The Works of John Bunyan, vol 1, John Bunyan [reading like a writer TXT] 📗

may be compared to a vast storehouse, most amply replenished with all those solemn subjects which call for his prayerful investigation; well arranged, ready of access, striking in their simplicity, full of vivid ideas conveyed in language that a novice may understand. They are all so admirably composed that pious persons, whether in houses of convocation or of parliament, or the inmates of a workhouse, may equally listen to them with increasing delight and instruction. No man ever more richly enjoyed the magnificent language of Job. He called it ‘that blessed book.’[321] The deep interest that he took in its scenery may be traced through all his writings. His spirit, with its mighty powers, grasped the wondrous truths so splendidly pourtrayed in that most ancient book. The inspired writings, which so eminently give wisdom to the simple, expanded his mind, while his mental powers were strengthened and invigorated by his so deeply drinking into the spirit of the inspired volume.

The time was drawing near when, in the midst of his usefulness, and with little warning, he was to be summoned to his eternal rest. He had been seriously attacked with that dangerous pestilence which, in former years, ravaged this country, called the sweating sickness, a malady as mysterious and fatal as the cholera has been in later times. The disease was attended by great prostration of strength; but, under the careful management of his affectionate wife, his health became sufficiently restored to enable him to undertake a work of mercy; from the fulfillment of which, as a blessed close to his incessant earthly labour, he was to ascend to his Father and his God to be crowned with immortality. A father had been seriously offended with his son, and had threatened to disinherit him. To prevent the double mischief of a father dying in anger with his child, and the evil consequence to the child of his being cut off from his patrimony, Bunyan again ventured, in his weak state, on his accustomed work, to win the blessings of the peace-maker. He made a journey on horseback to Reading, it being the only mode of travelling at that time, and he was rewarded with success. Returning home by way of London to impart the gratifying intelligence, he was overtaken by excessive rains, and, in an exhausted state, he found a kindly refuge in the house of his Christian friend Mr. Strudwick, and was there seized with a fatal fever. His much-loved wife, who had so powerfully pleaded for his liberty with the judges, and to whom he had been united thirty years, was at a great distance from him. Bedford was then two days’ journey from London. Probably at first, his friends had hopes of his speedy recovery; but when the stroke came, all his feelings, and those of his friends, appear to have been absorbed, by the anticipated blessings of immortality, to such an extent, that no record is left as to whether his wife, or any of his children, saw him cross the river of death. There is abundant testimony of his faith and patience, and that the presence of God was eminently with him.

He bore his trying sufferings with all the patience and fortitude that might be expected from such a man. His resignation was most exemplary; his only expressions were ‘a desire to depart, to be dissolved, to be with Christ.’ His sufferings were short, being limited to ten days. He enjoyed a holy frame of mind, desiring his friends to pray with him, and uniting fervently with them in the exercise. His last words, while struggling with death, were, ‘Weep not for me, but for yourselves. I go to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who will, no doubt, through the mediation of his blessed Son, receive me, though a sinner; where I hope we ere long shall meet, to sing the new song, and remain everlastingly happy, world without end. Amen.’ He felt the ground solid under his feet in passing the black river which has no bridge, and followed his pilgrim into the celestial city in August, 1688, in the sixtieth year of his age.

There is some uncertainty as to the day of his decease: Charles Doe, in the Struggler, 1692, has August 31, and this has been copied in all his portraits. In the life appended to the Grace Abounding, 1692, his death-day is stated as August 12; and in the memoir appended to the third part of the Pilgrim, also in 1692, the date is August 17. The circumstances of his peaceful decease are well compared by Dr. Cheever to the experience of Mr. Standfast, when he was called to pass the river: the great calm—the firm footing—the address to by-standers—until his countenance changed, his strong man bowed under him, and his last words were, ‘Take me, for I come to thee.’ Then the joy among the angels while they welcomed the hero of such spiritual fights, and conducted his wandering soul to the New Jerusalem, which he had so beautifully described as ‘the holy city’; and then his wonder and amazement to find how infinitely short his description came to the blissful reality.

The deep affliction that his church was plunged into led to several special meetings. Wednesday, the 4th of September, ‘was kept in prayer and humiliation for this heavy stroke upon us—the death of dear brother Bunyan; it was appointed also, that Wednesday next be kept in prayer and humiliation on the same account. At the meeting held on the 11th, it was appointed that all the brethren meet together on the 18th of this month, September, to humble themselves for this heavy hand of God upon us, and also to pray unto the Lord for counsel and direction what to do, in order to seek out for a fit person to make choice of for an elder. On the 18th, when the whole congregation met to humble themselves before God, by fasting and prayer, for his heavy and severe stroke upon us in taking away our honoured brother Bunyan by death, it was agreed by the whole congregation that care be taken to seek out for one suitably qualified to be chosen an elder among us, and that care was committed by the whole to the brethren at Bedford.’ Thus did the church manifest that they had improved in wisdom under his ministry by flying, in their extreme distress, to the only source of consolation.

The saddest feelings of sorrow extended to every place where he had been known. His friend, the Rev. G. Cockayn, of London, says, ‘it pleased the Lord to remove him, to the great loss and inexpressible grief of many precious souls.’ Numerous elegies, acrostics, and poems were published on the occasion of his decease, lamenting the loss thus sustained by his country—by the church at large, and particularly by the church and congregation at Bedford. One of these, ‘written by a dear friend of his,’ is a fair sample of the whole:—

A SHORT ELEGY IN MEMORY OF MR. JOHN BUNYAN, WRITTEN BY A DEAR FRIEND

OF HIS.

The pilgrim traveling the world’s vast stage, At last does end his weary pilgrimage: He now in pleasant valleys does sit down, And, for his toil, receives a glorious crown.

The storms are past, the terrors vanish all, Which in his way did so affrighting fall; He grieves nor sighs no more, his race is run Successfully, that was so well begun.

You’ll say he’s dead: O no, he cannot die, He’s only changed to immortality—

Weep not for him, who has no cause of tears; Hush, then, your sighs, and calm your needless fears.

If anything in love to him is meant, Tread his last steps, and of your sins repent: If knowledge of things here at all remains Beyond the grave, to please him for his pains And suffering in this world; live, then, upright, And that will be to him a grateful sight.

Run such a race as you again may meet, And find your conversation far more sweet; When purged from dross, you shall, unmix’d, possess The purest essence of eternal bliss

‘He in the pulpit preached truth first, and then He in his practice preached it o’er again.’

His remains were interred in Bunhill Fields, in the vault of his friend Mr. Strudwick, at whose house he died. His tomb[322] has been visited by thousands of pilgrims, blessing God for his goodness in raising up such a man, so signally fitted to be a blessing to the times in which he lived. All the accounts of his decease, published at the time, agree as to his place of burial. The words of Mr. Doe, who probably attended the funeral, are, ‘he was buried in the new burying-place, near the artillery ground, where he sleeps to the morning of the resurrection.’[323] His Life and Actions, 1692, records that ‘his funeral was performed with much decency, and he was buried in the new burying-ground by Moorfields.’ The Struggler calls it ‘Finsbury burying-ground, where many London Dissenting ministers are laid.’[324] Bunhill Fields burying-ground for Dissenters was first opened in 1666. The inscription upon the tomb to his memory was engraven many years after his funeral. It is not contained in the list of inscriptions published in 1717. His widow survived him four years. He had six children by his first wife, three of whom survived him—Thomas, Joseph, and Sarah. His son Thomas joined his church in 1673, and was a preacher in 1692. He appears to have been usefully employed in visiting absent members until December 1718. My kind friend, the Rev. J. P. Lockwood, rector of South Hackney, recently discovered entries in the register of Kimbolton, in Huntingdonshire, probably of the descendants of this son, Thomas. November 26, 1698, John Bonion and Mary Rogers, married: she was buried, September 7, 1706; and he again married Anne, and buried her in 1712, leaving a son and two daughters. His death is not recorded. One of the descendants, Hannah Bunyan, died in 1770, aged seventy-six years, and lies in the burial-ground by the meeting-house at Bedford. John Bunyan’s son, Joseph, settled at Nottingham, and marrying a wealthy woman, conformed to the Church.

A lineal descendant of his was living, in 1847, at Islington, near London, aged eighty-four, Mrs. Senegar, a fine hearty old lady, and a Strict Baptist. She said to me, ‘Sir, excuse the vanity of an old woman, but I will show you how I sometimes spend a very pleasant half-hour.’ She took down a portrait on canvas of her great forefather, and propped it up on the table with a writing-desk, with a looking-glass by its side. ‘There, Sir, I look at the portrait, and then at myself, and can trace every feature; we resemble each other like two pins.’ ‘Excepting the imperial and moustachios,’ I replied; to which she readily assented. It was the fact that there was a striking family likeness between the picture and her reflection in the looking-glass. Another descendant, from the same branch of the family, is now living at Lincoln. He was born in 1775, and possessed a quarto Bible, published by Barker and Bill in 1641, given by John Bunyan to his son Joseph. This was preserved in his family until the present year, when it came into the editor’s possession, with the following relics, which were, and I trust will yet be preserved with the greatest care:—An iron pencase, made by Bunyan the brazier, with some stumps of old pens, with which it is said he wrote some of his sermons and books; the buckles worn by him, and his two pocket-knives, one of them made before springs were invented, and which is kept open by turning a ferrule; his apple-scoop, curiously carved, and a seal; his pocket-box of scales and weights for money, being stamped with the figures on each side of the coins of James and