The Life And Testimony Of Mrs. Charles Graham

Earthen Vessel 1893

Dear Brother Winters,—This is the most sorrowful letter I have ever written to you or any one else for publication. I lost my dearly beloved wife on the morning of March 12^th, 1893, at twenty-five minutes past five, through pluero-pneumonia, after six days of great suffering. I fondly hoped the Lord had given her to me to smooth my steps to the place appointed for all living. She was a model minister’s wife, and one who adored the doctrines of God her Savior in her walk, like, and conversation. The morning she died I telegraphed to brother James Etheridge that she was dead and at our meeting it gave every one of them quite a shock. They all knew they had lost a kind and sympathizing friend, one ever ready to assist in distress or affliction and to encourage me in my work and labor of love. She was called by grace when seventeen years of age, and truly her path through life was one of tribulation. Her first husband—a Baptist minister—died suddenly on the 23^rd of December, 1880. I had known him many years, and conducted his funeral sermon. When she was first taken sick, we all thought it was only a cold, but had a trained nurse, an excellent young woman, with my grand-daughter. Everything that human skill could do for her was done. We had not idea within a few hours that she was likely to die. The fever was so great and when that subsided, her weakness was so extreme no one was allowed to speak to her or go near her except her nurse. On one occasion I went in and asked if her mind was staid upon the Lord. She complained that she had no access in prayer, but her sufferings were very great. On Saturday morning she whispered to her sister for me to come and take her hand, which I did, and began to repeat Ps. 23, but the nurse promptly stopped me. She then went into a nervous chill. On Saturday night I slept very little. I heard someone stir. I put my head out and saw her sister in the passage, and asked if she was any worse. She said, “No; you go and have some rest.” I said, “I can’t sleep while she suffers.” At ten minutes to five I heard someone stir again. I opened the door, and asked how she was. Nurse said, “She is no better, she’s a very sick woman.” In less that twenty minutes the nurse opened the door and said, “Your wife is dying,” and just as I entered the bedroom she breathed out her soul to God who gave it. Thus passed away the dearest companion of my later days. She was as dear to me as life itself. Nearly three years we lived together; it was to me like an oasis in the desert. We never had an angry word pass between us. Thus died a jewel of the Lord’s making and choosing. She was born in Somersetshire, England, not from from Bath, on January 6, 1844. Her maiden name was Louisa S. Stevens. I found out last December that Miss Fanny Crosby, the blind poetess, lived near us. I sent to her; wished to see her, but found she had been very sick, and was afraid of pneumonia. I afterwards called at her house and saw her amanuensis. I set a day for her to visit us. On March 22^nd she and her amanuensis called, but had not heard of my wife’s death. She was greatly moved, and said before leaving that she would come on Saturday and bring me a peace of potty on her death. She came at the appointed time, and I had two or three hours conversation with her. Whatever may be her creed, she is well taught of the Lord. She is a small woman, and you had a good likeness of her in the Cheering Words for May, 1892. She was 73 years of age 23^rd of March last. She thinks the Lord did wisely in taking her sight from her when a babe. She said the Lord had taken her natural sight from her, but He had given her a far better sight into the heaven of heavens, and a good hope in Jesus Christ the world could not take away.—Charles Graham, 1,236, Madison-avenue, New York.

[Line dedicated to my friend Mr. Charles Graham, on the Death of his Beloved Wife:—

Through a path of deep affliction, 

That we cannot understand,

God is leading thee, my brother, 

Yet His mercy holds thy hand;

Why the silver cord is broken, 

And thy dear one called away,

Thou wilt know when thou shalt meet her

In the cloudless realms of day.

It was hard for thee to lose her, 

And to feel her parting breath

On thy lips with sorrow trembling 

As she neared the stream of death;

It was hard for her to leave thee 

With her heart so linked to thine,

That you clung around each other 

Like the ivy and the pine.

O, how lovely her example,

And how pure her every thought;

How impressive are the lessons

That her Christian life has taught:

Still their hallowed light will linger 

As the smile on evening’s breast

Is reflected in its beauty

When the sun has gone to rest.

She has gathered in the harvest, 

And has gone to her reward;

She has laid her sheaves in triumph 

At the feet of Christ her Lord.

She has followed out her mission, 

Now her work on earth is done;

She has run her race with patience, 

And the promised crown has won.

O, the veil will soon be lifted

That divides her from Thy sight;

Thou wilt clasp her hand for ever 

In a land where all is bright.

Look beyond the clouds, my brother! 

There no waves of trouble roll,

But eternal joys await thee 

In the homeland of the soul.

Fanny Crosby

March 25, 1893