His Religious Life

Oue. father’s religious life was so interwoven with his every-day human life in the world, that it seetns impossible to separate them. His religion was his life, and he had no other. Everywhere, in the fulfilment of his family or his social duties, in his business affairs, and in his association with the world outside, the atmosphere of a loyal devotion to the Lord Jesus and His service, surrounded him and made itself felt. It was not the custom of his day or of his circle to say as much on the subject of religion as has since become common in many circles, but what he did say was full of weight, from the fact that it was evidently no sudden or isolated thought, but was the outcome of a heart habitually filled with love and trust and obedience. It always seemed but the natural expression of his life, and carried the conviction home to all with whom he came in contact, that religion was a reality to him in the deepest sense of that word.

He was converted at the age of seventeen, and has left us the following account of the great change which took place when he was a sailor-boy at sea:

“On one of my voyages from Charleston to Liverpool, there was a passenger named Hay. He took a fancy to me and to a young 80 man a little older than nivself, and one day gave lis a Bible between us. As we each had one already, we agreed to toss up for it. It ft 11 to my lot and was placed in my chest, where it quietly remained until on our return passage, when the thought struck me that it would be a nice thing to tell at home that I had read the Bible through. Thus it was through the apparent accident of a toss-up, and remembering the Bible, and wishing to say it had been read, that I began the New Testament, having no other desire than to appear good; for, during all these years, I had lived a heedless, careless life, and without God in the world. Yet now it pleased Him, who is rich in mercy, to reveal Himself to my poor lost heart, as an awful Reprover for sin, giving me to see my undone condition. Almost the horrors of death and of hell seized upon me, and I feared being forever lost. Oh! the desperate sorrow and grief that possessed me! None can know it but those who have tasted thereof! However, after this deep baptism of the Spirit had reduced me and brought me low, it pleased my Heavenly Father to lift up the light of His countenance upon me, and give me a sense of forgiveness. And then the joy and peace that was my portion no tongue can describe. Only those who have enjoyed the same blessed privilege can know it. I found my inclinations totally changed; no longer delighting in foolish talking, jesting, and such like; no more joining my shipmates in their folly, telling long yarns, and so forth; but kept much to myself, and in seeking after God. I was a wonder to many. Such a change in one who aforetime was full of fun and lightness, created surprise. But my fellow-seamen treated me with great respect, appreciating, in some degree, the cause of the change. How can a poor worm of the dust enough commemorate the praise of Him who thus granted to me the new birth, now in my eighteenth year? Gracious Lord, accept my poor thanks!

‘’Great was the joy of my dear family on seeing the wonderful change that had come over me. My precious mother saw of the travail of her soul, and was satisfied. And my dear oldest sister, Ann Cooper Whitall, who had been herself visited by the Day-spring from on high, and who was very lovely, and a sweet, watchful Christian, entered into sympathy with me in my religious life. Deep was our love and interest in one another. (She was in delicate health, and died with consumption in 7th mo., 1822, in her 32nd year].”

The details of the experience here related were verysimple. Our father had no teaching on the ship, and no outward helps there, although he knew that his mother and sister were praying for him at home. He was alone with the Lord and with the Bible; and he could never tell us what took place, except in the simple words, “I cried unto the Lord, and He heard me, and gave me a sense of His forgiveness and His love.” And this sense never left him through all the varying experiences of the fifty-nine remaining years of his pilgrimage. He had his seasons of discouragement, and his times of sorrow, for failure and wandering; but he never once, through it all, seems to have lost, even for a moment, this blessed sense of forgiveness, or to have entertained a single doubt of his being always surrounded by the Lord’s love and care. Often and often he would say of himself, that he felt very poor and stripped and unworthy; but always he would add, “But the Lord is very good, and my trust is in Him.”

The one especial feature in his life, which was, I believe, the secret of it all, was the reality of his inward communion with his Lord. A few years after his soul had thus found peace in the forgiveness of his sins, he began to pray earnestly for the baptism of the Holy Spirit, which he saw promised in the Bible, and which he had been brought up to believe in as a blessed reality. And one day, when sitting on the deck of the ship silently waiting upon the Lord, he received this “promise of the Father,” definitely and consciously, filling his whole being with floods of joy and peace. From that time his life was one of very near and intimate communion with the indwelling Comforter, who had thus come and taken up His abode within his heart; and I believe he never allowed many hours to pass in any day without seeking after and realizing this blessed Presence.

His favorite text was, “Draw nigh unto God, and He will draw nigh unto you.” So much was this the case, and so often did he quote it to us, that we called it “Father’s text,” and most faithfully did he put it into practice himself, while thus constantly recommending it to others. From my earliest childhood I can remember coming upon him many times a day, sitting quietly alone in his arm-chair waiting on the Lord. We children used to say to one another that “father was having one of his little meetings,” but we hardly understood then with whom those meetings were held, even with the Lord Himself, who did indeed draw daily nigh to this faithful seeking heart. When I grew older, and could understand what it meant, my father told me that he never felt as if he could begin or end the day safely or comfortably, until he had felt the sensible presence of his Lord and Saviour; and he always waited in these times of retirement until this was granted. No matter where he was or who was present, regularly morning and evening, he would go away from the rest of the party, and would wait in silence before the Lord, until His manifested presence was vouchsafed to him. When he was sixty-nine years old he dictated to me the following account of his experience in this respect:

“It pleased the Lord in great mercy to visit me with the Day-spring from on high in my eighteenth year; so that from heing very volatile I became serious and a seeker after the Lord. And to Hia praise be it spoken, whenever I really was in earnest to draw nigh unto Him, He was pleased to draw nigh unto me; and to give me a sense of His reconciled countenance. And often in the night season, and during the day, while pursuing my various avocations, I would feel the incomes of His love. But for some years I had no especial time set apart for waiting on the Lord. In my twenty-third year, on one occasion, when praying for the baptism of the Holy Spirit, I was sitting in perfect stillness before the Lord, when I received a powerful visitation, and an assurance that this quiet waiting was the way for me to seek and find Him. And to the praise of His mercy be it spoken, from that time to the present, I have received grace to be diligent in waiting upon Him, and have found Him faithful to the promise that ‘Ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.’

“And often in seasons of great trial and difficulty, this practice has proved to be of the greatest comfort and encouragement; the Lord lifting up the light of His countenance upon me, and permitting me to ask His protection, help, and direction; and blessed be His name, He has many times granted my petitions, so that I can adopt the language, ‘Truly my soul waiteth upon God, from Him cometh my salvation. He only is my rock and my salvation; He is my defence; I shall not be greatly moved.’

‘’ From long experience I feel satisfied that at least twice a day we should observe a time of waiting upon and drawing nigh to our Heavenly Father. In the morning, arising before it is necessary for the business of the day, and appropriating at least half an hour for this purpose; and then again the last thing before retiring. This has been my practice for many years, and with humble gratitude I would acknowledge that the Lord has often met me, and I have passed through the day with a sense of His love on my spirit. And in the night season could sweetly sleep, feeling that if the Lord be for me who could be against me.

“In seasons of waiting I find it necessary not to be discouraged if wandering ihouglits intrude, or if even drowsiness should oppress me, but to press on, keep on the watch, bring back my wandering thoughts, struggle against sleep, and wait patiently on the Lord, knowing that if I am to have a sense of His presence, He must reveal Himself to me, and humbly trusting that He will do so. But if ill seasons of spiritual coldness He may seem to hide His face, we feel at least rewarded for having done our duty, and are willing to walk by faith, until He shall again appear. But let us on no account omit this important duty. John M. Wuitall. “llh month, 1869, at ‘The Cedars’”

It was from the faithful perseverance in this habit of waiting upon Grod that he drew the strength for a walk of unusual nobility and power, and also of great simplicity and trust. His life was really a ‘’life hid with Christ in God,” and all its springs were drawn from this divine source. Great childlikeness and directness of faith were the result of this daily communing. He learned to know the Lord with whom he had so much loving intercourse, and therefore learned to trust Him. And the divine wisdom gathered in these hours of waiting availed him so well in the practical affairs of lifj, that although of an enthusiastic and impulsive nature, his walk was singularly free from any serious mistakes.

We do not mean, however, to imply that our dear father had no failures to mourn over and repent of. He himself would have been the last one to admit of such a thought. And his impulsive nature did sometimes in the earlier part of his Christian life betray him into a momentary anger. But as he advanced in years grace conquered this so wonderfully, that he seemed at last to have scarcely any traces of his early impetuosity left. And the touching patience and submission with which he accepted the trials of failing health and energy, showed plainly the transforming power of the sane-” tifying Spirit who had so early taken up His abode in his heart.

In fiict this frequent waiting upon the Lord was so marked a feature in his daily life as to make a great impression upon us as children even, and still more so when we came to understand what it meant. His daughter Sarah thus records her impressions of it:

“I shall never forget dear father’s daily, silent waiting before the Lord. We used playfully to tell him, that he could never be in a situation where he would be deprived of his favorite occupation, for a ’ meeting’ was always available. And, truly, it never seemed to come amiss to him, wherever he was, to retire in spirit from the distractions around him, and settle down into that inward, quiet waiting upon God, which was, no doubt, the secret of his almost wonderful life of active, living faith.

‘’As long as I can remember, he was in the habit of rising a half hour earlier, in order to give himself an opportunity for it before breakfast. And often, when I have gone down before the family assembled, I have seen him sitting in the one spot, now sacredly associated with his memory, with his heart evidently iixed on things unseen. His affectionate morning greeting was, however, always ready, and after that was given, he would return with undisturbed spirit to his inward communion. Sometimes, visitors in the house, coming down early, and finding him thus engaged, would also sit down and join with him in silent waiting. He would never read the newspaper until after this season of waiting, no matter how eager he might be for news, nor would he allow us to tell him anything concerning its contents. “Again, in the evening, a half hour or more before

HIS RELIGIOUS LIFE. Ol

bed-time, tie would withdraw from the family-circle, and taking his accustomed seat, pour out his heart in secret unto the Lord, and many times I have seen him afterward dry his tear-soaked handkerchief by the fire. It company kept him later, and the rest of us waited in the parlor to talk awhile, we would be sure, when we went up-stairs, to find him sitting with the gas lowered, and after a loving farewell to us all, he would still remain for that communion wdiich was sweeter to him than any other. Once, as we were thus leaving him, Hannah said: ‘Father, what does thee do here all alone in the dark?’ Horephed: ‘I wait for the Lord, and He comes.’

“Although this habit of having a fixed time for waiting upon the Lord had been his custom for so long, that we, none of us, can remember when he began it, yet it was frequently a cause of regret to him that he had not practised it earlier in life. During an illness he had in 1861, which, for a while, he expected was to release him from the world, he spoke of this to me. He said if he had his life to live over again, he would have it difi’erent in this respect. That for the many years in which he had been in the habit of holding communion with the Lord at fixed times, he had experienced so much refreshment, and it had been the means to him of so much blessing, that he was sorry to have missed it during any of his Christian life. He said he had very often been able to draw very near to his Heavenly Father, when an open door had been set before him to pray for himself and his family, and his Society; and that sometimes when he was in perplexity about his business or other temporal concerns, he would carry them to the Lord, and roll his burdens off on Him, and ask for wisdom, and that many times all doubt and anxiety had been removed, and perfect peace been given him, and that occasionally he had been favored with a knowledge of the way affairs would develop, which afterwards proved to be true.

“At that time, as upon many other occasions, he urged upon me personally the importance of not neglecting this great privilege of having stated times for communion with the Lord, and spoke of my two eldest children, who were then very young, and told me not to fail to lead them early into the practice. Afterwards when they were older he spoke about it himself at different times to them, as well as to his other grand-children, and surely no better inheritance could descend unto a generation of graml-children, than the constant example of their dear grandpa in this respect, and the remembrance of his many words of earnest, yet gentle exhortation on the subject.”

The life of trust which resulted from all this was so perfectly natural to our father that he did not speak of it much, never supposing there was anything very, remarkable about it. But as we grew older, we learned to realize that it was a rare and most blessed attainment. I remember very well that when the time came in my own experience that I first fully discovered the truth concerning a life of continual trust in the Lord Jesus for everything, I at once said to myself that this must be the secret of my father’s life; and at the earliest opportunity I told him of my new experience, and said:

“Now, father, is not this the secret of thy life, and the source of thy strength? Is not this the way thee has always lived?” I shall never forget his reply: “Why, of course it is, daughter,” he said with a joyous ring of triumph in his voice; “I know of no other way to live. And I do know,” he added reverentially, “what it is, when the enemy comes in like a flood, for the Lord to lift up His standard against him, and drive him away.” It was his custom in every time of emergency, whether small or great, to refer the question to this indwelling Guide and Teacher, and to wait until he received what to him seemed a sufficient answer. And this was the case in all his temporal affairs, as well as his spiritual ones. I can remember many times when I would catch a little glimpse into this inner life of my precious father that was most inspiring to me. One morning we were driving dowm the avenue of The Cedars, just starting for the city, where I was to take the cars for cjuite a long journey. Just before we reached the gate, I recollected something important which I had left behind me; and while waiting for the coachman to bring it from the house, I said: “How fortunate that I remembered it in time.” Dear father cuietly said, “Thee should thank the good E.emembrancei’, daughter.” “What,” I asked, “does thee think it was the Holy Spirit that reminded me?” “Yes,” was his reply, “I think it is our privilege to commit all our affairs to His guidance, and I believe that then He will bring to our remembrance the things it is important we should recollect. I know,” he added, “that He has very often done this for me; but I find that I must not slight His monitions, but attend to the thing at once, or I may forget it again after all”

Nothino- was too trivial for him to take to the Lord, and his simple, childlike faith caused him to receive many striking answers to prayer, even in the every-day affairs of life. If he had any especial plan on foot needing dry weather, such as taking over a load of bedding, etc., in the spring, to his country house, he would ask that it might not rain, and rarely failed I believe to have his petition granted. When he was questioned as to how he could expect the Almighty Creator of heaven and earth to notice his little affairs, and to arrange the course of the elements to suit him, he would say that he had been told to make his requests known in everything:, and that he was sure the Lord, who counted the hairs of our heads, and who noticed the fall of a sparrow, would care for the least little matters that affected His children’s comfort and welfare. I remember the unexplainable sense of comfort it used to give me as a child to know, although I did not in the least understand it, that my father committed his affairs, and therefore mine, to the care of God. It seemed to me to surround us, as was indeed the truth, with an invisible sort of fortress that guarded us from all harm. I suffered as a child excessively from a fear of nameless dangers of all kinds, dangers conjured up by a very vivid imagination, and from which, therefore, there was no escape; Init I remember distinctly the wondrous relief that came to me when my father, having found out my fears, took me one day on his lap, and said, in his cheeriest tones,” Why, Broadie, there is nothing to be afraid of.

Heavenly Father takes care of thee, and He is with thee all the time, and He will not let anything hurt thee. Just remember this the next time thee is frightened, and see if it don’t comfort thee.” Conviction came to my childish heart with these words, for they were the expression of a deep conviction on my father’s part; and from that time my fears lost their power, and in every moment of threatening terror, his words and tones would come back and quiet it all.

It is uncommon, I feel sure, to find such a childlike
trust combined with so much strong, manly vigor;
and the combination made a character of rare beauty
and power.

No doubt this combination was largely due to his constant companionship with, and reverential study of the Bible. It was, essentially, the “man of his counsel,” continually, and from its pages he seemed to draw never-failing supplies of truth. His daughter Sarah has supplied the following reminiscences concerning this:

‘’His familiarity with the Bible was very uncommon. It used to be a marvel to us as children, and was none the less so as we grew older and found for ourselves the difficulty of remembering the many and various histories and details of the Old Testament. He was never at a loss in answering a question as to a name, or place, or event, and used almost invariably to tell just where in the Bible they were to be found. He had no need of a concordance. He used to say he thought this was owing to the Bible having been used as a reading-book in the school he attended when a boy; but we, who saw him so faithfully reading it as a man, thought there were better reasons for it than that. From the veryfirst of his having a home of his own, he adopted the practice of reading a chapter in the Bible to the assembled family every morning after breakfast. He would, on these occasions, often make remarks on different passages, endeavoring to explain them to our youthful minds. We were always required to sit very properly, our fother teaching us that when we were as in the presence of our Heavenly Father, we must observe a reverential demeanor. The Bible he used was well worn. It was the one his mother gave him when he first went to sea, and he used it faithfully for his own private reading, as well as for reading aloud to the ship’s crew, and in order to preserve it, had covered it with the skin of a pet goat that had died on ship-board. It presented, therefore, a remarkable appearance — the black and white hair remaining on it in large patches, while the parts most handled were worn to the skin. But the chief interest of its appearance was the inside. In the gospels, large pieces were worn away from the edges of some of the leaves, by constant use, destroying sometimes four or five or more verses, and as I sat at his left hand at table, it was my great delight to see him, when he came to one of these places, go on reading, without hesitation, as though the whole of it was there. He never seemed to lose this familiarity with the Bible, and even when his interest and knowledge of worldly matters had very much faded from his view, his memory was perfectly clear on Bible subjects. One First-day evening, during the last year of his life, as the rest of us, — children and grand-children, — were gathered round the table in the parlor, at the Cedars, with our mother, engaged in the study of the Bible, the dear patriarch of the family sat apart in his large arm-chair, apparently unconscious of what was going on around him. A question having arisen as to a certain event in the Old Testament, which we were none of us able to answer, one of the party turned to him, and asked him if he recollected what it was and where it was. At once he was entirely alive to the subject, and told us correctly what we wanted to know, as we found, upon turning to the place he indicated.

“He would never say that he valued one part of the Bible more than another, but it was very manifest that he had an especial love for the gospels. Of later years he would very frequently hand the Bible to any one of his children who might happen to be with him, and ask to have a chapter read. How distinctly, as I write, come back to me the tones of his voice filled with an involuntary accent of affection for his dear Saviour, as in reply to the question, ‘Where shall I read, father?’ he would say, ‘Bead about the Lord Jesus.’

“For many years he had been in the haljit of reading the Bible through once a year, and at New Year’s, 1877, five months before his death, he began it again, but only got as far as Froverbs, when he found he was unable to read any more; and then, with the sweetest and most instructive submission and patience, he laid aside his beloved book, and was never heard to utter one word of complaint of his failing powers.”

The legacy of such a life as this is an invaluable one, and those of us who had the privilege of seeing it lived before us in its daily and hourly power and sweetness, realize that we shall indeed be held doubly accountable if we fail to learn its lessons.

And it is because we want the grand-children to share in this blessedness, that this account of their sainted grandfather has been prepared, in order that they may know, as- fully as words can tell them, the rich inheritance which is theirs.