The Life And Death Of Thomas Voysey

Earthen Vessel 1892:

It is with unfeigned regret we record the death of our beloved brother Thomas Burness Voysey. Only a short time since he was unanimously elected pastor of the Strict Baptist Church (Mount Ephraim), Margate, but was removed to his heavenly inheritance above ere his acceptance of the sacred office could be publicly recognized. We deeply sympathize with the sorrowing relatives and friends, and especially with the Church and congregation at Margate. Many letters have come to hand from kind friends informing us of the sad and solemn event. The following is a copy of the mourning-card received on going to press—

IN LOVING MEMORY OF THOMAS BURNESS VOYSEY,

Late of Margate, and previously of Staines, who fell asleep in Jesus 

ON SUNDAY, MARCH 13TH, 1892, AGED 42 YEARS. 

Interred in Ealing Cemetery, March 18th, 1892. Grave 43 KB.

“Thy way is in the sea, and Thy path in the great waters, and Thy footsteps are not known.”—Psalm 77:19

“Resting on the faithfulness of Christ our Lord, 

Resting on the promise of His own sure Word, 

Resting on His power and His love untold, 

Resting on His covenant secured of old.

The last text he preached from was, “He must increase” (John 3:30). Our loving thanks are due to our affectionate brother and co-worker, John Waters Banks, for the annexed account of the funeral. A memoir of our departed brother Voysey is in progress, and will appear (God willing) in our next issue.—EDITOR.

THE FUNERAL took place on Friday, March 18th. It was a beautiful bright day, the sun shining forth in all its splendour, making nature to rejoice, and as we sped our way to the sad and solemn ceremonies we noticed the husband-men busy on the land, and everything seemed cheerful and blithe; but amid all this there was one home just outside these happy surroundings made sorrowful; hearts of bereaved ones were wrung with grief. Nevertheless, there was that secret, unseen power buoying up those whom death had robbed of a kind husband, a loving father, and a sincere friend which could emanate from none other than that heavenly Father who is “too wise to err, and too good to be unkind.” On reaching the chapel at Old Brentford, where the first part of the service was to be held, we found the time-honoured sanctuary well nigh filled with a sympathetic audience, attired in mourning habiliments, with grief stamped on their countenances. Among those present were Messrs. W. K. Squirrell, B. Cobb, C. Wilson, C. C. Harris (Hill-street), Bush and Davey (Surrey Tabernacle), Doughty and Wise (Margate), A. Martin (Reading), Mitchell, Abbott, Hodges, Nunn, Cole, Licence (Chadwell-street), R. E. Sears (Whitechapel), Harris (Shouldham-street), Franklin and Jeffs (Richmond), the brother Fromow, and many others.

The following is a brief summary of the service conducted by Mr. Mitchell, who commenced by announcing the hymn,

“God moves in a mysterious way 

His wonders to perform,”

and asked brother Bush to read the Scriptures, who selected Ps. 110 and 121 and also part of 1 Cor. 15. Mr. Mitchell then called on brother W. K. Squirrell to offer prayer, and was plaintively led in the solemn exercise to plead for the widow and dear children. The hymn commencing “Why do we mourn departed friends?” being sung, Mr. Mitchell asked brother Marsh to speak, who ascended the pulpit and addressed the congregation as Dear fellow-mourners. Not long since our departed brother stood on this platform and delivered a most earnest address from the words, “The Lord is thy keeper,” the savour of which was still felt by many now present. The good old hymn sung at the commencement of this service was most appropriate. While we feel stricken by this solemn dispensation, his own last words come with a savour, “The Lord hath done all things well.” During his last hours his brother Alfred said to him, “Are you happy?” His reply was, “I shall be when I am free.” Well nigh twenty-five years ago he (Mr. Marsh) was standing in the lobby of this chapel, when our departed brother said to him, “Won’t you come in?” From that time an attachment sprung up, and had ripened into true spiritual love, which continued to the end, and his memory is dear to us still. He was dear as a brother in Christ Jesus. How many of you have heard him tell what the Lord had done for his soul! this produced that sweet communion and cementing of hearts which makes our grief to-day real. If he was so dear to us, how precious was he as an ambassador of Christ! If he was dear to us, he was dearer still to Jesus; the truths of the everlasting Gospel were dear to him. Some have known him a long while, others but a short time, but all who knew him loved him. May God bless and comfort each sorrowful heart.

Mr. Mitchell closed the service in the chapel with prayer. The funeral procession, consisting of a hearse and twelve coaches, then wended its way to Ealing Cemetery, where between 200 and 300 people clustered round the grave, manifesting a commendable anxiety to pay their last tribute of respect to a “brother beloved,” brethren Mitchell and Marsh leading the way, and when the coffin was lowered to its last resting-place, took their position at the head of the grave, and Mr. Marsh said that we commit all that is mortal of Thomas Burness Voysey to the grave, dust to dust, redeemed dust—dear to Him that is enthroned in glory. The casket that once contained the jewel is consigned to the earth in sure and certain hope of a joyful resurrection. It seems but a few hours ago he was in the swellings of Jordan, when in answering his brother he said, “He wished to retract nothing he had preached; he was going to heaven as a poor sinner saved by free and sovereign grace.” He is gone only a little while before us. We do not wish him back again, but should have been pleased if the Lord had not wanted him yet. The short, suitable address at the grave was concluded by reading a few verses from 1 Cor. 15:42-44, relating to the resurrection of the body. Hymn “Sons of God by blest adoption” having been sung, Mr. Marsh commended to the care of their father’s God, each of the four children, mentioning their names, as was the father’s custom, and the widow and bereaved relatives. Mr. Mitchell closed the service at the grave, praying God to remember the little Church at Margate. There was scarcely a dry eye around the grave, and the friends lingered for some time on the spot as though loth to leave the solemnly sacred scene. 

John W. Banks