The King in His Beauty!

A Tribute to the Memory of Miss Charlotte Elliott, authoress of "Just as I Am," etc., etc.

By Octavius Winslow, November, 1871
 

"The King's daughter is all glorious within: her clothing is of wrought gold. She shall be brought unto the King." Psalm 45:13, 14

PREFACE
The substance of this lowly tribute to the memory of one 'whose praise is in all the Churches,' to the yet higher 'praise and glory of His grace,' wherein she was made a 'King's daughter,'' accepted in the Beloved,' was originally embodied in a discourse which the writer delivered to his congregation on the Lord's Day immediately following her interment. He shrinks from veiling its many and marked imperfections, both as a literary composition and as a memorial of superior worth, beneath the accustomed plea that he had no thought of publishing it when preached, and consented to do so only at the expressed wish of others; and yet he is impelled to this necessity. A purely extemporary discourse, as it originally was, it owes its present existence to the skill of the stenographer, but for whose notes it would have been impossible to have recalled it.

In the absence of a more elaborate and finished Memorial, which the writer understands it is not intended by her family to prepare—members of whom were so singularly competent to the task—he deeply regrets that his little tribute is not more worthy of its subject. But Charlotte needs no monument to perpetuate her memory. Her writings are her truest and most enduring monument—they cannot die.

Embalming so fully and sweetly as they do the name of Jesus—"His name shall endure forever; His name shall be continued as long as the sun," they will live to aid inquiring souls yet unborn, in their way to the Savior, and to teach afflicted ones bowed with grief, how to say from the heart, "May Your will be done." At the feet of the one Church of God, of which Charlotte Elliott was a loving member, this feeble tribute to her loved and honored memory is laid; and to the blessing of the Triune God, whom she lived supremely to glorify, and died forever to enjoy—it is with diffidence and prayer commended.
 

"She Sleeps in Jesus."

She sleeps in Jesus—do you weep?
Tranquil, yet hallowed is that sleep;
The shadow of the Almighty One
Around her resting-place is thrown.

She sleeps in Jesus, on that bed
Where once was laid the Savior's head;
His presence has endeared the spot,
And those who love Him fear it not.

She sleeps in Jesus, never more
Of death to feel the awful power;
Never to strive with sin again,
Never to know distress or pain.

She sleeps in Jesus, check your grief;
The time of absence will be brief;
And that loved voice, though silent now,
Will greet you where no tear can flow.
    Charlotte Elliott

 

"Your eyes shall see the King in His beauty: they shall behold the land that is very far off!" Isaiah 33:17

A greater than King Hezekiah is here, clad in royal ermine, having laid aside his robe of mourning at the termination of the siege, his countenance beaming with benignity and grace! It is JESUS, the great King, the King of saints, the King of kings, of whom the evangelical prophet speaks. His is the beauty; Heaven the land that is very far off; and the faultless throng before the throne are the enraptured and adoring gazers.

These words, beloved, come to us this morning as from the dying couch of one of the king's daughters, who has just passed within the royal palace. They sound, on this her first Sunday in Heaven, like a sweet, refrain floating down from her new-found and new-struck harp, as with adoring love, and wondering delight, and sweetest song; she gazes upon the ineffable beauty of the King in His unclouded splendor, and chants His praise. Supplying our present elevating theme, and viewed in this impressive light, they suggest, for our devout and solemn meditation, three interesting and instructive points:
the KING
the KINGDOM
the KING'S DAUGHTER

"The King in His beauty!" How can we describe it? With what pencil, dipped in what hues, shall we portray Him, in attempting whose varied and incomparable beauties—a diviner artist dropped his inspired pencil in despair, because he could find no more glowing image and could borrow no richer colors with which to describe them, exclaiming "Yes, he is altogether lovely!"

In attempting a humble copy of this transcendently lovely One, we shall keep as closely as possible to the inspired original, and so study scripturally and simply to transcribe His beauties to your eye, as will . . .
confirm your faith in His word,
awaken your admiration of His beauty,
and win your heart to His person;
constraining you to grow like Him whom you admire, and become one with Him you love.

Although there are many beauties in the world, yet they all blend in one glorious Person. As the varied colors of the rainbow unite in one resplendent arch, and as the different stones upon the heart of the high priest formed one sparkling breast-plate, and as the different notes in music compose one perfect melody—so all the divine perfections and all the human virtues which meet in Jesus constitute ONE royal Person—the "chief among ten thousand," "fairer than the children of men"—the peerless One of the universe! But we must particularize a few of these beauties thus meeting in Christ the King.

As GOD, His beauty is divine. In this respect it eclipses all other forms of beauty. There is not so fundamental a doctrine of our faith, not one more essential to be believed, in order to be saved—than the doctrine of the Savior's absolute Deity. Reject this doctrine, and with it you reject the doctrine of His expiatory sacrifice, for they stand or fall together; and, rejecting the doctrine of the Atonement of the Son of God, "there remains no more sacrifice for sin," and the sinner's last ray of hope is extinguished in eternal night! We read that, "in Him dwelt all the fullness of the Godhead bodily; that He is "God over all, blessed forevermore"—"the Almighty."

Down, O you gazers upon our portrait, before this great King, and yield to Him the admiration and the homage due to His essential Deity; for His beauty is, DIVINE!

"Oh, sacred symmetry! Oh, rare consecration! Of many perfects, to make one perfection! Oh, heavenly music, where all parts meet in one sweet strain, to make one perfect sweet!"

As MAN, Christ's beauty was the perfection of humanity—humanity in its highest, noblest, purest type. He was "without sin." But His perfect sinlessness did not Deify His humanity. He was not less man, because He was perfect God. In other words, His divine holiness did not render Him less human. Nay, His essential and perfect freedom from sin, which He possessed as God, rendered His human virtues all the more human.

Free from sin as man, He possessed all the noble attributes and sympathies of our nature in their original, highest, and purest form. Where will you find in the most perfect specimen of our humanity, such a being as Christ—such true loftiness and nobility of character, such goodness, unselfishness, purity, and tenderness? Oh, "how great is His beauty!"

The beauty of Christ was a reflected beauty—a pure reflection of the Father. We too much overlook this truth. Our Lord descended to this world to make known the Father. Hence He appeared among men, as the "brightness of His glory, the express image of His person," the visible image of the invisible God. Jesus was:
the embodiment of the Father's love,
the unveiling of the Father's glory,
the revelation of the Father's mind,
the exponent of the Father's will.

And, without the slightest exaggeration of the truth, He could affirm, "He who has seen Me, has seen the Father!" Behold the Father in the Son! Study the mind of the Father, read the heart of the Father, acquaint yourself with the character of the Father—as exhibited in the person and work and life of our blessed Lord.

Need we add that, Christ's beauty is the beauty of royalty! Our Lord in His profoundest abasement and deepest disguise never abjured His regal character. There was nothing artificial in Christ. Deceit was not found in His mouth. No false humility was His. It is true, that when encircled with a thorn-crown, grasping a reed-scepter, wearing a mock robe, and the object of pretended homage—He looked like a being simulating royalty; yet, for all that, He was a real King, a great King, the King of Kings! and He never denied it. "Are You a KING, then?" was the electrified exclamation of Pilate when Jesus announced, 'My kingdom is not of this world."

What was the reply of our Lord? "Jesus answered, You say that I am a King. To this end was I born, and for this cause I came into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth." And when in their blindness the populace sought to force upon Him an earthly sovereignty, He quietly withdrew from their midst, knowing in Himself that His kingdom was unworldly, and that His crown was divine. Well did He know that He was the Mediatorial King spoken of by the royal Psalmist, Yet have I set My KING upon My holy hill of Zion;" and the same Divine King whom long after the seer of Patmos saw in his apocalyptic vision, having "on His vesture and on His thigh a name written: KING OF KINGS, and LORD OF LORDS."

Oh, what a view this spectacle gives us of the great love and wondrous grace of Jesus that, at the very moment His foes were bruising His face, and lacerating His back, and soiling His countenance, pressing the thorns upon His bruised and bleeding brow, thrusting a mock scepter into His hands, and bending their knees in derisive homage before Him—He was upholding and governing the universe—all worlds hanging upon His arm, and all beings living upon His life!

The beauty of the King, is the beauty of holiness. There is no beauty like this. God has left the impress of His beauty upon all His works. "He has made everything beautiful in his season. Turn the eye where we may, forms of surpassing loveliness meet its gaze. There is beauty in the blue sky and in the soft landscape—there is beauty in the sea fanned into dimples by the gentle wind, or awoke to foaming billows by the giant storm—there is beauty in the cloud-piercing Alp and in the lowly flower blooming amid its eternal snows. There is beauty in everything! Dethrone the usurper Satan, and banish the spoiler sin—restore the earth and man to their pristine righteousness and bliss, and a lovelier world, with so marvelous a history, and so noble a race, and so sublime a destiny—revolves not around the center of the universe. But, beautiful as is creation, tainted and spoiled, shaded and crushed though it be, there is no beauty like the "beauty of holiness."

Such was the beauty which adorned the humanity of our Lord. The crude disguise He wore, the blood-stained vesture which concealed the rays of His majesty, and veiled the splendor of His Godhead, was "without sin," its warp and woof, its exquisite, delicate, and incomparable texture, radiant with the beauty, and fragrant with the aroma of holiness. It was this perfect holiness of His humanity which enabled Him, for the love He bore us, to "give Himself for us an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet-smelling savor!"

His was the beauty of love. There is a loveliness in the love of Jesus which no author can describe, not artist can portray.

A mother's love—how self-sacrificing!

A father's love—how fond!

A sister's love—how pure!

Marital love—how deep!

But all human love pales and chills before the beauty of Christ's love. For the great love with which He loved us . . .
He relinquished Heaven, for earth,
He exchanged a crown, for a cross,
and the adoration and anthems of angels, for the wrath and execrations of men!

O King of righteousness! Was . . .
ever love so lovely,
ever love so intense,
ever love so self-sacrificing
—as Yours! Let the beauty and power of Your love win and bind yet closer my heart to You forever!

The beauty of the King is transforming in its influence. It is communicative and assimilating. "Beholding as in a looking-glass the glory of the Lord, we are changed into the same image." Christ designs by His regenerating Spirit to invest all who believe in Him with a beauty like His own. As new creations, each one shall be a vessel bearing His mold and reflecting His image. Washed in His blood and arrayed in His righteousness, partakers of His nature as He is of theirs—in them shall be reproduced the marvelous description which God gives of the Church of old: "Your renown went forth among the heathen for your beauty; for it was perfect through My loveliness, which I had put upon you! says the Lord God."

You who see nothing but sin and deformity in yourselves, whose cry is, "Unclean! Unclean!" whose prayer is, "God, be merciful to me a sinner!"—you who have cast from you the leprous garment of your own righteousness, and have put on the seamless, stainless robe of Christ's—whose neck He has adorned with a chain of gold, linking each to the other the graces of His Spirit—you are perfect in Christ Jesus, beautified with His beauty, lovely through His loveliness, accepted as He is accepted, the Father's Beloved and yours.

Oh, go forth, and in your homeward travel across this wilderness world, make the desert to resound, the mountains to echo, the forest to ring with the music of your gladsome song, "I will greatly rejoice in the Lord; for He has clothed me in the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decks himself with ornaments, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels!" Thus reflecting the royal image, and manifesting a royal bearing—all true believers in Jesus will everywhere and on all occasions be recognized as belonging to the "royal priesthood," as were the brethren of Gideon, of whom it was said, "each one resembled the children of a king."

My soul, are you Christ-like?

Is your heart meek and humble?

Is your spirit gentle and loving?

Is your life pure and holy, as was His?

And do the world and the saints take knowledge of you that you belong to the "seed royal"—as a king's son—as a king's daughter?

The Kingly achievements of Christ form an impressive feature of His beauty. His personal glory is only equaled by His mediatorial work. What are His royal achievements?

Sin condemned,
the curse annihilated,
Satan dethroned,
death slain,
the grave unbarred,
the kingdom of Heaven opened to all believers, and thronged with the saved from Hell, peopled with the redeemed of earth.

Oh, how worthy of His Kingly power do these achievements appear!

How Kingly and illustrious too, are the conquests of His converting grace in the souls of His enemies at this moment transpiring in the world! Girded with His sword of the Spirit, the arrows of His truth sent quivering and sure to the heart—what multitudes of proud rebels fall under Him, casting down their weapons before His cross, accepting the overtures of His love, henceforth the devoted followers of His all-conquering banner!

Such is our portrait of the altogether lovely One! The pencil, unequal to its ideal, unable perfectly to delineate His incomparable, indescribable beauty, falls powerless and hopeless from the hand. It can write no more!

"The whole creation can afford
But some faint shadows of my Lord;
Nature, to make His beauties known,
Must borrow colors not her own.

"Nor earth, nor seas, nor sun, nor stars,
Nor Heaven His full resemblance bears;
His beauties we can never trace,
Till we behold Him face to face!"

And yet His beauty is visible. "Your eye shall SEE the King in His beauty." The picture, faint as it is, is before you. "What do you think of Christ?" There is a present beholding of the beauty of the King, with which saints in all ages have been favored. Abraham beheld it when he "saw His day, and was glad."

Job beheld it when he exclaimed, "But as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives, and he will stand upon the earth at last. And after my body has decayed, yet in my body I will see God! I will see him for myself. Yes, I will see him with my own eyes. I am overwhelmed at the thought!"

Isaiah beheld it when he said, "In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord seated on a throne, high and exalted, and the train of his robe filled the temple. Above him were seraphs, each with six wings: With two wings they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they were flying. And they were calling to one another: "Holy, holy, holy is the LORD Almighty; the whole earth is full of his glory!"

The apostles beheld it when they wrote, "We beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth."

Oh yes, bright gleams of His surpassing beauty which no age or dispensation could conceal, have darted out from beneath their veiled splendor, and faith's eye has caught the vision!

This present beholding of the King in His beauty I press upon you all. The spiritual eye may be feeble, the bright vision dim, the glorious object distant; nevertheless, one faith's look at Jesus will save you; one beam of His glory penetrating the darkness of your soul will illuminate you, impressing upon it the sum picture of beauty, divine and ineffaceable as His own.

The image of Christ, carved though it be in the crudest material, engraved upon the hardest rock, set in the poorest frame, even a heart fleshly and sinful, yet contrite, believing and loving—eclipses every other image of beauty, and will survive when the grandest and costliest triumph of nature and of art shall smoulder in the ashes of the last conflagration.

Once more I press the inquiry: Have you seen by faith the beauty of the King? God has implanted in your soul a taste for the beautiful, and has furnished for its gratification endless forms. In the person of His Incarnate Son, Christ Jesus—God presents to your eye the divinest, the greatest, the loveliest Being in the universe!

But, alas! to multitudes "He has no form nor loveliness; and when they shall see Him, there is no beauty that they should desire Him. He is despised and rejected by men." Never will you see Jesus' pure loveliness, until you see your own sinful deformity! Never will you be enamored with His love, until you cease to admire and love yourself; and with Job, are brought to exclaim, "I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear; but now my eye sees You! Therefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes!" Then, and not until then, will the King unveil His matchless beauty to your eye.

Believer in Jesus! be not satisfied with superficial views of Christ's beauty. Uplift the telescope of faith often to your eye, and get fresh glimpses—for glimpses at best they only are—of the King, each day increasing your acquaintance with His person, and enriching your knowledge of His truth and work. And when the worldling inquires with wonder, and the religious formalist with contempt, "What is your Beloved more than another beloved?" Be always ready with the answer, "My Beloved is ruddy and dazzling, better than ten thousand others!"

"Yes, my Beloved to my sight
Shows a sweet mixture, red and white;
All human beauties, all divine,
In my Beloved meet and shine!

"White is His soul, from blemish free,
Red with the blood He shed for me,
The Fairest of ten thousand fairs,
A Sun among ten thousand stars!

And should sin have weakened your eye, or the world have dimmed, or the creature have eclipsed the beauty of Jesus—then repair afresh to the "blood of sprinkling," and "anoint your eye with eye-salve," that you might more and more discern His superlative excellence.

Above all, earnestly invoke the aid of the Holy Spirit to reveal Christ more fully to your soul. Do not overlook His Divine Personality and His covenant office to glorify Christ, to take of the things of Jesus, and reveal them to us. Address your prayers to the Spirit in the name of Jesus, for to Him we are indebted for all the knowledge we possess of the work of Jesus, and for all the sight we have of the person of the King. Oh, acknowledge, honor, and laud the Holy Spirit; love Him and grieve Him not. It is the Spirit who prepares the soul for Christ, and who carves the image, draws the likeness, pencils the picture of the Savior upon the penitent and believing heart, and by deeper strokes of His chisel! And by more frequent touches of His pencil, He carries on the work He has begun, causing us to grow more Christ-like and divine, until He perfects us in glory!

In proportion to our clearness of sight of the beauty of Christ, will be our closer assimilation to Him.

The more we see Him, the more we shall admire Him!

The more we admire Him, the more we shall love Him!

The more we love Him, the more we shall seek to imitate and serve Him!

The outline may be imperfect, the reflection faint, the frame which holds the picture rude and fragile; nevertheless, it is a resemblance! God recognizes and acknowledges it, and the Spirit, the Divine Artist, shall receive endless glory and praise. Oh, to be Christ-like! What an honor!

What a responsibility too! Our Christian life may be the only "Life of Christ" many read. It may be the only living picture of Him that they ever behold. Then, of what infinite importance that we should present a true, a fair resemblance! The world should see . . .
His humility reflected in our lowly spirit,
His love glowing in our works of benevolence,
His purity beaming in our holy lives.

They should so see and admire and love the Savior as to be constrained to say, "We will also be His disciples!" "What kind of people ought we to be, in all holy conduct and godliness?" Thus should it be an ever-present thought with us:

In this thing, I must act as my Lord and Savior would have done. Let me be, however faint, a true and pure reflection of Him, "a living epistle," a living gospel—that the world, beholding me, may take knowledge that I have been with Jesus, and exclaim:

"If such is the loveliness of the copy—then what must the Original be?

If such is the holiness of the disciple—then what must the Lord be?

If such is the servant—then what must the Master be?"

"Father of eternal grace,
Glorify Yourself in me;
Meekly beaming in my face,
May the world Your image see.

"Humble, holy, all-resigned
To Your will—Your will be done!
Give me, Lord, the perfect mind
Of Your well-beloved Son."

And should the Lord at this moment be subjecting you to the discipline of trial, should adversity be snowing your landscape with the flakes and frosts and chill of winter, should sickness invade, or suffering rack, or languor depress, or bereavement crush you—oh, be assured this discipline of a tender Father's hand is but designed to make you more like Jesus.

Then, Lord, my heart responds: If this is the hallowed and blessed result; if it is to make me less like myself, and more like You—then kindle the fire, and fan the flame as You will—only sit as the Refiner, tempering the heat, and watching the molten ore, that when You have tried me I might come forth as gold!

But there awaits for us another and more perfect vision of the King in His beauty. We must die to behold it! Be it so! What were a thousand deaths—though a martyr's flames were our chariot to glory—compared with the joy, the bliss, the purity, of seeing Jesus in His glory! "We shall see Him as He is!"

But when will this beatific sight of the King in His glory-robes burst upon my view? Will my soul remain for ages in a state of dreamy unconsciousness after death? Must I wait in some intermediate, unknown realm—upon the existence of which revelation pours not a solitary ray—until the trumpet of the Archangel dissolves my slumber, and my body rises from the dust in the morning of the first resurrection?

Oh, no! The moment the last object of earth is impressed upon the retina of my eye, the King in His beauty will burst upon my new-born vision! The instant that I take my last look of loved ones weeping around my bed, I shall take my first look of Jesus in Heaven, clad in robes of majesty and glory, human and divine, His countenance outshining ten thousand suns in their strength. Absent from the body, I shall be present with the Lord. Yes, before the veil is entirely uplifted, before the silver cord is loosed, and the struggling, panting spirit is free—visions of His glory will play around my dying pillow.

"Behold, I see Heaven opened, and the Son of man standing at the right hand of God!" exclaimed the martyr Stephen, while in faith he laid his bleeding brow upon the bosom of his glorified Lord. O blissful moment! O ecstatic vision—when we shall see Jesus as He is! Does not your soul pant, O believer, for His coming?

"And they shall behold the land that is very far off." And now the freed soul is within the KINGDOM of glory, where the King dwells. No more Pisgah-views of the heavenly Canaan; no longer do the flowers that never wither, lie "beyond the swelling flood." The believer is with the Lord.

The pilgrim, weary and footsore, has put off his dust-covered sandals, and walks the gold-paved streets.

The scar-seamed Christian warrior has fought his last fight, and exchanged his sword for the palm.

The tempest-tossed voyager has weathered his last storm, has furled his sails and dropped his anchor.

The longing child of God has learned his last lesson, and has reached his Father's home.

The tried, afflicted, suffering saint, has wept his last tear, has heaved his last groan, has endured his last pang—and is forever with the Lord!

"They see His face, and His name is on their foreheads!" God has "wiped away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying; neither shall there be any more pain; for the former things are passed away. And there is no night there, and they need no candle, neither light of the sun, for the Lord God gives them light, and they shall reign forever and ever!"

 

The King's Daughter (part 2)

On Thursday, September 28, 1871, the family vault received a new treasure to its trust, until the trumpet of the Archangel shall sound, in the mortal remains of one of its most pious, gifted, and honored members. Charlotte Elliott the sweet songstress of Israel—sleeps with the holy dead. In attempting to lay a lowly flower upon her tomb—it is not my purpose to eulogize the departed, to exalt the creature. Could her voice be heard from the 'excellent glory,'—in the enjoyment of which she this day spends her first Sabbath—in tones of tender earnestness she would exclaim, "Speak not of me; speak of the King in His beauty!" Methinks I hear that voice, and will obey it!

Nevertheless, to the praise of His grace who loved her, and whom she loved, and to which she ever ascribed all that she was, and all that she was permitted to do—we pay this humble tribute to her memory, believing that, in so doing, we glorify God in her.

"The righteous perishes, and no man lays it to heart," was once spoken by the prophet as an evidence of the sin and stupidity that prevailed in his time. The death of a saint of God, distinguished for brilliant gifts, eminent piety, and extended usefulness—is an inestimable loss to the Church and the world. His attainments, example, and labors were among the richest treasures of the Church; his holy, consistent life was one of the richest blessings of the world.

But is it all lost? The star is set—but is there no lingering glow? The flower is faded—but is there no surviving fragrance? Oh yes!

One of the most solemn thoughts that can affect the mind of a man is-his influence after death. Our life is not as unimpressible as the arrow on the air, or the feather upon the sea. It has made its mark for good or evil, and that mark is indelible. We live in this world after death. We do not wrap our influence in the shroud that enfolds our bodies. It is not embalmed as a mummy for futurity. No grassy mound covers it, no marble sepulcher entombs it. Our dust—our dust, may be blown to the winds, and no grave or monument tell where; but no winds can scatter no winds can scatter our influence!

The chain that bound us to life is broken, but a link survives, unseen, yet real, that connects us with the eventful past, and with the endless future. The sinner and the saint still live. Cain is alive on the earth, his typical character traced along all the pathway of the living world. Abel yet lives, and by his recorded example of faith and obedience still instructs and animates the saints in their homeward travel. "He being dead yet speaks." Up, then, and be doing for your Lord—you who have "like precious faith" with this first confessor and martyr. The life you live shall not be measured by the length of its days, nor the extent of its renown, but by the good you now do for man, and the glory you now bring to God.

And when the flowers which smile upon other graves long since have faded, and the names engraved upon the marble that covers them have long been forgotten—your grave, decked with the amaranthine flowers of a godly, useful, Christ-witnessing life—shall blossom till the resurrection morn, and your memory be embalmed to the latest generation of the good. "The righteous shall be had in everlasting remembrance." The star has set that cheered us in many a battle in the Christian fight, but enough of its glory still lingers upon our shield to light us on to yet greater and holier achievements and victories. The flower has faded that charmed us with its beauty and refreshed us with its fragrance, but the sweetness of its sanctity still survives to stimulate and strengthen us when weary and faint in the struggles and advances of the higher life. Thus it is with her whose departure we so deeply deplore. She still lives! Her hand is indeed cold in death, her tongue silent in the grave, her pen ceases to trace her glowing thoughts—but as she wrote for eternity, so to eternity her writings will live!

"Praise! for yet one more name with power endowed,
To cheer and guide us onward as we press;
Yet one more image on the heart bestowed,
To dwell there, beautiful in holiness."

Let not, then, the reproof of the prophet be ours; but let us "lay to heart" her death, and endeavor to glean instruction from the life and labors, of Charlotte Elliott.

Nature made her gifted;
grace made her holy;
providence made her useful.

Nature, providence, and grace—emanations of God, and instruments in His hands of accomplishing His purposes—in singular and beautiful harmony united to form in her:
a mind of exquisite mold,
a character of surpassing loveliness,
and a life of far-reaching usefulness
—the commanding feature of which was the power and beauty of holiness.

Relinquishing to other and more competent hands the task of presenting a life-sized portrait of the departed, I shall on this occasion content myself with but a profile sketch, comprising simply two objects:

homage to the sovereign grace which made her what she was,

and the deepening and perpetuating evangelical sentiments and holy feelings with which the productions of her pen instructed and quickened the minds and hearts of many in this, in other and far-distant lands.

I cite but two of, perhaps, the most popular and useful of her poetical productions; compositions, let me add, of which, when viewed in the light of the solemn results of eternity, I had rather be the author, than of the best known epic in the English language.

The first composition which I quote opens with a sentiment which, perhaps, is the best known, has been oftener quoted in the pulpit and from the press, in the Sabbath-school and the Bible-class, in the inquirers' meeting, and on the platform, than any other line of sacred poetry. The hymn itself belongs as a legacy to the universal Church. Translated, I believe, into various tongues, it has obtained a world-wide circulation. It is sung in the jungles of Hindustan, on the burning sands of Africa, amid the eternal snows of Greenland, and on the vast plains of China; its music breaks the solitude of the Prairie, swells through Piedmont's valleys, and echoes among Alpine hills. The soldier sings it in his tent, the sailor chants it in his cabin, the Indian in his bush, and the emigrant in his mountain home.

In short, its music has gone out through all the earth, its words unto the end of the world. Before I venture to dilate for a moment upon the leading thought of the hymn, let me quote it in its entirety:

"Just as I am! without one plea,
But that Your blood was shed for me,
And that You bid me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come!

"Just as I am! and waiting not
To rid my soul of one dark blot
To You whose blood can cleanse each spot,
O Lamb of God, I come!

"Just as I am! though tossed about
With many a conflict, many a doubt,
Fightings within, and fears without!
O Lamb of God, I come!

"Just as I am! poor, wretched, blind:
Sight, riches, healing of the mind,
Yes, all I need—in You to find,
O Lamb of God, I come!

"Just as I am! You will receive,
Will welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve,
Because Your promise I believe:
O Lamb of God, I come!

"Just as I am! Your love unknown
Has broken every barrier down:
Now to be Thine, yes, Thine alone,
O Lamb of God, I come!"

This hymn contains, in the smallest compass, and in thought and diction, alike tasteful to the most educated, as intelligent and attractive to the most unlettered intellect—a clear and simple digest of "the way of salvation." In the absence of all other evangelical teaching, this would be enough, with the power of the Holy Spirit, to lead the soul in its remotest distance from God, and in its profoundest guilt and unworthiness, to the cross of Christ, yes, to the Christ of the cross—even to a personal Savior. It has done this in the case of thousands, and with God's divine imprimatur, it will do it in yet thousands more, and in generations yet unborn.

I know of no poetic composition that supplies an answer so scriptural and concise, so replete with pathos and power, to the great, the all-momentous question, "What shall I do to be saved?" as this. I will take the liberty to simply and briefly paraphrase the main idea of Miss Elliott's timeless hymn.

"Just as I am," a sinner bankrupt of all righteousness, vile, self-destroyed, lost—I come!

"Just as I am," my soul steeped in the deepest guilt, laden with sins innumerable as the sands, and red like crimson—I come!

"Just as I am," with all my atheistic thoughts and infidel principles, and rebellious opposition, and carnal lusts, and worldly attachments—I come!

"Just as I am," a wreck, a weed tossed to and fro upon life's murky waters, and ready to perish—I come!

"Just as I am," a moral parricide, having broken a pious mother's heart, and bowed in sorrow a godly father's grey hairs to the grave, beggared of all, bereft of all, abandoned of all—I come!

"Just as I am," without one atom of worthiness, or one plea of merit, or one ray of hope springing from myself, and with nothing to pay—I come!

"Just as I am," reeking from the swine's trough, starving, naked, covered with guilt and poverty and shame—"I come, O Lamb of God, to You!"

Could Gabriel, "standing in the presence of God," wake his trumpet to a sentiment more sublime, a truth more precious, a hope more glorious than is embodied in the very first stanzas of this magnificent hymn? Impossible!

Are you desiring to reach the Savior? Are you struggling through a crowd of opposition and temptation and difficulty—so that you might but touch the fringe of His flowing robe descending to His feet, and within the reach of the lowliest penitent and the weakest faith, and be saved?

Oh, let the voice of the dear departed one, speaking as from the tomb, aid and encourage you in your blessed and holy endeavor to get to Christ, "just as you are!"

Jesus has done all, suffered all, paid all, and invites all!

With a nature full of grace,
and with a heart overflowing with love,
and with outstretched hands pierced for your sins—He is prepared to receive and save you, to wash your sin-soiled, guilt-stained soul in His all-cleansing blood, and to cover your spiritual nakedness with the robe of His all-justifying and imputed Righteousness, "which is unto all and upon all those who believe."

Oh, then, take up the last stanza of this inimitable hymn, and in its glowing language proclaim, as from the house-top—your deliberate and solemn vow of dedication to King Jesus.

"Just as I am! Thy LOVE alone
Has broken every barrier down:
Now to be Thine, and Thine alone,
O Lamb of God, I come!"

The second hymn which we quote is of a different character from the preceding one. It strikes upon a new and richer vein of thought and feeling, and illustrates the singular versatility and copiousness of her powers, and the exuberant richness of her language; but far beyond this, it unveils the deep pathos, exquisite sympathy, and divinely disciplined will of her nature. With a mind of strong vigor and eloquence, within which slumbered powers of wit and humor which, when aroused, could send the arrow pointed and pungent to the mark—she united a deep, fresh, womanly heart, full of tenderness, gentleness, and love, like the clear stream that comes gushing, flashing, and silver-toned from the lonely mountain—a heart ever wakeful in its generous sympathy to the sorrows and needs of others, as prompt as it was competent to administer intelligent soothing and comfort to those who were in any trouble, by the comfort with which she herself was comforted of God.

A pupil and graduate of the school in which their Father is educating and disciplining all His children for heaven—the school of sorrow and suffering; she was fully competent to compose the exquisitely tender, instructive, and consolatory hymn we now quote. None but a mind and heart like hers could have produced a composition so replete with thought and pathos.

"My God, my Father, while I stray,
Far from my home, in life's rough way,
Oh, teach me from my heart to say,
'May Thy will be done.'

"Though dark my path, and sad my lot,
Let me be still and murmur not;
Or breathe the prayer, divinely taught,
'May Thy will be done.'

"What though in lonely grief I sigh,
For friends beloved, no longer nigh?
Submissive still, I would reply,
'May Thy will be done.'

"If You should call me to resign,
What most I prize—it 'twas never mine;
I only yield Thee what was Thine;
'May Thy will be done.'

"Should pining sickness waste away,
My life in premature decay,
My Father! still I strive to say,
'May Thy will be done.'

"If but my fainting heart be blessed
With Thine sweet Spirit for its guest,
My God! to Thee I leave the rest;
'May Thy will be done.'

"Renew my will from day to day;
Blend it with Thine, and take away
All that now makes it hard to say,
'May Thy will be done.'

"Then, when on earth I breathe no more,
The prayer, half mixed with tears before,
I'll sing, upon a happier shore,
'May Thy will be done.' "

I have witnessed the power of this hymn upon minds seething and surging amid the boiling, murky waters of deep affliction, and could only compare its effects to the soft, gentle, yet all-commanding whispering of the Savior in the storm, when at His word the tempest ceased, and there was a great calm.

Child of grief! She, "being dead, yet speaks"—and speaks to you; and with the utterances of a heart once shaded with sorrow, but now bathed in the sunlight of eternal joy, she still would comfort in the Gethsemane of your woe by teaching you submissively to bow your head in imitation of your suffering Lord, exclaiming—"My Father, not my will—but may Thy will be done!"

Thus instructed, you will spring from the lowest depths of grief to the loftiest height of holiness; for, as Leighton, that man of seraphic piety, justly remarks, "the highest holiness attainable on earth is to say from the heart, "My Father, not my will—but may Thy will be done!"

But I hasten to the closing scene.

It was my privilege as such I shall esteem it while I live—to be admitted occasionally to her sick-room, and to kneel in prayer by her bedside, her clasped hands upraised and with a countenance which shone with the light of Heaven, not many days before her departure. I am thus enabled to testify:
to the sustaining power of God when heart and flesh are failing,
to the presence of the Savior with His saints as they pass down the valley,
and to the perfect peace in which He kept her mind, while reposing in childlike, unshaken confidence in the great Gospel truths which had formed the basis of her faith and the theme of her song through life, and now the firm foundation of her hope in death;
and to the beautiful illustration which, in dying, her sweetly patient and submissive spirit afforded of the magnificent hymn by which thousands have been taught to sing—

"And when on earth I breathe no more
The prayer, half mixed with tears before,
I'll sing, upon a happier shore,
May Thy will be done!"

Furnished with a few fragmentary sayings uttered at different times during her illness, I am permitted to enrich the present imperfect tribute to one whose witness is above, whose record is on high.

On Sunday morning, alluding to her detention from the house of God, and those outward ordinances in which she delighted, she remarked, with a beaming look, "The Bible is my church. It is always open, and there is my High Priest ever waiting to receive me. There, too, I have my confessional, my thanksgiving, my praise, and a field of promises. In short, all I can want, I there find; and a congregation of whom the world is not worthy, prophets, and martyrs, and confessors."

At another time, "My body is His. All I pray for is to glorify Him by my life, or by my death, if such a worm may do so."

When speaking of "Just as I am," and the wonderful blessing that God had made it to so many, in quick voice she said, "Not unto me, not unto me, but to Him be all the glory! I am nothing."

When taking some grapes, she said, "There shall be twelve manner of fruits, and the Lord feeding them to His people."

"I often wonder what is before me, and what I ought to do."

On her sister replying, "Love, your strength is to sit still; your one desire is to glorify Him."

"Yes," she responded, I had rather die than live, if it be His will."

One day when in much suffering, she said, "He will not lay upon me more than He will enable me to bear. Even so Father, for so it seems good in Your sight. But there are dark passages; yet He went through them all."

"When her throat was so painful that she could hardly swallow or speak," she remarked, "He was bruised for our iniquities; He bore our sicknesses," and then added—
"I'll praise my Maker while I've breath;
And when my voice is lost in death,
Praise shall employ my nobler powers."

"You and I" addressing her sister, "have often talked together of presenting our bodies a living sacrifice; but little knew what it meant, and that it could ever come to this. I little thought when I honestly asked to 'know the fellowship of His sufferings,' what it would be. But we cannot suffer for Him in Heaven."

On parting with a dear relative, she remarked, "Our next meeting will be at the marriage-supper of the Lamb!" The verse being repeated, "Let not your heart be troubled"—she quickly said, "but my heart is not troubled; my mind is full of the Bible."

But the time had arrived when the 'king's daughter should be presented to the King.' The royal equipage, attended by the virgins, her companions,' was at the door waiting to bear her up to the palace!

She was ready—all ready.

She needed no cleansing, for the King's blood had washed her.

She needed no attire, for the King's righteousness had robed her.

She needed no unction, for the King's grace had anointed her.

She needed no evidence, for the King's seal was upon her.

She needed no passport, for she believed in the record God gave of His Son.

She had no Savior now to seek, no lost evidence to find, no departed strength to recover. Cleansed, robed, anointed, and with a peaceful step, she entered the chariot that bore her to the King!

"Once during the last few hours," says a near relative who tenderly watched her upward flight, "she gave a feeling recognition of a text repeated to her by her beloved sister, by folding her hands in quiet, enrapt devotion. The text was that glorious one, 'Your eyes shall see the King in his beauty, they shall behold the land that is very far off!'

I have been imagining to myself ever since the whispering song of the angels, as they bore her into the glorious presence, away from the trials of earth, "Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you!"

It is related by the naturalist of the swan, that its last is its sweetest note. We stand by the dying couch of Charlotte Elliott, and listen to her last—and which the Church of God will ever cherish, than which I know of no poetic effusion, which so vividly realizes the splendid Apocalyptic vision of "a door opened in Heaven." Listen! it is of HEAVEN she sings:

Oh, thou glorious world unseen,
Bathed in purest light serene,
Where no mist obscures the ray,
Where no night cuts short the day,
Could I not in this dark vale,
From afar your confines hail,
All too sad this earth would be,
Life too desolate for me!

World of beauty! where such sight
Wakens every new delight;
World of peace! where every sound
Breathes a holy influence round;
World of purity! wherein
Never has entered taint of sin;
Wearily drag on the hours,
Till I reach your blissful bowers.

World of love! where every eye
Beams with purest sympathy;
Where no harsh, unhallowed word,
Slander, discord, can be heard;
None be wounded, none alone,
Love to each by all is shown;
And, as one blessed family,
All in sweet accord agree!

World of health! where pale decay
Wastes no youthful bloom away;
Where no tear was ever shed,
O'er a loved one's dying bed;
Where infirmity and age,
Cause the heart no sad presage,
And the thought of death's dark goal
Casts no shadow o'er the soul.

World of perfect endless joy!
Of unwearied, high employ!
All the loved and lost restored,
Ceaseless songs melodious poured:
Every earthly grief and care
Banished from remembrance there;
And fresh knowledge hourly given
From the boundless stores of Heaven!

World of life! not life like this!
Perpetuity of bliss!
They can never die again,
There, there shall be no more pain;
Life in streams abundant shed,
From the glorious fountain-head;
Life summed up in one sweet word:
"Ever, forever with the Lord!"

Then laying aside her harp, because she could wake it to no sweeter, loftier strain—she ascended into Heaven itself to sing the "new song before the throne of God and the Lamb!" And now she feasts her eyes upon the King in His beauty, and has reached the land that is very far off!

With what sentiment shall we close this tribute of sacred affection to the memory and works of Charlotte Elliott? What motto shall we inscribe upon her escutcheon? What inscription shall we engrave upon her tomb? Could it be one more appropriate or beautiful, than the words in which she herself embodied her personal and conscious realization of the presence of a personal Savior!

"O Jesus, make Thyself to me,
A living, bright reality;
More present to faith's vision keen
Than any outward object seen,
More dear, more intimately near,
Than e'en the sweetest earthly tie."