04.01. His Youth and Preparation for the Ministry
CHAPTER I HIS YOUTH, AND PREPARATION FOR THE MINISTRY "Many shall rejoice at his birth; for he shall be great in the sight of the Lord."
Luke 1:14-15. In the midst of the restless activity of such a day as ours, it will be felt by ministers of Christ to be useful, in no common degree, to trace the steps of one who but lately left us, and who, during the last years of his short life, walked calmly in almost unbroken fellowship with the FATHER and the SON. The date of his birth was May 21, 1813. About that time, as is now evident to us who can look back on the past, the Great Head had a purpose of blessing for the Church of Scotland. Eminent men of God appeared to plead the cause of Christ. The Cross was lifted up boldly in the midst of Church Courts which had long been ashamed of the Gospel of Christ. More spirituality and deeper seriousness began a few years onward to prevail among the youth of our Divinity Halls. In the midst of such events, whereby the Lord was secretly preparing a rich blessing for souls in all our borders, the subject of this Memoir was born. "Many were to rejoice at his birth;" for he was one of the blessings which were beginning to be dropped down upon Scotland, though none then knew that one was born whom hundreds would look up to as their spiritual father. The place of his birth was Edinburgh, where his parents resided. He was the youngest child of the family, and was called ROBERT MURRAY, after the name of some of his kindred. From his infancy his sweet and affectionate temper was remarked by all who knew him. His mind was quick in its attainments; he was easily taught the common lessons of youth, and some of his peculiar endowments began early to appear. At the age of four, while recovering from some illness, he selected as his recreation the study of the Greek alphabet, and was able to name all the letters, and write them in a rude way upon a slate. A year after, he made rapid progress in the English class, and at an early period became somewhat eminent among his school-fellows for his melodious voice and powers of recitation. There were at that time catechetical exercises held in the Tron Church, in the interval between sermons; and some friends remember the interest often excited in the hearers by his correct and sweet recitation of the Psalms and passages of Scripture. But as yet he knew not the Lord, he lived to himself, "having no hope, and without God in the world." (Ephesians 2:12). In October 1821, he entered the High School, where he continued his literary studies during the usual period of six years. He maintained a high place in his classes; and, in the Rector’s Class, distinguished himself by eminence in geography and recitation. It was during the last year of his attendance at the High School that he first ventured on poetical composition, the subject being, "Greece, but living Greece no more." The lines are characterized chiefly by enthusiasm for liberty and Grecian heroism, for in these days his soul had never soared to a higher region. His companions speak of him as one who had even then peculiarities that drew attention:—of a light, tall form—full of elasticity and vigour—ambitious, yet noble in his dispositions, disdaining everything like meanness or deceit. Some would have been apt to regard him as exhibiting many traits of a Christian character; but his susceptible mind had not, at that time, a relish for any higher joy than the refined gaieties of society, and for such pleasures as the song and the dance could yield. He himself regarded these as days of ungodliness—days wherein he cherished a pure morality, but lived in heart a Pharisee. I have heard him say that there was a correctness and propriety in his demeanour at times of devotion, and in public worship, which some, who knew not his heart, were ready to put to the account of real feeling. And this experience of his own heart made him look with jealousy on the mere outward signs of devotion, in dealing with souls. He had learnt in his own case how much a soul, unawakened to a sense of guilt, may have satisfaction in performing, from the proud consciousness of integrity towards man, and a sentimental devotedness of mind that chastens the feelings without changing the heart.
He had great delight in rural scenery. Most of his summer vacations used to be spent in Dumfriesshire, and his friends in the parish of Ruthwell and its vicinity retain a vivid remembrance of his youthful days. His poetic temperament led him to visit whatever scenes were fitted to stir the soul. At all periods of his life, also, he had a love of enterprise. During the summer months he occasionally made excursions with his brother, or some intimate friend, to visit the lakes and hills of our Highlands, cherishing thereby, unawares, a fondness for travel, that was most useful to him in after days. In one, of these excursions, a somewhat romantic occurrence befell the travelers, such as we might rather have expected to meet with in the records of his Eastern journey. He and his friend had set out on foot to explore, at their leisure, Dunkeld and the highlands in its vicinity. They spent a day at Dunkeld, and about sunset set out again with the view of crossing the hills to Strathardle. A dense mist spread over the hills soon after they began to climb. They pressed on, but lost the track that might have guided them safely to the glen. They knew not how to direct their steps to any dwelling. Night came on, and they had no resource but to couch among the heath, with no other covering than the clothes they wore. They felt hungry and cold; and, awaking at midnight, the awful stillness of the lonely mountains spread a strange fear over them. But, drawing close together, they again lay down to rest, and slept soundly till the cry of some wild birds and the morning dawn aroused them.
Entering the Edinburgh University in November 1827, he gained some prize in all the various classes he attended. In private he studied the modern languages; and gymnastic exercises at that time gave him unbounded delight. He used his pencil with much success, and then it was that his hand was prepared for sketching the scenes of the Holy Land. He had a very considerable knowledge of music, and himself sang correctly and beautifully. This, too, was a gift which was used to the glory of the Lord in after days—wonderfully enlivening his secret devotions, and enabling him to lead the song of praise in the congregation wherever occasion required. Poetry also was a never-failing recreation; and his taste in this department drew the attention of Professor Wilson, who adjudged him the prize in the Moral Philosophy class for a poem, "On the Covenanters." In the winter of 1831, he commenced his studies in the Divinity Hall, under Dr Chalmers; and the study of Church History under Dr Welsh. It may be naturally asked, What led him to wish to preach salvation to his fellow-sinners? Could he say, like Robert Bruce, "I was first called to my grace, before I obeyed my calling to the ministry"? Few questions are more interesting than this; and our answer to it will open up some of the wonderful ways of Him "whose path is in the great waters, and whose footsteps are not known;" Psalms 77:19 : for the same event that awakened his soul to a true sense of sin and misery, led him to the ministry.
During his attendance at the literary and philosophical classes he felt occasional impressions, none of them perhaps of much depth. There can be no doubt that he himself looked upon the death of his eldest brother, David, as the event which awoke him from the sleep of nature, and brought in the first beam of Divine light into his soul. By that providence the Lord was calling one soul to enjoy the treasures of grace, while he took the other into the possession of glory. In this brother, who was his senior by eight or nine years, the light of Divine grace shone before men with rare and solemn loveliness. His classical attainments were very high; and, after the usual preliminary studies, he had been admitted Writer to the Signet. One distinguishing quality of his character was his sensitive truthfulness. In a moment would the shadow flit across his brow, if any incident were related wherein there was the slightest exaggeration; or even when nothing but truth was spoken, if only the deliverer seemed to take up a false or exaggerated view. He must not merely speak the whole truth himself, but he must have the hearer also to apprehend the whole truth. He spent much of his leisure hours in attending to the younger members of the family. Tender and affectionate, his grieved look when they vexed him by resisting his counsels had (it is said) something in it so persuasive that it never failed in the end to prevail on those with whom his words had not succeeded. His youngest brother, at a time when he lived according to the course of this world, was the subject of many of his fervent prayers. But a deep melancholy, in a great degree the effect of bodily ailments, settled down on David’s soul. Many weary months did he spend in awful gloom, till the trouble of his soul wasted away his body; but the light broke in before his death; joy, from the face of a fully reconciled Father above, lighted up his face; and the peace of his last days was the sweet consolation left to his afflicted friends, when, 8th July 183 I, he fell asleep in Jesus. The death of this brother, with all its circumstances, was used by the Holy Spirit to produce a deep impression on Robert’s soul. In many respects—even in the gifts of a poetic mind—there had been a congeniality between him and David. The vivacity of Robert’s ever active and lively mind was the chief point of difference. This vivacity admirably fitted him for public life; it needed only to be chastened and solemnized, and the event that had now occurred wrought this effect. A few months before, the happy family circle had been broken up by the departure of the second brother for India, in the Bengal Medical Service; but when, in the course of the summer, David was removed from them for ever, there were impressions left such as could never be effaced, at least from the mind of Robert. Naturally of an intensely affectionate disposition, this stroke moved his whole soul. His quiet hours seem to have been often spent in thoughts of him who was now gone to glory. There are some lines remaining in which his poetic mind has most touchingly, and with uncommon vigour, painted him whom he had lost—lines all the more interesting, because the delineation of character and form which they contain, cannot fail to call up to those who knew him the image of the author himself. Sometime after his brother’s death, he had tried to preserve the features of his well-remembered form, by attempting a portrait from memory; but throwing aside the pencil in despair, he took up the pen and poured out the fullness of his heart. ON PAINTING THE MINIATURE LIKENESS OF ONE DEPARTED Alas! not perfect yet—another touch, And still another, and another still, Till those dull lips breathe life, and yonder eye Lose its lack-lustre hue, and be lit up With the warm glance of living feeling. No—
It never can be! Ah, poor, powerless art!
Most vaunting, yet most impotent, thou seek’st To trace the thousand thousand shades and lights That glowed conspicuous on the blessed face Of him thou fain wouldst imitate—to bind Down to the fragile canvas the wild play Of thought and mild affection, which were wont To dwell in the serious eye, and play around The placid mouth. Thou seek’st to give again That which the burning soul, inhabiting Its clay-built tenement, alone can give— To leave on cold dead matter the impress Of living mind—to bid a line, a shade, Speak forth not words, but the soft intercourse Which the immortal spirit, while on earth It tabernacles, breathes from every pore—
Thoughts not converted into words, and hopes, And fears, and hidden joys, and griefs, unborn Into the world of sound, but beaming forth In that expression which no words, or work Of cunning artist, can express. In vain,
Alas ! In vain!
Come hither, painter; come Take up once more thine instruments—thy brush And palette—if thy haughty art be, as thou say’st, Omnipotent, and if thy hand can dare To wield creative power. Renew thy toil, And let my memory, vivified by love, Which Death’s cold separation has but warmed, And rendered sacred, dictate to thy skill, And guide thy pencil. From the jetty hair Take off that gaudy lustre that but mocks The true original; and let the dry, Soft, gently-turning locks, appear instead.
What though to fashion’s garish eye they seem Untutored and ungainly—still to me, Than folly’s foppish head-gear, lovelier far Are they, because bespeaking mental toil, Labour assiduous, through the golden days (Golden if so improved) of guileless youth, Unwearied mining in the precious stores Of classic lore—and better, nobler still, In God’s own holy writ. And scatter here And there a thread of grey, to mark the grief That prematurely checked the bounding flow Of the warm current in his veins, and shed An early twilight o’er so bright a dawn. No wrinkle sits upon that brow!—and thus It ever was. The angry strife and cares Of avaricious miser did not leave Their base memorial on so fair a page. The eye-brows next draw closer down, and throw A softening shade o’er the mild orbs below.
Let the full eye-lid, drooping, half conceal The back-retiring eye; and point to earth The long brown lashes that bespeak a soul Like his who said, "I am not worthy, Lord !" From underneath these lowly turning lids, Let not shine forth the gaily sparkling light Which dazzles oft and oft deceives—nor yet The dull unmeaning lustre that can gaze Alike on all the world. But paint an eye In whose half-hidden, steady light I read A truth-inquiring mind; a fancy, too, That could array in sweet poetic garb The truth he found; while on his artless harp He touched the gentlest feelings, which the blaze Of winter’s hearth warms in the homely heart. And
It was about the same time, while still feeling the sadness of this bereavement, that he wrote the fragment entitled:—
"THE RIGHTEOUS PERISHETH AND NO MAN LAYETH IT TO HEART"
A grave I know Where earthly show Is not—a mound Whose gentle round Sustains the load Of a fresh sod. Its shape is rude, And weeds intrude Their yellow flowers— In gayer bowers Unknown. The grass, A tufted mass, Is rank and strong—
Unsmoothed and long. No rosebud there Embalms the air; No lily chaste Adorns the waste, Nor daisy’s head Bedecks the bed. No myrtles wave Above that grave; Nor heather-bell Is there to tell Of gentle friend Who sought to lend A sweeter sleep To him who deep Beneath the ground Repose has found. No stone of woe Is there to show The name, or tell How passing well He loved his God, And how he trod The humble road That leads through sorrow To a bright morrow.
Unknown in life, And far from strife, He lived;—and though The magic flow Of genius played Around his head, And he could weave "The song at eve," And touch the heart, With gentlest art; Or cares beguile, And draw the smile Of peace from those Who wept their woes;—
Yet when the love Of Christ above To guilty men Was shown him—then He left the joys Of worldly noise, And humbly laid His drooping head
Upon the cross; And thought the loss Of all that earth Contained—of mirth, Of loves, and fame, And pleasures’ name— No sacrifice To win the prize, Which Christ secured, When he endured, For us the load— The wrath of God! With many a tear, And many a fear, With many a sigh And heart-wrung cry Of timid faith, He sought the breath: But which can give The power to live— Whose word alone Can melt the stone, Bid tumult cease, And all be peace!
He sought not now To wreath his brow With laurel bough.
He sought no more To gather store Of earthly lore, Nor vainly strove To share the love Of heaven above, With aught below That earth can show. The smile forsook His cheek—his look Was cold and sad; And even the glad
Return of morn, When the ripe corn Waves o’er the plains, And simple swains With joy prepare The toil to share Of harvest brought No lively thought To him.
* * * * And spring adorns The sunny morns With opening flowers; And beauty showers O’er lawn and mead; Its virgin head The snow-drop steeps In dew, and peeps The crocus forth, Nor dreads the north— But even the spring No smile can bring To him, whose eye Sought in the sky For brighter scenes, Where intervenes No darkening cloud Of sin to shroud The gazer’s view,
Thus sadly flew The merry spring; And gaily sing The birds their loves In summer groves. But not for him Their notes they trim. His ear is cold— His tale is told,
Above his grave The grass may wave—
* * * * The crowd pass by Without a sigh
Above the spot.
They knew him not—
They could not know; And even though, Why should they shed
Above the dead Who slumbers here A single tear?
I cannot weep, Though in my sleep I sometimes clasp, With love’s fond grasp His gentle hand, And see him stand
Beside my bed, And lean his head
Upon my breast, And bid me rest Nor night nor day
Till I can say That I have found The holy ground In which there lies The Pearl of Price—
Till all the ties The soul that bind, And all the lies The soul that blind Be * * * *
Nothing could more fully prove the deep impression which the event made than these verses. But it was not a transient regret, nor was it the "sorrow of the world." He was in his eighteenth year when his brother died: and if this was not the year of his new birth, at least it was the year when the first streaks of dawn appeared in his soul. From that day forward his friends observed a change. His poetry was pervaded with serious thought, and all his pursuits began to be followed out in another spirit. He engaged in the labours of a Sabbath-school, and began to seek God to his soul, in the diligent reading of the Word, and attendance on a faithful ministry.
How important this period of his life appeared in his own view, may be gathered from his allusions to it in later days. A year after, he writes in his diary: "On this morning last year came the first overwhelming blow to my worldliness; how blessed to me, thou, O God, only knowest, who hast made it so." Every year he marked this day as one to be remembered, and occasionally its recollections seem to have come in like a flood. In a letter to a friend (8th July 1842), upon a matter entirely local, he concludes by a postscript—"This day eleven years ago, my holy brother David entered into his rest, aged 26." And on that same day, writing a note to one of his flock in Dundee (who had asked him to furnish a preface to a work printed 1740, "Letters on Spiritual Subjects"), he commends the book, and adds—"Pray for me, that I may be made holier and wiser—less like myself, and more like my heavenly Master; that Z may not regard my life, if so be I may finish my course with joy. This day eleven years ago, I lost my loved and loving brother, and began to seek a Brother who cannot die."
It was to companions who could sympathize in his feelings, that he unbosomed himself. At that period it was not common for inquiring souls to carry their case to their pastor. A conventional reserve upon these subjects prevailed even among lively believers. It almost seemed as if they were ashamed of the Son of Man. This reserve appeared to him very sinful; and he felt it to be so great an evil, that, in after days, he was careful to encourage anxious souls to converse with him freely. The nature of his experience, however, we have some means of knowing. On one occasion, a few of us who had studied together were reviewing the Lord’s dealings with our souls, and how he had brought us to himself, all very nearly at the same time, though without any special instrumentality. He stated that there was nothing sudden in his case, and that he was led to Christ through deep and ever-abiding, but not awful or distracting convictions. In this we see the Lord’s sovereignty. In bringing a soul to the Saviour, the Holy Spirit invariably leads it to very deep consciousness of sin; but then he causes this consciousness of sin to be more distressing and intolerable to some than to others. But in one point does the experience of all believing sinners agree in this matter—viz. their soul presented to their view nothing but an abyss of sin, when the grace of God that bringeth salvation appeared. The Holy Spirit carried on his work in the subject of this Memoir, by continuing to deepen in him the conviction of his ungodliness, and the pollution of his whole nature. And 0 his life long, he viewed his original sin, not as an excuse for his actual sins, but as an aggravation of them all. In this view he was of the mind of David, taught by the unerring Spirit of Truth. See Psalms 51:4-5. At first the light dawned slowly; so slowly, that, for a considerable time, he still relished an occasional plunge into scenes of gaiety. Even after entering the Divinity Hall, he could be persuaded to indulge in lighter pursuits, at least during the two first years of his attendance; but it was with growing alarm. When hurried away by such worldly joys, I find him writing thus:—"Sept. 14.—May there be few such records as this in my biography." Then, "Dec. 9.—A thorn in my side—much torment." As the unholiness of his pleasures became more apparent, he writes:—"March 10th, 1832—I hope never to play cards again." "March 25th—Never visit on a Sunday evening again." "April 10th—Absented myself from the dance; upbraidings ill to bear. But I must try to bear the cross." It seems to be in reference to the receding tide, which thus for a season repeatedly drew him back to the world, that on July 8th 1836, he records—"This morning five years ago, my dear brother David died, and my heart for the first time knew true bereavement. Truly it was all well. Let me be dumb, for thou didst it; and it was good for me that I was afflicted. I know not that any providence was ever more abused by man than that was by me: and yet, Lord, what mountains thou comest over! none was ever more blessed to me." To us who can look at the results, it appears probable that the Lord permitted him thus to try many broken cisterns, and to taste the wormwood of many earthly streams, in order that in after days, by the side of the fountain of living waters, he might point to the world he had for ever left, and testify the surpassing preciousness of what he had now found.
Mr. Alexander Somerville (afterwards minister of Anderston Church, Glasgow) was his familiar friend and companion in the gay scenes of his youth. And he, too, about this time, having been brought to taste the powers of the world to come, they united their efforts for each other’s welfare. They met together for the study of the Bible, and used to exercise themselves in the Septuagint Greek and the Hebrew original. But oftener still they met for prayer and solemn converse; and carrying on all their studies in the same spirit, watched each other’s steps in the narrow way.
He thought himself much profited, at this period, by investigating the subject of Election and the Free Grace of God. But it was the reading of "The Sum of Saving Knowledge," generally appended to our Confession of Faith, that brought him to a clear understanding of the way of acceptance with God. Those who are acquainted with its admirable statements of truth, will see how well fitted it was to direct an inquiring soul. I find him some years afterwards recording:—"March 11th, 1834—Read in the ‘Sum o f Saving Knowledge,’ the work which I think first of all wrought a saving change in me. How gladly would I renew the reading of it, if that change might be carried on to perfection!" It will be observed that he never reckoned his soul saved, notwithstanding all his convictions and views of sin, until he really went into the Holiest of all on the warrant of the Redeemer’s work; for assuredly a sinner is still under wrath, until he has actually availed himself of the way to the Father opened up by Jesus. All his knowledge of his sinfulness, and all his sad feeling of his own need and danger, cannot place him one step farther off from the lake of fire. It is "he that comes to Christ" that is saved.
Before this period, he had received a. bias towards the ministry from his brother David, who used to speak of the ministry as the most blessed work on earth, and often expressed the greatest delight in the hope that his younger brother might one day become a minister of Christ. And now, with altered views—with an eye that could gaze on heaven and hell, and a heart that felt the love of a reconciled God—he sought to become a herald of salvation.
He had begun to keep a register of his studies, and the manner in which his time slipped away, some months before his brother’s death. For a considerable time this register contains almost nothing but the bare incidents of the diary, and on Sabbaths the texts of the sermons he had heard. There is one gleam of serious thought—but it is the only one—during that period. On occasion of Dr Andrew Thomson’s funeral, he records the deep and universal grief that pervaded the town and then subjoins—"Pleasing to see so much public feeling excited on the decease of so worthy a man. How much are the times changed within these eighteen centuries, since the time when Joseph besought the body in secret, and when he and Nicodemus were the only ones found to bear the body to the tomb."
It is in the end of the year that evidences of a change appear. From that period and ever onward his dry register of every-day incidents is varied with such passages as the following:—
"November 12.—Reading H. Martyn’s Memoirs. Would I could imitate him, giving up father, mother, country, house, health, life, all—for Christ. And yet, what hinders? Lord purify me, and give me strength to dedicate myself, my all, to thee!"
"December 4.—Reading Legh Richmond’s Life. ‘Poenitentia profunda, non sine lacrymis. Nunquam me ipsum, tam vilem, tam inutilem, tam pauperim, et praecipue tam ingratum, adhuc vidi. Sint lacrymae dedicationis mew pignora!’" ["Deep penitence, not unmixed with tears. I never before saw myself so vile, so useless, so poor, and, above all, so ungrateful. May these tears be the pledges of my self-dedication."] There is frequently at this period a sentence in Latin occurring like the above in the midst of other matter, apparently with the view of giving freer expression to his feelings regarding himself.
"Dec. 9.—Heard a street-preacher: foreign voice. Seems really in earnest. He quoted the striking passage, ‘The spirit and the bride say, Came, and let him that heareth say, Come.’ From this he seems to derive his authority. Let me learn from this man to be in earnest for the truth, and to despise the scoffing of the world."
Dec. 18.—After spending an evening too lightly, he writes—"My heart must break off from a11 these things. What right have I to steal and abuse my Master’s time? ‘Redeem it,’ he is crying to me."
"Dec. 25.—My mind not yet calmly fixed on the Rock of Ages."
"January 12. 1832.-Cor non pacem habet. Quare? Peccatum apud fores manet." ["My heart has not peace. Why? Sin lieth at my door."]
"Jan, 25.—A lovely day. Eighty-four cases of cholera at Musselburgh. How it creeps nearer and nearer, like a snake. Who will be the first victim here? Let thine everlasting arms be around us, and we shall be safe."
"Jan. 29. Sabbath.—Afternoon heard Mr. Bruce (then minister of the New North Church, Edinburgh), on Malachi 1:1-6. It constitutes the very gravamen of the charge against the unrenewed man, that he has affection for his earthly parent, and reverence for his earthly master; but none for God! Most noble discourse."
"February 2.—Not a trait worth remembering! And yet these four-and-twenty hours must be accounted for."
Feb. 5. Sabbath.—In the afternoon, having heard the late Mr. Martin, of St George’s,[1] he writes, on returning home—"O quam humilem, sed quam diligentissimum; quam dejectum, sed quam vigilem, quam die noctuque precantem, decet me esse quum tales viras aspicio. Juva, Pater, Fili, et Spiritus!" ["O how humble yet how diligent, how lowly yet how watchful, how prayerful night and day it becomes me to be, when I see such men. Help, Father, Son, and Spirit!"] From this date he seems to have sat, along with his friend Mr. Somerville, almost entirely under Mr. Bruce’s ministry. He took copious notes of his lectures and sermons, which 90 remain among his papers.
"Feb. 28.—Sober conversation. Fain would I turn to the most interesting of all subjects. Cowardly backwardness: ‘For whosoever is ashamed of me and my words,’ &c." At this time, hearing, concerning a friend of the family, that she had said, "that she was determined to keep by the world," he penned the following lines on her melancholy decision:—
She has chosen the world, And its paltry crowd,—
She has chosen the world, And an endless shroud!
She has chosen the world, With its misnamed pleasures:
She has chosen the world, Before heaven’s own treasures.
She hath launched her boat On life’s giddy sea, And her all is afloat For eternity. But Bethlehem’s star Is not in her view; And her aim is far From the harbour true When the storm descends From an angry sky, Ah! where from the winds Shall the vessel fly? When stars are concealed, And rudder gone, And heaven is sealed To the wandering one! The whirlpool opes For the gallant prize;
And, with all her hopes, To the deep she hies! But who may tell Of the place of woe, Where the wicked dwell— Where the worldlings go? For the human heart Can ne’er conceive What joys are the part Of them who believe; Nor can justly think Of the cup of death Which all must drink Who despise the faith.
Away, then—oh, fly From the joys of earth! Her smile is a lie—
There’s a sting in her mirth.
Come, leave the dreams Of this transient night, And bask in the beams Of an endless light.
"March 6.—Wild wind and rain all day long. Hebrew class—Psalms. New beauty in the original every time I read. Dr. Welsh—lecture on Pliny’s letter about the Christians of Bithynia. Professor Jameson on quartz. Dr. Chalmers grappling with Hume’s arguments. Evening.—Notes and little else. Mind and body dull." This is a specimen of his register of daily study.
March 20.—After a few sentences in Latin, concluding with, "In meam animam veni, Domine Deus omnipotens," he writes, "Leaning on a staff of my own devising, it betrayed me, and broke under me. It was not thy staff. Resolving to be a god, thou shewedst me that I was but a man. But my own staff being broken, why may I not lay hold of thine?—Read part of the life of Jonathan Edwards. How feeble does my spark of Christianity appear beside such a sun! But even his was a borrowed light, and the same source is still open to enlighten me."
"April 8.—Have found much rest in him who bore all our burdens for us."
"April 26.—To-night I ventured to break the ice of unchristian silence. Why should not selfishness be buried beneath the Atlantic in matters so sacred?" May 6.—Saturday evening.—This was the evening previous to the Communion, and in prospect of again declaring himself the Lord’s, at his Table, he enters into a brief review of his state. He had partaken of the ordinance in May of the year before for the first time; but he was then living at ease, and saw not the solemn nature of the step he took. He now sits down and reviews the past:—
"What a mass of corruption have I been! How great a portion of my life have I spent wholly without God in the world; given up to sense and the perishing things around me. Naturally of a feeling and sentimental disposition, how much of my religion has been, and to this day is, tinged with these colours of earth! Restrained from open vice by educational views and the fear of man, how much ungodliness has reigned within me! How often has it broken through all restraints, and come out in the shape of lusts and anger, mad ambitions, and unhallowed words! Though my vice was always refined, yet how subtile and how awfully prevalent it was! How complete a test was the Sabbath—spent in weariness, as much of it as was given to God’s service! How I polluted it by my hypocrisies, my self-conceits, my worldly thoughts, and worldly friends! How formally and unheedingly the Bible was read-how little was read—so little that even now I have not read it all! How unboundedly was the wild impulse of the heart obeyed! How much more was the creature loved than the Creator!—O great God, that didst suffer me to live whilst I so dishonoured thee, thou knowest the whole; and it was thy hand alone that could awaken me from the death in which I was, and was contented to be. Gladly would I have escaped from the Shepherd that sought me as I strayed; but he took me up in his arms and carried me back; and yet he took me not for any thing that was in me. I was no more fit for his service than the Australian, and no more worthy to be called and chosen. Yet, why should I doubt? not that God is unwilling, not that he is unable—of both I am assured. But, perhaps, my old sins are too fearful, and my unbelief too glaring? Nay; I come to Christ, not although I am a sinner, but just because I am a sinner, even the chief." He then adds, "And though sentiment and constitutional enthusiasm may have a great effect on me, still I believe that my soul is in sincerity desirous and earnest about having all its concerns at rest with God and Christ—that his kingdom occupies the most part of all my thoughts, and even of my long-polluted affections. Not unto me, not unto me, be the shadow of praise or of merit ascribed, but let all glory be given to thy most holy name! As surely as thou didst make the mouth with which I pray, so surely dost thou prompt every prayer of faith which I utter. Thou hast made me all that I am, and given me all that I have."
Next day, after communicating, he writes: "I well remember when I was an enemy, and especially abhorred this ordinance as binding me down; but if I be bound to Christ in heart, I shall not dread any bands that can draw me close to him." Evening.—"Much peace. Look back, my soul, and view the mind that belonged to thee but twelve months ago—my soul, thy place is in the dust!"
"May 19.—Thought with more comfort than usual of being a witness for Jesus in a foreign land."
"June 4.—Walking with A. Somerville by Craigleith. Conversing on missions. If I am to go to the heathen to speak of the unsearchable riches of Christ, this one thing must be given me, to be out of the reach of the baneful influence of esteem or contempt. If worldly motives go with me, I shall never convert a soul, and shall lose my own in the labour."
"June 22.—Variety of studies. Septuagint translation of Exodus, and Vulgate. Bought Edwards’ works. Drawing—Truly there was nothing in me that should have induced him to choose me. I was but as the other brands upon whom the fire is already kindled, which shall burn for evermore! And as soon could the billet leap from the hearth and become a green tree, as my soul could have sprung to newness of life."
June 25.—In reference to the office of the holy ministry: "How apt are we to lose our hours in the vainest babblings, as do the world! How can this be with those chosen for the mighty office? fellow-workers with God? heralds of his Son? evangelists? men set apart to the work, chosen out of the chosen, as it were the very pick of the flocks, who are to shine as the stars for ever and ever? Alas, alas! my soul, where shalt thou appear? O Lord God, I am a little child! But thou wilt send an angel with a live coal from off the altar, and touch my unclean lips, and put a tongue within my dry mouth, so that I shall say with Isaiah, ‘Here am I, send me."’ Then, after reading a little of Edwards’ works, "O that heart and understanding may grow together, like brother and sister, leaning on one another."
"June 27.—Life of David Brainerd. Most wonderful man! What conflicts, what depressions, desertions, strength, advancement, victories, within thy torn bosom! I cannot express what I think when I think of thee. To-night, more set upon missionary enterprise than ever."
"June 28.—O for Brainerd’s humility and sin-loathing dispositions! "
"June 30.—Much carelessness, sin, and sorrow. O wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from this body of sin and death? Enter thou, my soul, into the rock, and hide thee in the dust for fear of the Lord and the glory of his majesty." And then he writes a few verses, of which the following are some stanzas:—
I will arise and seek my God, And, bowed down beneath my load, Lay all my sins before him;
Then he will wash my soul from sin, And put a new heart me within, And teach me to adore him.
O ye that fain would find the joy— The only one that wants alloy— Which never is deceiving;
Come to the Well of Life with me, And drink, as it is proffered, free, The gospel draught receiving.
I come to Christ, because I know The very worst are called to go; And when in faith I find him, I’ll walk in him, and lean on him, Because I cannot move a limb Until he say, "Unbind him."
"July 3.—This last bitter root of worldliness that has so often betrayed me has this night so grossly, that I cannot but regard it as God’s chosen way to make me loathe and forsake it for ever. I would vow; but it is much more like a weakly worm to pray. Sit in the dust, O my soul!" I believe he was enabled to keep his resolution. Once only, in the end of this year, was he again led back to gaiety; but it was the last time.
"July 7.—Saturday.—After finishing my usual studies, tried to fast a little, with much prayer and earnest seeking of God’s face, remembering what occurred this night last year." (Alluding to his brother’s death.)
"July 22.—Had this evening a more complete understanding of that self-emptying and abasement with which it is necessary to come to Christ—a denying of self, trampling it under foot—a recognizing of the complete righteousness and justice of God, that could do nothing else with us but condemn us utterly, and thrust us down to lowest hell,—a feeling that, even in hell, we should rejoice in his sovereignty, and say that all was rightly done."
"August 15.—Little done, and as little suffered. Awfully important question—Am I redeeming the time?"
"Aug. 18.—Heard of the death of James Somerville[2] by fever, induced by cholera. O God, thy ways and thoughts are not as ours! He had preached his first sermon. I saw him last on Friday, 27th July, at the College gate; shook hands ; and little thought I was to see him no more on earth.
"September 2—Sabbath evening.—Reading. Too much engrossed, and too little devotional. Preparation for a fall. Warning. We may be too engrossed with the shell even of heavenly things."
"Sept. 9.—Oh for true, unfeigned humility! I know I have cause to be humble; and yet I do not know one half of that cause. I know I am proud; and yet I do not know the half of that pride."
"Sept. 30—Somewhat straitened by loose Sabbath observance. Best way is to be explicit and manly."
"November 1.—More abundant longings for the work of the ministry. O that Christ would but count me faithful, that a dispensation of the Gospel might be committed to me!" And then he adds, "Much peace. Peaceful, because believing."
December 2.—Hitherto he used to spend much of the Sabbath evening in extending his notes of Mr. Bruce’s sermons; but now, "Determined to be brief with these for the sake of a more practical, meditative, resting, sabbatical evening."
"Dec. 11—Mind quite unfitted for devotion. Prayerless prayer."
"Dec. 31.—God has in this past year introduced me to the preparation of the ministry—I bless him for that. He has helped me to give up much of my shame to name his name, and be on his side, especially before particular friends-I bless him for that. He has taken conclusively away friends that might have been a snare-must have been a stumbling-block—I bless him for that. He has introduced me to one Christian friend, and sealed more and more my amity with another-I bless him for that."
January 27. 1833.—On this day it had been the custom of his brother David to write a "Carmen Natale" on their father’s birth-day. Robert took up the domestic song this year; and, in doing so, makes some beautiful and tender allusions.
"Ah! where is the harp that was strung to thy praise, So oft and so sweetly in happier days? When the tears that we shed were the tears of our joy, And the pleasures of home were unmixed with alloy? The harp is now mute—its last breathings are spoken— And the cord, though ‘twas threefold, is now, alas, broken!
Yet why should we murmur, short-sighted and vain, Since death to that loved one was undying gain.
Ah, fools! shall we grieve that he left this poor scene, To dwell in the realms that are ever serene?
Though he sparkled the gem in our circle of love, He is even more prized in the circles above. And though sweetly he sung of his father on earth, When this day would inspire him with tenderest mirth, Yet a holier tone to his harp is now given, As he sings to his unborn Father in heaven."
February 3.—Writing to a medical friend of his brother William’s, he says—"I remember long ago a remark you once made to William, which has somehow or other stuck in my head, viz., that medical men ought to make a distinct study of the Bible, purely for the sake of administering conviction and consolation to their patients. I think you also said that you had actually begun with that view. Such a determination, though formed in youth, is one which I trust riper years will not make you blush to own."
"Feb. 11.—Somewhat overcome. Let me see: there is a creeping defect here. Humble, purpose-like reading of the Word omitted. What plant can be unwatered, and not wither?"
"Feb. 16 —Walk to Corstorphine Hill. Exquisite clear view—blue water, and brown fields, and green firs. Many thoughts on the follies of my youth. How many, O Lord, may they be? Summed up in one—ungodliness!"
"Feb. 21. —Am I as willing as ever to preach to the lost heathen?"
"March 8. —Biblical criticism. This must not supersede heart-work. How apt it is! "
"March 12. —O for activity, activity, activity!"
"March 29.—Today my second session (at the Divinity Hall) ends. I am now in the middle of my career. God hold me on with a steady pace!"
"March 31.-The bull tosses in the net! How should the Christian imitate the anxieties of the worldling?"
April 17.—He heard of the death of one whom many friends had esteemed much and lamented deeply. This led him to touch the strings of his harp again, in a measure somewhat irregular, yet sad and sweet.
"WE ALL DO FADE AS A LEAF"
SHE LIVED— So dying-like and frail, That every bitter gale Of winter seemed to blow Only to lay her low!
She lived to show how He, Who stills the stormy sea, Can overrule the winter’s power, And keep alive the tiniest flower— Can bear the young lamb in his arms, And shelter it from death’s alarms.
SHE DIED — When spring, with brightest flowers, Was fresh’nlng all the bowers. The linnet sung her choicest lay, When her sweet voice was hushed for aye! The snowdrop rose above the ground When she beneath her pillow found, Both cold, and white and fair—
She, fairest of the fair, She died to teach us all The loveliest must fall. A curse is written on the brow Of beauty:—and the lover’s vow Cannot retain the flitting breath, Nor save from all-devouring death.
SHE LIVES— The spirit left the earth; And He who gave her birth Has called her to his dread abode, To meet her Saviour and her God.
She lives, to tell how blest Is the everlasting rest Of those who, in the Lamb’s blood laved, Are chosen, sanctified, and saved!
How fearful is their doom Who drop into the tomb Without a covert from the ire Of him who is consuming fire.
SHE SHALL LIVE— The grave shall yield his prize, When, from the rending skies, Christ shall with shouting angels come To wake the slumberers of the tomb, And many more shall rise Before our longing eyes.
Oh ! may we all together meet, Embracing the Redeemer’s feet!
"May 20.—General Assembly. The motion regarding Chapels of Ease lost, by 106 to 103- Every shock of the ram is heavier and stronger, till all shall give way."
"June 4.—Evening almost lost. Music will not sanctify, though it make feminine the heart."
"June 22.—Omissions make way for commissions. Could I but take effective warning! A world’s wealth would not make up for that saying, ‘If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father.’ But how shall we that are dead to sin live any longer therein?"
"June 30.—Self-examination. Why is a missionary life so often an object of my thoughts. Is it simply for the love I bear to souls? Then, why do I not show it more where I am? Souls are as precious here as in Burmah. Does the romance of the business not weigh anything with me?—the interest and esteem I would carry with me?—the nice journals and letters I should write and receive? Why would I so much rather go to the East than to the West Indies? Am I wholly deceiving my own heart? and have I not a spark of true missionary zeal? Lord, give me to understand and imitate the spirit of those unearthly words of thy dear Son, ‘It is enough for the disciple that he be as his Master, and the servant as his Lord.’ ‘He that loveth father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me.’ Gloria in excelsis Deo!"
"August 13.—Clear conviction of sin is the only true origin of dependence on another’s righteousness, and, therefore, (strange to say!) of the Christian’s peace of mind and cheerfulness."
"September 8.—Reading Adam’s Private Thoughts. O for his heart-searching humility! Ah me! on what mountains of pride must I be wandering, when all I do is tinctured with the very sins this man so deplores; yet where are my wailings, where my tears, over my love of praise?"
"November 14.—Composition—a pleasant kind of labour. I fear the love of applause, or effect, goes a great way. May God keep me from preaching myself, instead of Christ crucified."
"January 15. 1834.—Heard of the death of J. S., off the Cape of Good Hope. O God! how thou breakest into families! Must not the disease be dangerous, when a tenderhearted surgeon cuts deep into the flesh? How much more when God is the operator, ‘who afflicteth not from his heart, [Nkklm], nor grieveth the children of men.’ (Lamentations 3:33)."
"February 23—Sabbath.—Rose early to seek God, and found him whom my soul loveth. Who would not rise early to meet such company? The rains are over and gone. They that sow in tears shall reap in joy."
Feb. 24.—He writes a letter to one who, he feared, was only sentimental, and not really under a sense of sin. "Is it possible, think you, for a person to be conceited of his miseries? May there not be a deep leaven of pride in telling how desolate and how unfeeling we are?—in brooding over our unearthly pains?—in our being excluded from the unsympathetic world?—in our being the invalids of Christ’s hospital?" He had himself been taught by the Spirit that it is more humbling for us to take what grace offers, than to bewail our wants and worthlessness.
Two days after, he records, with thankful astonishment, that for the first time in his life he had been blest to awaken a soul. All who find Christ for themselves are impelled, by the holy necessity of constraining love, to seek the salvation of others. Andrew findeth his brother Peter, and Philip findeth his friend Nathaniel. So was it in the case before us. He no sooner knew Christ’s righteousness as his own covering, than he longed to see others clothed in the same spotless robe. And it is peculiarly interesting to read the feelings of one who was yet to be blest in plucking so many brands from the fire, when for the first time he saw the Lord graciously employing him in this more than angelic work. We have his own testimony:—"Feb. 26. After sermon. The precious tidings that a soul has been melted down by the grace of the Saviour. How blessed an answer to prayer, if it be really so ! ‘Can these dry bones live? Lord, thou knowest.’ What a blessed thing it is to see the first grievings of the awakened spirit, when it cries, ‘I cannot see myself a sinner; I cannot pray, for my vile heart wanders.’ It has refreshed me more than a thousand sermons. I know not how to thank and admire God sufficiently for this incipient work. Lord, perfect that which thou hast begun!" A few days after—"Lord, I thank thee that thou hast shown me this marvelous working, though I was but an adoring spectator, rather than an instrument."
It is scarcely less interesting, in the case of one so gifted for the work of visiting the careless, and so singularly skilled in ministering the Word by the bedside of the dying, to find a record of the occasion when the Lord led him forth to take his first survey of this field of labour. There existed at that time, among some of the students attending the Divinity Hall, a society, the sole object of which was to stir up each other to set apart an hour or two every week for visiting the careless and needy in the most neglected portions of the town. Our rule was, not to subtract anything from our times of study, but to devote to this work an occasional hour in the intervals between different classes, or an hour that might otherwise have been given to recreation. All of us felt the work to be trying to the flesh at the outset; but none ever repented of persevering in it. One Saturday forenoon, at the close of the usual prayer-meeting, which met in Dr Chalmers’ vestry, we went up together to a district in the Castle Hill. It was Robert’s first near view of the heathenism of his native city, and the effect was enduring.
"March 3.—Accompanied A. B. in one of his rounds through some of the most miserable habitations I ever beheld. Such scenes I never before dreamed of. Ah, why am I such a stranger to the poor in my native town? I have passed their doors thousands of times; I have admired the huge black piles of buildings, with their lofty chimneys breaking the sun’s rays—why have I never ventured within? How dwelleth the love of God in me? How cordial is the welcome even of the poorest and most loathsome to the voice of Christian sympathy! What imbedded masses of human beings are huddled together, unvisited by friend or minister! ‘No man careth for our souls,’ is written over every forehead. Awake, my soul! Why should I give hours and days any longer to the vain world, when there is such a world of misery at my very door? Lord, put thine own strength in me; confirm every good resolution; forgive my past long life of uselessness and folly."
He forthwith became one of the Society’s most steady members, cultivating a district in the Canongate, teaching a Sabbath-school, and distributing the Monthly Visitor, along with Mr. Somerville. His experience there was fitted to give him insight into the sinner’s depravity in all its forms. His first visit in his district is thus noticed—"March 24. Visited two families with tolerable success. God grant a blessing may go with us! Began in fear and weakness and in much trembling. May the power be of God." Soon after, he narrates the following scene:—"Entered the house of——. Heard her swearing as I came up the stair. Found her storming at three little grandchildren, whom her daughter had left with her. She is a seared, hard-hearted wretch. Read Ezekiel 33:1-33. Interrupted by the entrance of her second daughter, furiously demanding her marriage lines. Became more discreet. Promised to come back—never came. Her father-inlaw entered, a hideous spectacle of an aged drunkard, demanding money. Left the house with warnings." Another case he particularly mentions of a sick woman, who, though careless before, suddenly seemed to float into a sea of joy, without being able to give any scriptural account of the change. She continued, I believe, to her death in this state; but he feared it was a subtle delusion of Satan as an angel of light. One soul, however, was, to all appearance, brought truly to the Rock of Ages, during his and his friend’s prayerful visitations. These were first-fruits.
He continues his diary, though often considerable intervals occur in the register of his spiritual state.
"May 9.—How kindly has God thwarted me in every in stance where I sought to enslave myself. I will learn at least to glory in disappointments."
"May 10.—At the Communion. Felt less use for the minister than ever. Let the Master of the Feast alone speak to my heart." He felt at such times, as many of the Lord’s people have always done, that it is not the addresses of the ministers in serving the table, but the Supper itself, that ought to "satiate their souls with fatness." May 21.—It is affecting to us to read the following entry:—"This day I attained my twenty-first year. O how long and how worthlessly I have lived, Thou only knowest! Neff died in his thirty-first year; when shall I ?"[3] May 29.—He this day wrote very faithfully, yet very kindly, to one who seemed to him not a believer, and who, nevertheless, appropriated to herself the promises of God. "If you are wholly unassured of your being a believer, is it not a contradiction in terms to say that you are sure the believers’ promises belong to you? Are you an assured believer? If so, rejoice in your heirship; and yet rejoice with trembling; for that is the very character of God’s heirs. But are you unassured-nay, wholly unassured? then what mad presumption to say to your soul, that these promises, being in the Bible, must belong indiscriminately to all? It is too gross a contradiction for you to compass, except in word." He then shows that Christ’s free offer must be accepted by the sinner, and so the promises become his. "The sinner complies with the call or offer, ‘Come unto me’; and thereafter, but not before, can claim the annexed promise as his—‘I will give thee rest.’"
"August 14.—Partial fast, and seeking God’s face by prayer. This day thirty years, my late dear brother was born. O for more love, and then will come more peace." That same evening he wrote the hymn, The Barren Fig-tree.
"October 17.—Private meditation exchanged for conversation. Here is the root of the evil—forsake God, and he forsakes us."
Some evening this month he had been reading Baxter’s Call to the Unconverted. Deeply impressed with the affectionate and awfully solemn urgency of the man of God, he wrote,—
"Though Baxter’s lips have long in silence hung, And death long hush’d that sinner-wakening tongue;
Yet still, though dead: he speaks aloud to all, And from the grave still issues forth his ‘Call.’
Like some loud angel-voice from Zion Hill, The mighty echo rolls and rumbles still.
O grant that we, when sleeping in the dust, May thus speak forth the wisdom of the just."
Mr. M’Cheyne was peculiarly subject to attacks of fever, and by one of these was he laid down on a sick bed on November 15th. However, this attack was of short duration. On the 21st he writes—"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits. Learned more and more of the value of Jehovah Tzidkenu." He had, three days before, written his well-known hymn, "I once was a stranger," &c., entitled "Jehovah Tzidkenu, the Watchword of the Reformers." It was the fruit of a slight illness which had tried his soul, by setting it more immediately in view of the judgment-seat of Christ; and the hymn which he so sweetly sung reveals the sure and solid confidence of his soul. In reference to that same illness, he seems to have penned the following lines, November 24th:—
He tenderly binds up the broken in heart, The soul bowed down he will raise; For mourning the ointment of joy will impart, For heaviness, garments of praise.
Ah, come, then, and sing to the praise of our God, Who giveth and taketh away; Who first by his kindness, and then by his rod, Would teach us, poor sinners, to pray. For in the assembly of Jesus’ first-born, Who anthems of gratitude raise;
Each heart has by great tribulation been torn, Each voice turned from wailing to praise.
"November 9.—Heard of Edward Irving’s death. I look back upon him with awe, as on the saints and martyrs of old. A holy man in spite of all his delusions and errors. He is now with his God and Saviour, whom he wronged so much, yet, I am persuaded, loved so sincerely. How should we lean for wisdom, not on ourselves, but on the God of all grace!"
"Nov. 21.—If nothing else will do to sever me from my sins, Lord send me such sore and trying calamities as shall awake me from earthly slumbers. It must always be best to be alive to thee, whatever be the quickening instrument. I tremble as I write, for oh! on every hand do I see too likely occasions for sore afflictions."
"February 15. 1835.—Tomorrow I undergo my trials before the Presbytery. May God give me courage in the hour of need. What should I fear? If God see meet to put me into the ministry, who shall keep me back? If I be not meet, why should I be thrust forward? To thy service I desire to dedicate myself over and over again."
"March 1.—Bodily service. What change is there in the heart! Wild, earthly affections there are here; strong, coarse passions; bands both of iron and silk. But I thank thee, O my God, that they make me cry, ‘O wretched man!’ Bodily weakness, too, depresses me."
"March 29.—College finished on Friday last. My last appearance there. Life itself is vanishing fast. Make haste for eternity." In such records as these, we read God’s dealings with his soul up to the time when he was licensed to preach the gospel. His preparatory discipline, both of heart and of intellect, had been directed by the Great Head of the Church in a way that remarkably qualified him for the work he was to perform in the vineyard. His soul was prepared for the awful work of the ministry by much prayer, and much study of the Word of God; by affliction in. his person; by inward trials and sore temptations; by experience of the depth of corruption in his own heart; and by discoveries of the Saviour’s fullness of grace. He learnt experimentally to ask—"Who is he that overcometh the world, but he that believeth that Jesus is the Son of God." 1 John 5:5. During the four years that followed his awakening, he was oftentimes under the many waters, but was ever raised again by the same Divine hand that had drawn him out at the first, till at length, though still often violently tossed, the vessel was able steadily to keep the summit of the wave. It appears that he learnt the way of salvation experimentally, ere he knew it accurately by theory and system; and thus no doubt it was that his whole ministry was little else than a giving out of his own inward life. The Visiting Society noticed above was much blessed to the culture of his soul, and not less so the Missionary Association and the Prayer Meeting connected with it. None were more regular at the hour of prayer than he, and none more frequently led up our praises to the throne. He was for some time Secretary to the Association, and interested himself deeply in details of missionary labours. Indeed, to the last day of his life, his thoughts often turned to foreign lands; and one of the last notes he wrote was to the Secretary of the Association in Edinburgh, expressing his unabated interest in their prosperity.
During the first years of his college course, his studies did not absorb his whole attention; but no sooner was the change on his soul begun, than his studies shared in the results. A deeper sense of responsibility led him to occupy his talents for the service of him who bestowed them. There have been few who, along with a devotedness of spirit that sought to be ever directly engaged in the Lord’s work, have nevertheless retained such continued and undecaying esteem for the advantages of study. While attending the usual literary and philosophical classes, he found time to turn his attention to Geology and Natural History. And often in his days of most successful preaching, when, next to his own soul, his parish and his flock were his only care, he has been known to express a regret that he had not laid up in former days more stores of all useful knowledge; for he found himself able to use the jewels of the Egyptians in the service of Christ. His previous studies would sometimes flash into his mind some happy illustration of Divine truth, at the very moment when he was most solemnly applying the glorious gospel to the most ignorant and vile. His own words will best show his estimate of study, and at the same time the prayerful manner in which he felt it should be carried on. "Do get on with your studies," he wrote to a young student in 1840. "Remember you are now forming the character of your future ministry in great measure, if God spare you. If you acquire slovenly or sleepy habits of study now, you will never get the better of it. Do everything in its own time. Do everything in earnest—if it is worth doing, then do it with all your might. Above all, keep much in the presence of God. Never see the face of man till you have seen his face who is our life, our all. Pray for others: pray for your teachers, fellow-students," &c. To another he wrote—"Beware of the atmosphere of the classics. It is pernicious indeed; and you need much of the south wind breathing over the Scriptures to counteract it. True, we ought to know them; but only as chemists handle poisons—to discover their qualities, not to infect their blood with them." And again—"Pray that the Holy Spirit would not only make you a believing and holy lad, but make you wise in your studies also. A ray of Divine light in the soul sometimes clears up a mathematical problem wonderfully. The smile of God calms the spirit, and the left hand of Jesus holds up the fainting head, and his Holy Spirit quickens the affection; so that even natural studies go on a million times more easily and comfortably."
Before entering the Divinity Hall, he had attended a private class for the study of Hebrew; and having afterwards attended the two sessions of Dr Brunton’s College Class, he made much progress in that language. He could consult the Hebrew original of the Old Testament with as much ease as most of our ministers are able to consult the Greek of the New.
It was about the time of his first year’s attendance at the Hall that I began to know him as an intimate friend. During the summer vacations—that we might redeem the time—some of us who remained in town, when most of our fellow-students were gone to the country, used to meet once every week in the forenoon, for the purpose of investigating some point of Systematic Divinity, and stating to each other the amount and result of our private reading. At another time we met in a similar way, till we had overtaken the chief points of the Popish Controversy. Advancement in our acquaintance with the Greek and Hebrew Scriptures also brought us together; and one summer the study of Unfulfilled Prophecy assembled a few of us once a week, at an early morning hour, when, though our views differed much on particular points, we never failed to get food to our souls in the Scriptures we explored. But no society of this kind was more useful and pleasant to us than one which, from its object, received the name of Exegetical. It met during the session of the Theological Classes every Saturday morning at half-past six. The study of Biblical criticism, and whatever might cast light on the Word of God, was our aim; and these meetings were kept up regularly during four sessions. Mr. M’Cheyne spoke of himself as indebted to this society for much of that discipline of mind on Jewish literature and Scripture geography which was found to be so useful in the Mission of Inquiry to the Jews in after days.[4] But these helps in study were all the while no more than supplementary. The regular systematic studies of the Hall furnished the main provision for his mental culture. Under Dr Chalmers for Divinity, and under Dr Welsh for Church History, a course of four years afforded no ordinary advantages for enlarging the understanding. New fields of thought were daily opened up. His notes and his diary testify that he endeavoured to retain what he heard, and that he used to read as much of the books recommended by the professors as his time enabled him to overtake. Many years after, he thankfully called to mind lessons that had been taught in these classes. Riding one day with Mr. Hamilton (now of Regent Square, London) from Abernyte to Dundee, they were led to speak of the best mode of dividing a sermon. "I used," said he, "to despise Dr Welsh’s rules at the time I heard him, but now I feel I must use them, for nothing is more needful for making a sermon memorable and impressive than a logical arrangement." His intellectual powers were of a high order—clear and distinct apprehension of his subject, and felicitous illustration, characterized him among all his companions. To an eager desire for wide acquaintance with truth in all its departments, and a memory strong and accurate in retaining what he found, there was added a remarkable candour in examining what claimed to be the truth. He had also an ingenious and enterprising mind-a mind that could carry out what was suggested, when it did not strike out new light for itself. He possessed great powers of analysis; often his judgment discovered singular discrimination. His imagination seldom sought out objects of grandeur; for, as a friend has truly said of him, "he had a kind and quiet eye, which found out the living and beautiful in nature, rather than the majestic and sublime."
He might have risen to high eminence in the circles of taste and literature, but denied himself all such hopes, that he might win souls. With such peculiar talents as he possessed, his ministry might have, in any circumstances, attracted many; but these attractions were all made subsidiary to the single desire of awakening the dead in trespasses and sins. Nor would he have expected to be blessed to the salvation of souls unless he had himself been a monument of sovereign grace. In his esteem, "to be in Christ before being in the ministry" was a thing indispensable. He often pointed to those solemn words of Jeremiah (23:21), "I have not sent these prophets, yet they ran; I have not spoken to them, yet they prophesied. But i f they had stood in my counsel, and caused my people to hear my words, then they should have turned them from their evil way, and from the evil of their doings."
It was with faith already in his heart that he went forward to the holy office of the ministry, receiving from his Lord the rod by which he was to do signs, and which, when it had opened rocks and made waters gush out, he never failed to replace upon the ark whence it was taken, giving glory to God! He knew not the way by which God was leading him; but even then he was under the guidance of the pillar-cloud. At this very period he wrote that hymn, They sing the song o f Moses. His course was then about to begin; but now that it has ended, we can look back and plainly see that the faith he therein expressed was not in vain.
ENDNOTES:
[1] He says of him on another occasion, June 8, 1834—“A man greatly beloved, of whom the world was not worthy.” “An apostolic man.” His own calm deep holiness resembled in many respects Mr Martin’s daily walk.
[2] Son of the minister of Drumelzier—very promising and very amiable.
[3] It is worthy of notice how often the Lord has done much work by a few years of holy labour. In our Church, G. Gillespie and J. Durham died at thirty-six; Hugh Binning at twenty-six; Andrew Gray when scarcely at twenty-two. Of our witnesses, Patrick Hamilton was cut off at twenty-four, and Hugh M’Kail at twenty-six. In other churches we might mention many, such as John Janeway at twenty-three, David Brainerd at thirty, and Henry Martyn at thirty-two. Theirs was a short life, filled up with usefulness, and crowned with glory. O to be as they!
[4] The members of this Society were—Revs. William Laughton, now minister of St Thomas’s, Greenock, in connection with the Free Church; Thomas Brown, Free Church, Kinneff; William Wilson, Free Church, Carmylie; Horatius Bonar, Free Church, Kelso; Andrew A. Bonar, Free Church, Collace; Robert M. M’Cheyne; Alexander Somerville, Free Church, Anderston, Glasgow; John Thomson, Mariners’ Free Church, Leith; Robert K. Hamilton, Madras; John Burne, for some time at Madeira; Patrick Borrowman Free Church, Glencairn; Walter Wood, Free Church, Westruther; Henry Moncrieff, Free Church, Kilbride; James Cochrane Established Church, Cupar; John Miller, Secretary to Free Church Special Commission; G. Smeaton, Free Church, Auchterarder; Robert Kinnear, Free Church, Moffat; and W. B. Clarke, Free Church, Half-Morton. Every meeting was opened and closed with prayer. Minutes of the discussion were kept; and the Essays read were reserved in volumes. A very characteristic essay of Mr. M’Cheyne’s is, “Lebanon and its Scenery” (inserted in the Remains), wherein he adduces the evidence of travelers for facts and customs which himself was afterwards to see. Often in 1839, pleasant remembrances of these days of youthful study were suggested by what we actually witnessed; and in the essay referred to I find an interesting coincidence. He writes—“What a refreshing sight to his eye, yet undimmed with age, after resting forty years on the monotonous scenery of the desert, now to rest on Zion’s olive-clad hills, and Lebanon, with its vine-clad base and overhanging forests, and towering peaks of snow.” This was the very impression on our minds when we ourselves came up from the wilderness, as expressed in the Narrative chap. 2.—“May 29. Next morning we saw at a distance a range of hills, running north and south, called by the Arabs Djebel Khalie. After wandering so many days in the wilderness, with its vast monotonous plains of level sand, the sight of these distant mountains was a pleasant relief to the eye; and we thought we could understand a little of the feeling with which Moses, after being forty years in the desert, would pray, ‘I pray thee let me go over.’—Deuteronomy 3:25.