THE HOME GOING.

His thoughts again turn to the brevity of life, and he naturally questions himself as to how much longer he will be able to go on with the work he loves. These young souls in his care, whom he is trying to nurture as a wise and tender shepherd, will they remain faithful? He listens to the noise of war and strife, and prays for the time when peace shall come to India and Christianity will have many loyal witnesses, and the people will depart from darkness and see the light of life.

“How much longer,” he writes, “God may permit me to occupy my station is known to Him alone. My times are in His hands. He has heard my unworthy prayer that I may not become quite useless in old age.... A few months ago I seemed standing on the banks of eternity, being suddenly seized with a painful oppression on my chest. I consider it as a summons from my Lord to hold myself in readiness at whatsoever hour He may come.... I look upon this sudden illness as a kind monitor to teach me that my gracious Lord will soon call me away. May I be able to say, ‘Come, Lord Jesus!’ You see then that I shall soon quit this world. A blessed eternity is now the daily subject of my meditations. How awful is this change! Blessed be God Who hath sent us a Redeemer, who has borne our sins and purchased eternal happiness for all who, being sensible of their sins, ‘flee to Him for refuge.’ If we are reconciled to God by that blessed Redeemer we have no reason to be afraid of dying and quitting this world. Our whole life ought to be a preparation for death. May God give us grace to die to sin and the evil of the world, and to live to His glory, that when He calls us away, we may be prepared for that great change! To look up to the glorious state of the blessed in heaven is, and will be, a strong preservative of a true Christian.”

Such thoughts as these are common to people, especially the old, as they look heavenward.

When Henry Martyn was travelling in India in 1811, a Captain Kinsey, who had been brought up by Schwartz, told him: “It is said that Schwartz had a warning given him of his death. One clear moonlight night he saw a light and heard a voice which said to him, ‘Follow me.’ He got up and went to the door, here the vision vanished. The next day he sent for Dr. Anderson, and said, ‘An old tree must fall.’ On the doctor’s perceiving that there was nothing the matter with him, Schwartz asked him whether he perceived any disorder in his intellect, to which the doctor replied, ‘No.’ He and General Floyd (now in Ireland), another friend of Schwartz, came and stayed with him. The next fifteen days he was continually engaged in devotion and attended no more to the school; on the last day he died in his chair.”

He wrote his last letter to the Secretary of the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge on the 4th September, 1797, in which, with his clear, business-like attention to details, he speaks of the stores and presents, and gratefully thanks the good friends in England for all the generous support they had given to the work, and this he does for all the brethren who are his comrades and fellow-workers in the field. God had graciously preserved their lives and health so that he was still able to go through his accustomed work, though with less vigour than heretofore. He added that should his life be prolonged, he intended to give a full account of the mission at the end of the year, and concluded with a prayer that God would prosper the work of their revered superiors. He evidently looked forward later on to a detailed report of his stewardship, and the position and future prospects of the mission. But God disposed otherwise.

A month after dispatching this letter he was taken ill with hoarseness and a sudden cold, and his old friend, Dr. Kennedy, hastened to his side and gave him all the relief possible. But his sickness was very distressing, and he had to endure much pain. It was a comfort to him that his colleague, Mr. Kohlhoff, was present during this indisposition, and on the 4th November, 1797, he was further cheered by the unexpected arrival of the Rev. J. D. Jaenické, his beloved helper. Although greatly weakened and sometimes suffering so much that he cried once: “If it be the will of the Lord to take me to Himself, His will be done. May His name be praised!” He never showed any impatience, and his mind was at peace. He was able to sit up still, and asked that the Sunday School children should gather in his parlour and sing their hymns to him, and then he gave them a little talk on some Bible subject, and commended their young hearts and lives to God in a touching prayer. This was the usual practice every evening, and when the native children had gone home he called the English boys and girls to come near to him to read their chapter, and then join in singing their favourite Watts’ hymns. One of which he was very fond, and called his beloved hymn, began with the words:

At other times the natives came in to see their friend, and with much earnestness and love he begged of them to forsake all their heathen gods and wickedness, and turn to God, Who alone could give them peace. They listened deeply affected, and sometimes they tried to cheer and interest him by speaking of the latest news in the town and the wonderful things which were happening. But the old man said, “The most wonderful thing is that after hearing so often the doctrines of Christianity and being convinced of the truth of it, you are notwithstanding backward to embrace and obey it.”

A distinguished Indian came to see him and inquire after his health, but the sick man exhorted him also to renounce his idolatry, beseeching him as he went away to repent, and bidding him farewell with the words of solemn warning, “I have often exhorted and warned you, but you have hitherto disregarded it, you esteem and honour the creature more than the Creator.” But among these touching interviews a special interest attaches to the occasion when Serfogee Rajah came to visit his old friend. He had arrived at a time when Schwartz was feeling seriously ill, and the visitor was brought into the room with the sense that the invalid was not going to remain long. This greatly upset the heart of the visitor, who loved Schwartz more than he loved any living man, for he was indebted to him, not only for his position on the throne of Tanjore, but for many kindnesses and words of wisdom. In broken language, and very feebly, Schwartz gave what he felt was his dying charge to the young ruler. His closing admonition was in these words:

“After God has called me hence, I request you will be careful not to indulge a fondness for pomp and grandeur. You are convinced that my endeavours to serve you have been disinterested. What I now request you is, that you will be kind to the Christians—if they behave ill, let them be punished, but if they do well show yourself to them as their father and protector.

“As the due administration of justice is indispensably necessary for the prosperity and happiness of every state, I request you will establish regular courts, and be careful that impartial justice be administered. I heartily wish you would renounce your idolatry and serve and honour the only true God. May He be merciful and enable you to do it.”

Before Serfogee left his presence he was implored to make the Bible his guide and friend. He lifted his hands to heaven, and with great solemnity uttered slowly these words: “My last and most earnest wish is that God in His infinite mercy may graciously regard you and lead your heart and soul to Christ, that I may meet you again as His true disciple before the throne.”

This last visit and its fatherly and pathetic counsels would never be forgotten. When December came the two doctors consulted as to the best remedy, and decided to give the patient tincture of steel and infusion of bark, and this had the desired effect. For a time there seemed signs of improvement, and his friends congratulated one another on the chance of his recovery. On the first Sunday in Advent the Sacrament of the Holy Communion was administered to him to his great profit and blessing. It was, however, a sorrow to find that while his more painful symptoms had abated it was only too evident that his illness had affected his memory and enfeebled his mind. Things relating to this world had become of lessening interest, while eternity became nearer and more real. One of the favourite books with Schwartz had been Young’s “Night Thoughts,” and these poems were a refreshing memory to him now. He now busied himself with putting in order his papers, and amongst them was an old letter which awakened afresh his interest in missions. His comment to his friends was:

“Early this morning I happened to meet with a letter of my late pious friend—which he addressed to you in 1788, and which was then forwarded to me. He says in it, ‘Ought not my son to be a missionary? O, how ardently do I pray that God will not forsake His work now that he has opened to our times a wider field than heretofore! If God cause His Spirit to rest on both my sons they shall hereafter prove active labourers in His vineyard.’

“Now, if this son of my deceased friend has natural gifts and grace—if he have a desire to preach Christ among the heathen, I beg you to send him out at my expense. And if I should be called away by the Lord before his arrival, my brethren will make it good out of the property I leave. The mission is my heir. Our hope standeth in the Lord, Who made heaven and earth. May He be merciful to us and provide His work to His own glory.... I feel my weakness more and more—how long the Lord will yet preserve and use me rests with Him. My times are in His hands. May He be merciful to me and grant me at last a blessed end. Amen.”

On the 2nd February, 1798, Mr. Jaenické felt it his duty to write to the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge informing them that his friend and venerable colleague was now very seriously ill and would never preach again. The time of his departure was evidently drawing near. Looking round upon the faces of the old friends who one by one were gathering at his bedside, he smiled saying, “God is good. If we were left destitute of His help what should we do? We poor worms of the dust! Our times are in His hands; He alone can preserve or destroy life. Hitherto He hath endured our manners with truly paternal tenderness, hath spared us in the midst of all our sins and provocations, and crowned us with loving kindness and tender mercies.” At another time the conversation turned upon the mercy of God in having called him to be a missionary, which he said was the most blessed service in the world. “True,” he added, “a missionary must bear the cross; but this, my brother, is salutary, the heart is thereby drawn nearer to God, we are kept humble; without such trials the self-willed and proud heart of man would soon exalt itself. The good we receive at the hand of the Lord far exceeds the evil. When I consider all the way which God hath hitherto led me, the distresses from which He hath delivered my soul, and the riches of His goodness and forbearance and long suffering, I feel compelled gratefully to exclaim, ‘The Lord be magnified!’ Believe me, it is a privilege and happiness far beyond all description to enjoy in Christ the remission of sin. Ah, how much hath my Saviour done for such a poor sinner as I am! Look at this poor Christian (he pointed to one sitting at the gate), how poor he is in the things of this world, whilst I have every needful supply, and even many a comfort! What is my superiority over him? Suppose he should have committed one thousand sins, I am conscious of having committed ten thousand, and yet my God still bears with me. And should I ever think myself entitled to despise a poor man like this?”

Schwartz was the beloved of his people. When during a temporary improvement in his condition he was able slowly to enter his Church once more, which he had built in his garden, the native Christians received him with raptures of joy, running up to him, eager to hold his hand and look into his face again. When Mr. Caemmerer had to say good-bye in order to resume his work, Schwartz embraced him with much tenderness. “I will detain you no longer, my brother,” said he; “set out on your journey in the name of God, and may He be with you! As to myself I commit all my concerns to our gracious God. Whether I live, I live unto the Lord; or whether I die, I die unto the Lord. Salute the brethren most cordially. The God of peace be with them. Not knowing how long it may please God to preserve our lives, let us be up and doing. Though we should not always be privileged immediately to see the success of our labours let us still persevere, so long as God may allow us to work in His vineyard.”

The disease in his foot, which had been for years a trouble to him, was causing him great pain, but a native doctor, in the absence of his English physician, used some poultice remedies which gave the patient relief. For this he was very grateful, and gaining a little strength he was able to say a few parting words to his friend, Mr. Holtzberg. “Remember me affectionately to all the brethren and tell them from me never to lose sight of the main object, and strictly to maintain the fundamental doctrines of Christianity. I shall now soon depart to the Lord Jesus. If He will receive me, and forgive my sins and not enter into judgment with me, but deal with me according to His tender mercy, all will be well with me, and I shall praise Him. He might reject us for our very works’ sake because sin cleaves to them all.” It was a source of thankfulness to him that in this last hour of his life he was surrounded by his beloved brethren, who he said so much comforted his spirits. Again and again at his request they sang verses of his favourite hymns, one of them being,

“Allein zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ,”

of which the two closing verses are, in English:

His friend, Mr. Jaenické, goes aside to note down some of his dying instructions, a touching memorandum of an affectionate and breaking heart.

“When I spoke to him on the subject and expressed a hope that God might yet restore him to health, he said, ‘But I should not be able to preach on account of my teeth.’ I replied, ‘If you only sit here as you do at present and aid us with your counsel, all things would go on quite differently from what they would if you were to leave us.’ But when I next saw him, he said as soon as I entered, ‘I think the Lord will at last take me to himself.’ I spoke to him a great deal on the subject, but he remained silent, settled some pecuniary matters with me, and gave me some money for Palamcotta. All this troubled me much. I prayed and wept, could get no sleep for several nights, and lost my appetite and strength, for various thoughts how things would go on after his departure made me very wakeful. The physicians say there is no danger as yet, but it now appears to me that our dear father will soon leave us. O, if God would graciously strengthen him and spare him to us yet a little while! If he depart to his rest what shall we both do?”

He was not to come back, already voices were calling from the other side of the river. One thought only filled the sphere of his dying moments, to be with Christ, which is far better. He wakes up from a brief slumber with these words on his lips:

“My whole meditation is the death of Jesus, that I may be like Him. The whole world is a mask. I wish to be where all is real.”

The English physician is leaning over him and catches his whisper, “Doctor, in heaven there will be no more pain.” In a quiet tone he replies, “Very true, but we must keep you here as long as we can.” There is a pause, and then the earnest voice speaks again, “O, dear doctor, let us take care that we may not be missing there!”

And now they gather round once more, and at his request they sing, with such voice as they could command amid their sobs, his favourite hymn:

“Christus der ist mein Leben.”

With clasped hands they hear him commending his soul to God. “O, Lord, hitherto Thou hast preserved me, hitherto Thou hast brought me, and hast bestowed innumerable benefits upon me. Do what is pleasing in Thy sight. I deliver my spirit into Thy hands, cleanse, and adorn it with the righteousness of my Redeemer, and receive me into the arms of Thy love and mercy!” A little group of native servants softly sing a German hymn, one of Paul Gerhardt’s, the words of which he had taught them in that language:

“O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden.”

The sunset of a winter afternoon shines on the windows of the chamber where the watchers stand, their hands clasped behind them, and their eyes full of tears. But there is light in the face on the pillow, the breaking of a day beyond the horizon of time.

Tenderly raised a little in the arms of a friend, he murmurs a parting blessing, “I wish you many comforts,” and is gone. On the day following, the 14th February, 1798, they carried him to his grave in the garden. Serfogee, crying like a child, hurried to have one last look at the face of the one who had been more than father to him, and covers the body with a cloth of gold. It was intended to sing a hymn as the funeral made its way, but the lamentations and wailing of the great crowd of poor natives made this impossible. The solemn burial service was performed by Mr. Jaenické, and when this was over and the Europeans had retired, the natives who filled the sacred building remained praying and singing hymns. They begged of the minister to speak of their departed friend, but his own heart was too full to give any address. To use his own words, “I could hardly utter even a few words, and was obliged to summon up all my resolution to read the service. The servant of the deceased stood near me, and said, almost as if fainting, ‘Now, he who was the desire of us all is gone!’ This exclamation went to my heart, but this is not the language of one but of many, old and young, great and small, near and afar, Christians and heathen.”