me to some further thoughts upon the subject.
Soon after, as I came into my wife’s chamber,
she told me that our maid Betty, who had indeed the
affection of a parent for my dear girl, had just before
assured her, that, on the Sabbath day evening, Betsey
would be repeating to herself some things of what
she had heard in my prayers and in my preachings, but
did not care to talk of it to others; and my wife
assured me that she solemnly recommended herself to
God in the words that I had taught her a little before
she died. Blessed God, hast thou not received
her? I trust that thou hast, and pardoned the
infirmities of her poor, short, childish, afflicted
life. I hope, in some measure out of love to me,
as thy servant, thou hast done it, for Christ’s
sake; and I would consider the very hope, as an engagement
to thy future service. Lord, I love those who
were kind to my child, and wept with me for her; shall
I not much more love thee, who, I hope, art at this
moment taking care of her, and opening her infant
faculties for the duties and blessedness of heaven.
Lord, I would consider myself as a dying creature.
My first born is gone;—my beloved child
is laid in bed before me. I have often followed
her to her bed in a literal sense; and shortly I shall
follow her to that, where we shall lie down together,
and our rest shall be together in the dust. In
a literal sense the grave is ready for me. My
grave is made—I have looked into it—a
dear part of myself is already there; and when I stood
at the Lord’s table I stood directly over it.
It is some pleasure to me to think that my dust will
be lodged near that of my dear lamb, how much more
to hope that my soul will rest with hers, and rejoice
in her forever! But, O, let me not centre my thoughts
even here; it is at rest with, and in God, that is
my ultimate hope. Lord, may thy grace secure
it to me! and in the mean time give me some holy acquiescence
of soul in thee; and although my gourd be withered,
yet shelter me under the shadow of thy wings.
October 4, 1736.]