A Godly Young Woman who passed through much tribulation, died at Edinburgh in 1839.
BY THE LATE REV. FRANCIS M’BEAN, FREE CHURCH, FORT-AUGUSTUS.
(Continued from page 385.)
DEATH OF BETSY LINDSAY.
Extract Letter from the Rev. Francis M’Bean to Mrs. Lindsay, 17 Dalrymple Place, Edinburgh.
“LANGAMULL, by TOBERMORY,
20th January, 1840.
DEAR MADAM,—On Friday last I had a letter from Mr. Anderson, Superintendent of the Gaelic Schools, intimating the death of Elizabeth Lindsay, your valuable daughter. Weep not for her. The Lord Jesus Christ said to His disciples (John xiv. 28), ‘If ye loved Me, ye would rejoice, because I said, I go unto the Father.’ And why? because His own sufferings were thereby to end, and He was to leave a world of sin, where He had been a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief, and to go to the immediate bosom of the Father. So far as their sympathy was concerned, there were reasons why the disciples should have manifested their love to Him by rejoicing that He said, I go unto the Father. So should the friends of Betsy hear her saying, ‘If ye loved me, ye would rejoice, because I go unto the Father.’ And why, because thereby her sufferings are ended, and she ‘has left a world of sin and a body of death, where she had been acquainted with pain, sin, sorrow, and grief, and gone to the bosom of Abraham, where now she sings the triumphant song of Moses and the Lamb. While she is singing above, friends below should endeavour to unite their songs of praise to redeeming love who had redeemed her from so great a death. Yet, where the bereavement is sore, as in your case, weeping and mourning cannot be restrained. May the Lord bless to you, and to the rest of the family, the loss of so estimable a member; and may one and all of you be warned and influenced to walk in her footsteps here, that you may afterwards follow her to glory and to rest! . . . If spared to get to Edinburgh, I shall call upon you. Meantime sincerely desiring your welfare,—I am, dear Madam, your obedient Servant,
FRANCIS M’BEAN.”
Found a piece of paper on which Betsy had written, “I long for the time when every faculty shall be filled with God, and every power of my soul centre in God, who is the centre of eternal blessedness; how would I then celebrate His praises and sing forth His wondrous love.”
“Born and brought up in some close room,
How circumscribed mine eye;
But from my dark confinement come,
Whole heavens astonish me.”
The following account of the closing scenes of Elizabeth’s earthly pilgrimage is from the pen of the late Rev. Robert Elder, D.D., Rothesay, formerly of St. Paul’s Church, Edinburgh:—
“I became acquainted with Elizabeth Lindsay about the middle of autumn 1839, and continued to visit her occasionally till the time of her death, which occurred towards the end of December. At this distance of time I cannot recollect many particulars of what passed in the course of the several conversations which I had with her; but I can never forget the deep and solemn impression which was made upon my mind by our first interview, and which every succeeding one served only to strengthen and confirm. It was very easy to perceive that her mind was naturally of no common order; but the singular richness with which the Word of God seemed to dwell in her—the simplicity and clearness of her views of Gospel truth—her patient and thankful acquiescence in the dealings of the Lord towards her during a course of the severest bodily suffering—the stamp of genuineness which appeared on all that she uttered regarding her own experience in the Divine life, were such as I have seldom if ever met with in the whole course of my ministry. Possessing in an eminent degree ‘the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit’ (1 Peter iii. 4), there was a sacredness and an elevation of feeling in all she expressed, which were not only intensely interesting, but which carried conviction into the mind that the Lord had indeed chosen her in the furnace of affliction (Isaiah xlviij. 10); and while giving her to drink of ‘the wine of astonishment’ (Psalm lx. 3), had been doing great and precious things for her soul. Every new interview which I had with this singular person served, as I have said, to deepen and confirm these views, and to make me feel more and more that it was a privilege of no ordinary kind to be allowed to hold intercourse with her.
Shortly after I became acquainted with her, she expressed to me her desire to partake of the Lord’s Supper in communion with my congregation. She had, for several years, earnestly desired to come to that solemn ordinance, but though occasionally able to attend public worship, it had been so ordered by an all-wise Providence that the frequent returns of her severe affliction had, from time to time, hindered her from the enjoyment of this privilege. The time for dispensing the ordinance was near at hand, and though, from her extreme weakness, and the severity of her bodily affliction, those around her could hardly venture to anticipate that her fond wishes would be realised, she still, while cherishing a spirit of entire submission to the Lord’s will, seemed to have a strong and animating hope that the privilege would at last be granted to her. I deeply regret that it did not occur to me to take any notes of the conversations which I had with her regarding the ordinance, and that I cannot, at this distance of time, venture to state particulars. But I well remember how forcibly her case brought home to my mind a remark of the respected minister of Kilsyth, when, in stating the greatly increased number of young communicants whom he had admitted to the ordinance of the Supper after the remarkable awakening in his parish, he mentioned in substance, that his labour in the way of examination was far lighter than it had usually been with one-fourth or one-fifth of the number. I had little else to do than to point in the way of allusion to one view after another; and to hear and observe how deeply they had been impressed on her mind and feelings. Her views of the Saviour as revealed to the faith of His people in the ordinance, as their surety, their portion, their all-sufficient and unchanging friend, were the most scriptural, animating, and affecting. Equally clear and striking were the views she had been led to entertain of the solemn profession made by believers in coming to the ordinance—their profession of entire dependence on the Saviour for pardon, righteousness, spiritual strength, nourishment, and eternal life; and of entire self-dedication to Him, in dependence on His grace, and with humble reliance on the promised influence of the Spirit of truth and holiness. These views, and such as these, seemed to engross her whole heart and feelings in the prospect of the ordinance; and when I listened to her simple, rich, and scriptural statement of them, pervaded as it was with the most affecting confessions of abounding unworthiness, and the most earnest longings after holiness of heart and life, I felt that it was indeed a privilege to have intercourse with one who had received so liberally of that teaching which flesh and blood cannot communicate.
The time of the communion arrived, and, in the good providence of God, she was at length permitted to obtain the desire of her heart. Though in such great bodily weakness as to be unable to walk to church, she was present at most of the services connected with that solemn occasion, and on Sabbath she took her place, a humble, but, I am persuaded, a believing and an accepted guest, at the table of the Lord. This occurred on the 3rd of November, and in the course of the same week she was seized with one of those fearful attacks of her complaint, which, for a time, excluded her from intercourse with the world. When I saw her the following week she had rallied a little. Her jaw, which had been locked for some days, had relaxed, and though in a state of great debility and bodily suffering, she was able to converse with me. She spoke much of the remarkable comfort and enlargement of heart which she had experienced at the Lord’s table; and seemed to be deeply impressed with the conviction that the Lord had permitted her to go there, and had caused her to sit under His shadow with great delight (Cant. ii. 3), as a means of preparing her for the last great conflict. She expressed herself as if such discoveries of the glory of Christ, and of the fulness and efficacy of His grace, had been given her while sitting at the table, as she had never before had, and as had never entered into her heart to imagine. Her whole soul was filled, she said, with the question, ‘How shall I glorify Him, how shall I show forth His praise?’ and as she was about to leave the table, that portion of the Word was borne in upon her mind with a force and impressiveness altogether irresistible, ‘Glorify ye the Lord in the fires’ (Isaiah xxiv. 15). She seemed to have been much revived and strengthened also by the sermon preached on Thursday, by my friend Mr. B—, from these words, ‘In that day there shall be a fountain opened to the house David and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem for sin and for uncleanness’ (Zechariah xiii. 1). But her firm persuasion, and, I may add, her ardent hope and expectation, seemed to be, that the end of her course was near; that from the transporting views which it had pleased the Lord to give her at His table, she might say regarding the solemn ordinance, ‘This is the gate of heaven’ (Genesis xxviii. 17). The temporary prospect of rallying which had been opened up after the severe attack alluded to, seemed rather to disappoint and perplex her. But she knew in whom she had believed (2 Timothy i. 12); and there was perhaps no fruit of Divine grace in her soul which shone forth more brightly than the humble, confiding spirit of reliance with which she was enabled to leave all in the hands of the ‘merciful and faithful High Priest’ (Hebrews ii. 17). ‘There is not one ingredient,’ she would say, ‘put into the cup which is not seen by infinite wisdom and mercy to be needful.’
Immediately after this interview, I was obliged to leave home for a short time, and when I saw her again after my return, a new, and still more severe, attack of her disease had come on, from which she never rallied to any considerable extent. Her sight, her hearing, her speech, was gone; and it was impossible to hold any communication with her by the ordinary means. A younger sister, however, had learned to hold intercourse with her, when in such distressing circumstances, by making signs on her fingers. She made her aware in this way of my presence; and when I enquired as to the state of her mind, under so strange an affliction, she endeavoured to communicate some things, which, however, her sister could not make out. She then attempted to write with her finger on the bed-clothes; but the only words which I could follow, appeared to be these, ‘He is my salvation’ (Isaiah xii. 2). On another occasion, when I called shortly afterwards, her hearing had returned; but she had not, if I recollect right, spoken a word since the commencement of the attack. When I pressed her hand, however, she suddenly, in a very faint voice, repeated my name; and when I asked her whether I should pray with her, she replied, ‘Yes, yes,’ in a still fainter and scarcely audible tone. This, if I remember aright, was all that could be gathered from her. Some days afterwards she rallied a little, so as to be able to speak more distinctly; and I remember one occasion of my visiting her, in these circumstances, the last on which I ever heard her speak. I asked her whether she was suffering much bodily pain? ‘O yes,’ she replied, in substance; ‘I cannot describe the pain of body which I endure.’ I then enquired whether her hope in the Lord continued unclouded in the midst of this fight of afflictions; and I never can forget her solemn and affecting answer:—’Yes,’ she replied; ‘I can say, through grace, with the Psalmist, “Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of Thy waterspouts: all Thy waves and Thy billows are gone over me. Yet the Lord will command His loving-kindness in the day-time, and in the night His song shall be with me, and my prayer unto the God of my life”‘ (Psalms xlii. 7, 8). I said some things to her regarding the end of the Lord in these heavy chastisements; and I remember well one of her remarks:—’Yes, He will not do His work by halves.’ These, I think, were the last words which I heard her utter. Several times I saw her when it was impossible to hold any communication with her; and the last closing scene, of which I was privileged to be a witness, made an impression on my own mind which I believe time can never efface.
When I went into the apartment, she lay apparently insensible, with the hand of death evidently upon her. I engaged in prayer with her friends, who stood by her bedside. I had not been occupied in the duty above a very few minutes, and was just about to supplicate in her behalf, when suddenly the breathing ceased. Without a struggle the vital spark had departed; her spirit had quitted its frail and shattered tabernacle, the work of the Lord had been perfected in her soul, and she no longer needed that for her prayer should be offered. She who had long been racked with pain, and tossed with tempest, in a measure rarely, I believe, experienced by the sons and daughters of affliction, who, through grace, had borne and had patience, and had not fainted (Rev. ii. 3), had now received the end of her faith (1 Peter i. 9), and had entered into the ‘New Jerusalem,’ where ‘God shall wipe away all tears from her eyes; and where there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away’ (Rev. xxi. 4). I felt it to be a truly precious and solemn moment; for I could not doubt that a redeemed soul had just passed from among us into the immediate presence of God, in whose ‘presence there is fulness of joy’ (Psalms xvi. 11).
‘The righteous shall be in everlasting remembrance’ (Psalms cxii. 6); and the humble name of the subject of this Memoir will long live in the hearts of those who are able to understand and appreciate the wonderful work of Divine grace, which her life and character exhibited.”