Chapter Seventeen

Chapter 17.
From the Tabernacle to the Tomb The open hearse which conveyed the olive-casket to its resting-place at Norwood Cemetery, had, on both sides of it, the appropriate text which was also on the coffin, "I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith." By this means, a sermon, five miles long, was preached as the procession slowly passed through the streets. On the coffin itself was placed Mr. Spurgeon's pulpit Bible, wide open, with a marker pointing to that precious passage which long ago brought salvation to the beloved man of God: "Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth: for I am God, and there is none else." As a warrior has his helmet and sword placed on his bier, the warrior of God had the Sword of the Spirit, which he so valiantly wielded for so many years, carried with his body to the grave. His death, as well as his life, was a continuous testimony for God.

It is not necessary to chronicle the progress of the funeral procession along the roads crowded on either side with silent, awe-struck people, many of whom were in mourning and in tears; nor to praise the arrangements and courtesy of the police force, though no praise, however high, would be more than they deserve. But we must notice that as the cortege moved along the route, the bells of St. Mary's, Newington, and St. Mark's, Kennington, were tolled, all the shops were shut, many of them draped, and some with portraits and mottoes upon them. The very public-houses were closed, and flags floated half-mast high. Thus the procession passed on, the hearse headed by mounted police, and immediately followed by the empty brougham of the departed preacher. After this came the carriage bearing his son, Pastor Charles Spurgeon, who ventured from a sick chamber to pay this last homage to his beloved father: Mrs. Charles Spurgeon accompanied him, and Pastor Archibald G. Brown rode in the same carriage. Pastor James A. Spurgeon shared his carriage with the Bishop of Rochester, who desired to pay the parting tribute to Mr. Spurgeon of being present at the grave. Other relatives were followed by Secretaries, Deacons, Elders, Representatives, Delegates, and Friends, and so the long line of vehicles passed on between the living throng. At the Stockwell Orphanage, a covered platform had been erected; and, in deep mourning the children sat there, supposed to be singing, but most of them weeping, now doubly orphaned as they were; for Mr. Spurgeon had taken them all to his heart, and a child's instinct for a true friend is seldom at fault. When the procession started from the Tabernacle, a meeting of ministers and students of the Pastors' College Evangelical Association began at Chatsworth Road Chapel, close to Norwood Cemetery. Those present at this service joined those who came in the procession, and a most striking sight it was to stand at the cemetery gate, and watch the long curving line of men reaching right up to the grave, all of them in black. The near relatives of the departed Pastor gathered first around the tomb, which was beautifully decked with foliage and flowers, then over a thousand mourners assembled within the barriers, and many thousands crowded beyond.

While we stood there a little patch of blue sky appeared, just over our heads, as if to remind us of the glory-land above; and while Mr. Brown was speaking, a dove flew from

The Funeral Cortège Entering Norwood Cemetery. the direction of the Tabernacle towards the tomb, and wheeling in its flight over the crowd, almost seemed to pause. In ancient days it would have been an augury: to us it spoke only peace. As the service proceeded, a little redbreast poured forth its liquid note all the while from a neighbouring tombstone; it was appropriate music, for the redbreast is fabled to have had its crimson coat ever since it picked a thorn from the Saviour's bleeding brow. Well, we do not believe that; but we believe what we sang at the grave, the truth that the beloved Pastor lived to preach, and died to defend:—

"Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood Shall never lose its power Till all the ransomed Church of God Be saved to sin no more.

And we joined heartily in the confession and resolve.

E'er since by faith I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply, Redeeming love has been my theme, And shall be till I die.

Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I'll sing Thy power to save, When this poor lisping, stammering tongue Lies silent in the grave."

When the olive-wood coffin, with the open Bible still upon it, was lowered into the midst of the palms and lilies, Rev. Archibald G. Brown said: "It has pleased our heavenly Father, the sovereign Lord of life and death, to call away from this world the soul of our departed brother. We therefore commit his body to the grave—earth to earth, ashes to ashes, and dust to dust, surely expecting the coming of the day in which all that are in the grave shall hear the voice of the Son of God, and come forth."

Nothing could have been more beautiful, nor more suitable, than Mr. Brown's closing words. They were delivered from

Pastor A. G. Brown Delivering His Address at the Grave. the heart: they will lodge in thousands more. With great pathos and many pauses, he said:—"Beloved President, Faithful Pastor, Prince of Preachers, Brother Beloved, Dear Spurgeon—we bid thee not 'Farewell,' but only for a little while 'Good-night.' Thou shalt rise soon at the first dawn of the Resurrection-day of the redeemed. Yet is not the good-night ours to bid, but thine; it is we who linger in the darkness; thou art in God's holy light. Our night shall soon be passed, and with it all our weeping. Then, with thine, our songs shall greet the morning of a day that knows no cloud nor close; for there is no night there.

"Hard-worker in the field! thy toil is ended. Straight has been the furrow thou hast ploughed. No looking back has marred thy course. Harvests have followed thy patient sowing, and heaven is already rich with thine ingathered sheaves and shall be still enriched through years yet lying in eternity.

"Champion of God! thy battle, long and nobly fought, is over; the sword which clave to thy hand, has dropped at last; a palm-branch takes its place. No longer does the helmet press thy brow, oft weary with its surging thoughts of battle; a victor's wreath from the great Commander's hand has already proved thy full reward.

"Here for a little while shall rest thy precious dust. Then shall thy Well-Beloved come; and at his voice thou shalt spring from thy couch of earth, fashioned like unto his body, into glory. Then spirit, soul, and body, shall magnify thy Lord's redemption. Until then, beloved, sleep. We praise God for thee, and by the blood of the everlasting covenant, hope and expect to praise God with thee. Amen."

Rev. A. T. Pierson, D.D., led in solemn prayer, in which he besought that comfort in sorrow, and stimulus in service, might come to all those who were standing by the grave. The Bishop of Rochester (Dr. Randall Davidson), then pronounced the Benediction.

Many remarked that the whole of the Memorial Services, unique as they were, were characterized by a simplicity and heartiness entirely in harmony with the whole life of the beloved Pastor; and it was most significant that, when the olive-casket was lowered into the vault, not even the glorified preacher's name was visible—it was just as he would have wished it—there was nothing to be seen but the text at the foot of the coffin, and the open Bible. Of course, the Bible was not buried; it is not dead, it "liveth and abideth for ever"; and who knows whether it may not prove, more than ever, the means of quickening the dead, now that he, who loved it dearer than his life, can no longer proclaim its blessed truths with the living voice? God grant it!