewards, that, as the object of my journey to the infirmary had been to carry instruction and consolation myself to the poor and the sick; so the poor and the sick were made instrumental to the conveying of both instruction and consolation to my own heart in a very superior degree.

I saw him four or five times afterwards, and always found him in the same happy, patient, thankful, and edifying state of mind and conversation.

The last time I was with him, he said, "Sir, I long to be at my heavenly home, but I am willing to remain a traveller as long as my Lord and Master sees good."

He died {203} not long after my last sight of him, in the steadfast a.s.surance of faith, and with a full hope of immortality.

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