Life and Labors of Elder John Kline, the Martyr Missionary - BestLightNovel.com
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WEDNESDAY, June 15, 1864. He went to a blacksmith's shop a few miles away from home; had Nell shod; and on his return was killed by, it is supposed, some concealed person or persons on a ridge of timber land a few miles away from home. Some account of his funeral has already been given in the introduction to this work. His body, when discovered, showed that it had been pierced by several bullets. But a smile rested on his face. The writer's own eyes witnessed this. It may be that this smile was the reflection of the joy that thrilled his soul as he stepped out of his broken tenement of clay into the presence and light of his Redeemer. Stephen's living face was as the face of an angel.
Brother Kline's dead face was the face of a saint--no, not the face of a saint, but the face of the earthly casket in which a saint had lived, and labored, and rejoiced; and out of which he stepped into the glories of the eternal world. Amen!
_He Died at His Post._
[Said to have been composed by Brother Kline on the death of Joseph Miller, who died while on a visit to Ohio.]
Away from his home and the friends of his youth He hasted, the herald of mercy and truth, For the love of his Lord and to seek for the lost Soon, alas! was his fall, but he died at his post.
The stranger's eye wept that in life's brightest bloom One gifted so highly should sink to the tomb; For in order he led in the van of his host, And he fell like a soldier, he died at his post.
He wept not himself that his warfare was done, The battle was fought and the victory won, But he whispered of those whom his heart clung to most, "Tell my Brethren for me that I died at my post."
He asked not a stone to be sculptured with verse; He asked not that fame should his merits rehea.r.s.e; But he asked as a boon when he gave up the ghost, That his Brethren might know that he died at his post.
Victorious his fall, for he rose as he fell, With Jesus his Master in glory to dwell.
He has pa.s.sed o'er the stream and has reached the bright court, For he fell like a martyr; he died at his post.
And can we the words of his exit forget?
O, no, they are fresh in our memory yet.
An example so brilliant shall not be lost; We will fall in the work, we will die at our post.
