Honorably Discharged: Death and Burial

*’ His soul to Him who gave it lose;
God led it to its long repose,

Its glorious rest.
And though the warrior’s sun has set,
Its light shall linger round us yet,

Bright, radiant, blest.”

When fruit is altogether ripe it drops readily from the bough. Till then it clings with a tenacious hold. Uncle John did not at once let go of life. In spite of sufferings that at times were terrible, he was in no hurry to shake off mortality and have the battle done. Not only was the life instinct strong, but he saw much yet remaining to be done, and in the doing of it he would fain bear a part.

In the early autumn of 1878 the tokens of improvement noticed in the previous chapter were quite marked. He regarded them as indications to buckle the harness on again, and began to lay plans for the weeks ahead.

Under date of October ist, to Rev. Mr. Owen, of Wyoming County, N. Y., he thus writes:

“Dear Brother Owen: I am getting better every day, and can work some. Please write to New York to the Secretary, Rev. G. L. Shearer, and see if I cannot come to you at once. I think the Lord will work for His glory in your place. How can I reach you, and what will be the railroad fare?”

October 9th he sends another postal, reading
thus:

“The Society and my doctor both say I cannot come to you; but I want to come and see the salvation of our God once more. Send me a card and tell me the route.”

The Society now interposed its authority, and peremptorily forbade him to engage in any kind of work. They saw the ruling passion so asserting itself, and were so fearful it might huriy him into engagements that he was utterly unfit to fill that they even required him for his own protection to sign a paper obligating himself for the present to keep still. The enforced idleness was painful to him, and but for the giving of such a promise he would probably have made some feeble and futile attempt to gird on the old responsibilities.

October came toward its close, and though weak he was tolerably comfortable. With the last days of the month the Prophetic Conference was to meet in ,the church of his good friend. Dr. S. H. Tyng, Jr. He felt sure he might venture to attend this gathering, and the family, seeing his anxiety, assented to his plans. Accompanied by his eldest son, he went to New York, visited again those with whom he had been so long associated in the Tract House, and spent a pleasant Sabbath among dear Christian friends. The meetings of the Conference in Holy Trinity, where he had enjoyed some blessed seasons previously, were to him a great delight. He was a firm believer in the general doctrines there discussed, and had been for many years. His saintly father had held to “that blessed hope,” and to Uncle John it was just as sweet. Concerning it we are not here called upon to speak. Only this in passing should be said, that if the doctrine — as is sometimes urged^does relax the hand of pious effort, and weaken faith in the Gospel’s power to save, it certainly did not produce in him its natural fruits.

This reunion with old brethren and friends seemed to act like a tonic. He was more like himself than he had been for months. Dr. Tyng says that as he went out from the church for the last time he looked up at it, and thinking of the great numbers who in it, or through its services, had been led to Christ, he lifted up his hands and said,” God bless the dear old soul-trap:’

Inelegant the term, but blessedly expressive.

For a week or more after reaching home he seemed better than before his trip. He was able to attend one or two of the evening meetings in his own church, and those who listened to him said that almost the old fire and fervor appeared to flash. Then came a most distressing relapse. All the favorable symptoms disappeared. The two elder boys- one from New York, and one from St. Louis — were summoned home.

Three weeks of intense suffering followed, completely exhausting his little remaining strength. There were no spiritual raptures such as many supposed would be given him on a dying bed. As the body wasted, the quick, active mind declined. The strong, earnest spirit seemed to share in the prostration of the earthly house it so long had lived in. The mortal tabernacle was falling, and the immortal tenant felt the jar.

We might have wished it otherwise, but the Lord makes no mistakes. It is best to say about it or look at it as Paul did when he said, “The good and acceptable and perfect wdll of God.” Even had he been granted the most triumphant death-bed, that could have added little to the testimony which had for thirty years been borne.

The last day came. It was Friday, December 6th. His faithful medical attendant. Dr. A. B. Harvey, came in to make his usual call. For more than a quarter of a century he had been the family physician, the firm friend, the loving Christian brother. His practised eye saw that the end was not far away, and a few hours later he came again. Then frankly he told the sinking man that the parting time had come. Tenderly he recalled their past experiences, joyfully he spoke of their common hopes, tearfully he bade him good-by till they should meet again in the house of many mansions. The departing veteran seemed surprised. He had not thought the change so near. Even when so plainly told that he was at the river’s brink and soon must go across, only partially did he appear to realize the fact, and parted with the doctor as if fully expecting to see him the following day.

In the afternoon the household became convinced that only a few hours remained. All gathered around his bed — the wife, who for twenty-four years had been his companion and counsellor, Walter, Albert, Hattie, Johnnie — the living children of his love. He knew them all, and seemed pleased that they were near. That was about all he appeared to note. The brief December day darkened into night. The group of watchers was enlarged by the arrival of a sister, a niece, and one or two other friends. Gently, painlessly, but silently, he was passing into the presence of the holy God. An hour before the end came the lips moved, and the wife, bending over him, caught the word “farewell — farewell.” Once again there was a faint whisper. It was “Hallelujah!” just that, and nothing more.

A little after seven o’clock the last breath fluttered from between the whitening lips. The soldier had received his discharge. The victor had gone to get und wear his crown.

“One day, his voice was heard in Israel Amid her bannered legions, crying Cheer! To God’s elected hosts in holy war; Another, and he dropped his tempered blade, And hushed his battle-cry, his warning note, And trailed his standard in the dust of death. But ’twas a glorious exchange for him! His sword laid down, he took the sceptre up; His call to arms, changed to the victor’s song; His war-worn banner, to triumphant robes; His dying bed, to an undying throne.”

The roof which sheltered his dying head was the gift of some loving Christian friends. He left nothing besides to the widow and the children, save a spotless name, and a record of heroic devotion and saintly sacrifice which this generation has yet to see surpassed.

On Monday afternoon, December 9th, those who loved the man bore his body to its rest. The day was dark with storm. Early there was a heavy snow-fall, later came on a drenching rain. The church on Mill Street nevertheless was filled. Taking into account the condition of the streets, it was as large a funeral gathering as Poughkeepsie has often seen. The city of his birth and lifelong residence kept a sacred memorial day. Uncle John’s favorite Psalm, the one hundred and third, was read by his long-time friend, Dr. Stone, of Tarrytown.

Dr. Kendrick, his pastor, then dwelt briefly on the man’s career. “If I were preaching a funeral sermon over Uncle John,” he said,” this should be my text: * The zeal of thine house hath eaten me up.’

“If he had a coat of arms, the proper device for it would have been a burning heart. Though zealous, he was not censorious. He lived in a higher sphere of spiritual life than his brethren, but he was always most patient with them. * He allured to heaven and led the way.* Though his zeal was not properly one-sided or narrow, it still took very much the direction of anxiety for souls. And his efforts always kept even pace with his intense desires. If no opportunities “THE CHURCH ON MILL STREET’ offered for doing good, he went in search of them. In this respect I have never known his like.”

Dr. Stephen H. Tyng, Jr., of New York, followed Dr. Kendrick. He said: “I parted with Uncle John at the throne of grace; I expect to meet him next at the throne of glory. He was like Bunyan in the originality and depth of his experience; like Harlan Page in his personal endeavors; like Hedley Vicars in his soldierly firmness. He might have been a capitalist, but he chose to live for Christ. His history will stand out as a representation of all unselfishness.”

Rev. Dr. Fulton, of Brooklyn, said: “In this life now closed I hear the echoes of that apostolic shout of triumph, * Thanks be unto God who always causeth us to trium.ph in Christ.’ Uncle John took no glory to himself; he found in the Lord Jesus the source of his power, and the earnest of his victory. He started as a humble colporteur. He grew to be a master in Israel. It was in Boston I first saw him. There was a meeting in Tremont Temple, and God was there. Uncle John was in the city, and having a spare hour, dropped in. I obtained his help for a while. How he took hold! I hardly saw, him, but how he did pull sinners out of the fire! Day after day he brought in trophies and laid them at the Master’s feet. Once I got him on a Sunday afternoon to take my place in the pulpit at the * Temple ’ and address the crowds that filled those seats. It was one of the most impressive discourses I ever heard.

“In the school-houses and country churches of

New England his face has been seen. Over its bleak hills and through its valleys his feet have carried him as he sought the wandering sheep. He is now with Jesus, and is crowned a hero evermore.”

Rev. Dr. Stevenson and Rev. George L. Shearer, Secretaries of the Tract Society, were on the platform, and the former spoke of the traits of character which made Uncle John “the most laborious and the most useful Christian layman of his age.” He was declared to have been “undisguisedly frank and straightforward, fearless in reproof, unflinching in maintaining the right, gently firm in reclaiming the erring, magnetic in action, fervent in prayer, convincing in argument, resistless in appeal, wise in all necessary worldly wisdom, undisturbed in emergencies, and, above all and beyond all, had all these characteristics so suffused and energized and directed by the Spirit of Christ as to make him the most successful lay missionary of modern days.”

Rev. J. Hyatt Smith uttered the closing words. He said:” John Vassar illustrated more fully than any man whom I ever knew the apostle’s ideal, * diligent in business, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord.’ Tenderly and touchingly he dwelt upon the intimacies and memories of thirty years, and the ties which during those years had not only been preserved unweakened, but had steadily grown stronger.

Dr. Wheeler, of Poughkeepsie, pastor of the Presbyterian Church, then led in prayer, thanking God for the man, and the grace that had made him what he was; and then the choir, as a fitting close to what had been a joyful and triumphant service, sang:

“I know not the hour when my Lord shall come To take me away to His own dear home; But I know that His presence will lighten the gloom. And that will be glory for me.”

After the singing, hundreds passed around to look upon the well-known face — “a face that, despite the storm, despite suffering, despite death, was in perfect peace.”

It was a mixed company that passed by the casket for a parting look. The most honored citizens of the community were in it, and every intermediate social grade between them and the poorest blacks, and by all he was sincerely mourned.

The afternoon was far spent when his beloved brethren, Richard Brittain, Thomas Hull, Stephen Hull, R. E. Lansing, Christian Mattern, James Smiley, and Adam Caire, as bearers, laid the body in the receiving tomb on the Hudson’s banks, resting in the blessed trust expressed in Christian prayer for ages, that “through the grave and gate of death” he should “pass to a joyful resurrection.”

Another has sweetly voiced the feelings with which we left the worn-out tabernacle for a little season there-From north and south, from east and west.

Bring flowers, a wreath to twine
Above the soldier laid to rest,

This friend of thine and mine.

O’er hill and vale, with tireless feet,

Glad messages he bore — The story of the cross so sweet:

He told it o’er and o’er.

That voice is hushed in silence now,

The folded hands at rest;
Soft pillowed is the weary brow.

In dreamless slumber blest.

Then twine a wreath of sweetest flowers,

And place it o’er his brow:
The sadness and the grief are ours;
He’s “more than conqueror” new.

M. H. W.
SouTHFiELD, Mass., Dec. 17, 1878.