A CHILD OF THE COVENANT.
(Continued from page 345.)
The whole time of her lying on a sick-bed it was observed that she heard and received the word at all times with much life and vigour, notwithstanding her heavy sickness and sharp pains of the stone. All these, together with the weariness of her body, were made light and easy, “In regard,” she said, “they are but momentary afflictions.” Being asked what supported her, she answered, “First, I look on my trouble as the fruit of my sin, and do think it my duty to bear the indignation of the Lord, because I have sinned against Him. Secondly, I am made to wonder that it is not and hath not been always so with me. Thirdly, I am helped to bless the Lord that it is not worse. Fourthly, means are used for my health, and I look up to the Lord that He would bless them in so far as He shall see meet for His glory and my comfort. Fifthly, I submit through grace to the will of God, whether for life or death. Sixthly, I have the faith that it will be better, for I reckon that the afflictions of this life are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed.”
During the six weeks of her last sickness there was not one night that passed wherein she neglected to pray twice with her attendants, unless she was discomposed by pain, in which case she moved one of them to do it; and so soon as she got any little breathing from the agony of pain she would say, “Now it is fit we pray.” While she was in health it was her custom to pray every night with any who lay with her, and when she happened to awake in the night she sat up a little in bed and prayed, and afterward she lay down again, composing herself to sleep till the morning. Every day when she arose it was her custom to wrap herself in a night-gown and retire to her closet before she would clothe herself, dress, or converse with anybody, unless on necessary occasions.
The last month of her life she would say in the moruings to those that were with her, “I have had a rich and sweet cluster this night!” and would have named the Scriptures. Take for instances these few of many: “In the 103rd Psalm, which,” said she, “I had by heart in metre, I found somewhat concerning my bodily diseases which was matter of praise, but I got not so much of strengthening for my soul.” But on one night afterward, being much taken up with the thoughts of death, she was greatly strengthened against the fears of it from that sweet passage (Matt. ix. 2), “Be of good cheer, thy sins are forgiven thee.” She thereupon expressed her joy, yet mixed with fear. The next day another passage was set home upon her spirit, namely, “Know that the Son of Man hath power on earth to forgive sins” (Mark ii. 10). “This Scripture,” said she, “came both by way of reproof and also to persuade me to believe; and that joy which flows from believing so filled my heart that I cannot express it.” Then was that Scripture borne in mind, “Speak comfortably, and cry unto her that her warfare is accomplished, and her iniquity is pardoned” (Isaiah xl. 2). This passage comforted and confirmed her to such a degree that she found the fear and sting of death thereby removed. And another Scripture served to strengthen her further—namely, “Because I live, ye shall live also. At that day ye shall know that I am in My Father, and you in Me, and I in you” (John xiv. 19). “This,” said she, “I shall fully understand at the day of death.” At this time she caused them to sing the 23rd Psalm, but said, “My weakness is so great that I cannot sing aloud, yet my heart joins with the words, and I have such a feeling and experimental knowledge of that whole Psalm as helpeth me to sing it with great joy and love to the Lord.” Much about that time the passage was borne in upon her, “Give Me thy heart” (Proverbs xxiii. 26), to which she replied, “O reasonable demand! If I had a thousand hearts Thou art worthy of them all who art the Lord my God, and none hath right but Thy great Self. Yet,” said she, “when I consider the nature of my heart I wondered that ever He should have sought such a filthy puddle as that deceitful and desperately wicked heart of mine.”
On Saturday night before her death she often said, “This following Sabbath will be my last in time,” and hereupon she expressed her vehement longing after an everlasting Sabbath. In the morning of that Lord’s day she slept till eight o’clock; and when awakened for a little she asked the hour, and being told it, she replied, “I thought to have spent this Sabbath in another manner than to have slept so long.” After this she employed some time in secret prayer and meditation, and then broke forth into many excellent and significant words in commendation of the Lord Jesus from His nature and offices, and particularly from the names which are given Him in Scripture. For instance—the bright and morning Star, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world, the Rock which hath followed His people in all ages, the Chief of ten thousands; and she added, “The chief of all to me. O,” said she, “Paul had great manifestations of the Lord Jesus which could not be uttered, and Rutherford had right manifestations of Christ, but I can get nothing.” Notwithstanding, sundry judicious and godly persons who were with her thought that she scarcely missed any one of the names and titles which are given to our Lord Jesus in the Word. She also spoke somewhat concerning everyone of them, to the edification and astonishment of the hearers. Thus employed she that sabbath, excepting the time of secret worship.
About eight at night, before her departure, a little defluxion troubled her; whereupon her attendants called for a light, thinking she was just breathing out her last, which perceiving, she smiled, and said, “I shall not die just now.” They answered, “How know you that?” To which she replied, “I missed that promised presence which for many a day I have believed I shall get in the moment of death.” Thus she rested, trusting in the unchangeable faithfulness of the God of truth.
A little while after, she said, “I would fain speak to my comrades, but it can have little weight with them as it comes from me, for I am a child.” She said briefly to them, among other things. “O learn a life of holiness, spend more of your time in seeking God, and be not idle and slothful, but work with your hands.” Some of them answered, “It may be said of you, ‘You have been diligent in business and fervent in spirit, serving the Lord.'” But she reproved them for speaking so of her, and commanded them to hold their peace, whereupon they left speaking at that time.
Afterwards she called her aunt and desired her to entreat her mother to take supper, “for,” said she, “she may have work to do she knows not of, and it is necessary she should eat.” She also entreated her aunt not to go home, but to tarry with her that night. This was contrary to her custom, for she had before this still desire her to go home at night.
The last thing more particularly observable which we remember relates to something she had spoken about six hours before concerning what she wanted of the Lord’s promised presence, and it was eminently made out two hours before her death. She had not for some time lifted up her body without help, but then she arose and sat straight up.
Having lifted up her hands and eyes towards heaven, she prayed in the hearing of the company, pleading the promises, saying—”Now let it be according to thy precious word to my soul, for there is nothing in me!” and entreated that the Lord would not deal with her as she had deserved. She added—”It is only upon the blood of the Lord Jesus, and the unchangeableness and faithfulness of God, that I rest.” And several times she repeated, “There is nothing in me.” Then she prayed for the suffering people and church of God, for her parents and the family; but her speech fell so low that she could not be understood. Then a little sack was given her, and she said, “Now, no more of the creature,” and immediately she desired her mother to pray. When her mother was giving her up to God she was observed to smile; and as prayer ended she lifted up her eyes with a pleasant countenance and spoke a word which we could not hear. Then she closed her eyes and lips as one falling asleep; and having stretched down her body she had no motion, but slept with her fathers.
Thus (says Dr. Bonar) did this young saint take her flight to “the mountain of myrrh and the hill of frankincense,” on the 2nd day of February, 1681, in the sixteenth year of her age. There she rests with her Lord in joy unspeakable, waiting till “The Day break,” when she shall appear with Him in glory.
She was born in times of persecution, and died when the furnace was even seven times heated, yet hers was an end of undisturbed peace. At that time Scotland was wet with the blood of her holiest men; women, too, were dragged to the scaffold for no crime than refusing to abjure the truth set forth in the Covenant. The month before Emilia Geddie died she no doubt heard of the triumphant end of Isabel Alison, a native of Perth, who gave her life, saying, “I lay down my life for owning and adhering to Christ’s kingly office, His being a free king in His own house.” Along with her died Marion Harvie, scarcely twenty years of age, singing the 23rd Psalm, and saying, “I’d rather die ten deaths than want an hour of His presence.” But, on the other hand, Emilia was taken home without violence, the Lord, who hid Jeremiah and Baruch (Jer. xxxvi. 26) keeping her from the hand of the oppressor. Her life was like a stream that gently flowed between green banks, often ruffled by wild winds, and at times reflecting the forms of armed persecutors and weary martyrs. She was in spirit a martyr, and shall have a place in the Resurrection with those who never worshipped the beast nor his image, nor received his mark on her forehead or in her hand (Rev. xiii. 16).
Tradition has honoured her memory as if she had been one of the greater worthies. It is told of her that “she walked always in whites”—a curious tradition, arising from facts probably, but which seems to be somewhat like a mixing of the literal with the symbolical, her life being a walking with God in white.
Her tomb may be seen in the churchyard of Falkland. It is in a small enclosure (about which the kirk-session went to law with Mr. Geddie in 1682) at the east end of the church-yard, surrounded by a balustrade railing on three sides, the wall forming the other part of the enclosure. It is the burying-ground of the proprietor of Hilton or Templand.
The inscription on her tomb is not elegant, but it is expressive:
“In sepulchre within, Emelia Geddie lies
By faith in Jesus, her death did not surprise.
Because by grace [she] had virtue great in store,
Her will renewed, her life did sin abhor.
She walked with God; in spirit worshippt true,
Exemplary to all her sex, age, and you.
Born in the year 1665,
Whom troubles then did greatly drive,
Her course was finisht in 1681,
And entered glorie in due tyme.”
In the “Miscellany of the Abbotsford Club” (vol. I.), at the close of the Memoires of John Geddie, another epitaph is given, not as written on her tomb, but as composed by some friend, and runs thus :—
“Most cruel death, thy hand hath no compassion
Of sex or age, of quality or fashion.
Thou hast bereft us of the richest gem
That ever was extracted from her stem,
(Though truly good and of a virtuous race,
Not any from it capable of disgrace.)
Emilia’s gone to her eternal rest!
Earth’s ornament and nature’s frame the best.
Her tender years fled from these horrid times,
And left them to the punishment of their crimes,
Her nimble fingers were to virtue prone;
Her prudence was inferior unto none.
Her beauteous face was too good for to be
Made prize by mortals of her chastity;
So that her pious, prudent, beauteous face
Did so insinuate in her Saviour’s grace,
Her soul’s bridegroom esteems her worth to be
His handmaid, even to all eternity;
Yielding her soul’s bridegroom her virgin bed,
Even unto Him her soul and maidenhead.”
From all this it would appear that she was even famed in her day for beauty and accomplishments.
In the same Miscellany the following verses are given as her own composition, and the reference to “bees,” of which her father was so fond, countenances that idea, though the Glasgow copy gives it as written in her name. It may be her own in prospect of death.
“When flowers do seed, the blossom dies.
Young women all I do advise
Their time on earth aright to spend,
That living well, so they may end.
The bees in season food provide,
Which makes them winter storms abide:
Strive in your hearts grace for to plant,
Death you’ll surprise, if faith you want.
The trees in spring do flourish fast;
When autumn comes their leaves they cast;
So whilst in youth you beauty have,
It seedeth ere you go to grave.
When death doth come and sceptre sway,
Flowers, bees, and trees with me decay:
Nothing on earth but change you see;
Seek God in fear, and He’ll set you free.
Parents, forbear to mourn your loss!
Christ taken hath from me the cross.
I hope in heaven meet we shall
And joy of our memorial.”
We close by giving an acrostic made upon her at her death by one who admired her godly character. It has been printed in some of the earlier copies, and is found in the Miscellany already referred to, the compiler remarking that she deserved it well.
E mblem of wit within this coffin lies;
M ade peace in time, death did not her surprise.
J esus redeemed her; Abraham hath received;
L iving in ‘s bosom, hell she hath deceived.
I n soul and body, of virtue was great store;
A ll vice refrained, all crime she did abhor.
G race in such bulk no more could be contained;
E nding her life, true Presbytery maintained,
D etered at Popery, she prelates would supplant,
D esired adherence to the good Covenant.
I n heaven with saints, though not by her own merit,
E ternal rest her soul doth now inherit.
THE END.