Page:Records of the Life of the Rev. John Murray.djvu/48

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Jji LlIK or RF.V. JOHN Ml URAY.

had plarcd him. Not a single stni£^gle hatl tlie dear, apprehensi\c inaii, diirin" those expiring moments, which, through his whole hlV, lie had expected would be productive of such extreme torture. He slept in .lesus, in full confidence of a glorious Resurrection.

From this hour, until the interment, our house was thronged ; but of all our numerous friends, who by their presence expressed tlieir sympa- thy, no individuals appeared m(»re deejily affected than my future pat- rons, Mr. and Mrs. l.ittle. My father was very dear to Mr. Little; he mingled his tears with the widow, and her or|)hans. It was unnec- essary to tell me 1 had sustained an irreparable loss, my heart, my pierced heart, was every moment making the avowal ; 1 could now ful- ly appreciate my father's worth ; I felt I was bereaved, miserably be- reaved ; left to myself, and I knew my^'elf well enough to justify the most spirit-wounding apprehensions. I retiretl to my chamber, to my closet, secretly indulging my overwhelming sorrow, and if I ever ex- perienced the fervour of devotion, it was then, when, throwing abroad my supjilicating hands, I petitioned the (Jod of my fadier to be my God also, entreating that he would graciously vouchsafe to preserve me from myself, my sinful self: all the hard, undutiful retlections, which I had secretly tolerated against this good, this honoured man, while he was enduring exqui.site sulferings for the purj)ose of ])reserving me from evil, rushed upon my recollection, and an innate monitor seemed to say : " You may now, ungrateful boy, go where you jilease ; the prying eye of a father will no more inspect your conduct." It was now, in these moments of torture, that my fatlMT, as it should seem, fust be- came known to me. It is true, he was severely good, his conscience was indeed sorely tender ; but, as far as he knew, he performed the will of God, at least in as great a measure as he was able, and when he be- lieved himself deficient, as he almost always did, it gave \\\m great pain. The uniform sanctity of his life conunanded the respect, the esteem, the affection, and even the veneration of all who knew him. He pos- •wssed an uncommon share of natural abilities, and his accpiirements were verv re-^pectable. He had rcm\ much ; Hi-^tory, Natural Pliiloso- phv. Poetry, these were all familiar to him : but the sacretl Scriptures, and Ik>o!\H of tievotion, were his (U'light. Human productions con- stitutwl his amiiMMneut, but the word of his (lod was his food. He was so acute a rea.H)ner, that it was diOicult to gain any advantage over him in argument; yet he wa« easily piovoked, but inuuediately sen-ible of error; every deviation frou) pr<»jriely was marketl by tears. H<'

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