The Life And Ministry Of William Sage

Gospel Standard 1865:

At Bulkington, near Bedworth, on March 15th, 1865, William Sage, aged 62, departed this life. He was for twenty years a member of the church at Bedworth, and ten years clerk and deacon. He was warmly attached to the late Mr. Congreve and a fellow-deacon. Being taught by the same Spirit, having one faith, with one mind they strove together for the faith of the Gospel.

As an honest, simple-minded Christian, he was much esteemed and beloved by the members of the church and the ministers visiting us. His excellent choice of experimental and savoury hymns has been remarked by the supplies, which have sometimes preached to them first, and given them both subject and text. He will be long remembered when some of Hart’s and Berridge’s, of which he was particularly fond, are sung.

By birth illegitimate, and his mother being very poor, he was at an early age placed in the workhouse; but after a time he became weary of the work he was put to there, and resolved to leave it, though he knew not where to go nor what to do for a living. Here the Lord in his providence interposed; for, as he wandered from the place, a person met him, to whom he told his case. He took him and taught him the trade of ribbon-weaving.

As he grew up, he became outwardly immoral and openly profane. Having no natural guardians to restrain him, he indulged his passions to an unusual degree. His companions and associates were of the baser sort, and he prided himself in pugilistic encounters, for which he appeared favourably set and framed; and in them, it is said, he was desperate.

But the set time drew near when the Lord designed to deliver him from the power of darkness and translate him into the kingdom of his dear Son, to make this proud champion a trembling sinner, and this man of might a little child. After his last battle, Satan, as though afraid of his prey, was hurrying him on and exciting him to proceed. He said to a companion, “I am determined to have my fill this year;” although he had a hell in his conscience, as he after- wards said, after he had fought. “A man’s heart deviseth his way; but the Lord directeth his steps.”

Shortly after this, as he sat at work at his loom, the Lord shot an arrow of conviction into his soul with these words: “Who among us shall dwell with devouring fire? Who among us shall dwell with everlasting burnings?” Alarmed and conscience-stricken, he inwardly trembled, though he endeavoured to put it off. Pride struggled against it, but in vain. He would hide it, but the Lord would not let him. One night, in the corner of a garden where he thought himself hidden, and no one near, he was making confession to the Lord and imploring mercy, when a man on the other side of the hedge heard all he said, and went and told the people of the place he had heard Bill Sage “a praying;” which set them wondering.

He would sometimes go to the prayer meeting at Bulkington chapel, but had no ease or relief. He was burdened and dejected, when one day passing the place where he had said, “I will have my fill this year,” suddenly a light broke in upon him, and he felt a softening and a sense of divine compassion, which raised a hope in his soul and encouraged him to wait. “Though a great sinner, who can tell but I may escape and be forgiven?” But this did not last long. He sank again very low. The burden of his sins became great and his hope gave way to distressing fears; his sins seemed so black a nature and his case almost hopeless. But one day, while in his house, two lines of Swain’s hymn were brought with great power:

“See yonder rolls a stream of blood 

That bears the curse away;”

and he had such a revelation of Jesus Christ, as bearing the curse for him, that his burden fell, his load of guilt was removed, he had gladness and joy in his soul, and sweet peace in believing. This was a hill Mizar from which he remembered the Lord in after years, and spoke of it with much feeling.

Some time after this, he heard the late Mr. Gadsby a time or two at Attleborough, and desired to be baptized and walk in the ordinances of the Lord. He was baptized in the year 1826 at Wolvey, though at this time he was a member of the Independent church at Bulkington.

On one occasion, when his family had increased and trade was bad, at the end of the week they were without food or money to provide it, which had, no doubt, sent him to the Lord. At night, while he was away, some one came and placed a joint of meat on the table and went away, and another brought him half a sovereign. This kind providence of God, in a time of such need, filled him with admiration and gratitude to the Father of mercies.

As his inward exercises and outward trials increased, he became more dissatisfied with the preaching at Bulkington and went to hear where he could profit and find a living ministry. On one occasion he walked to Leicester (18 miles) to hear Mr. Gadsby, and was so wearied with the journey that, when he sat down in the chapel, he fell asleep, and did not awake till the last hymn was being sung.

In 1845 he joined the church at Bedworth. As the Lord had prospered him, and he had got a little forward in his circumstances, his children growing up and able to work, he began to manufacture ribbons on his own account; but, having no education, he was exposed, in a variety of ways, to injustice and wrong, and was much in the hands of others, some of whom appear to have taken advantage of him. What little he had saved wasted, and he failed. On this occasion the Lord’s providence was conspicuous, and he told me he was more affected with this than anything else he could remember. Having made known to his creditors his circumstances, and frankly surrendered all he possessed, one favourite piece of furniture he was urged to except and keep back; but he said, “No; I am determined to give all up.” The valuation was made. The creditors met, consulted together, were moved to pity; sympathised with him in his adversity, believing he was an honest man and would not willingly do wrong, and mutually agreed to forego their claims and forgive him the debts. Each gave him a receipt in full, and moreover, offered to supply him with goods to begin again. He was so overwhelmed with the goodness of the Lord that he wept and blessed the Lord who had delivered him out of his distress, and in such an unexpected way. Grace had made him honest and willing to give up all, and grace had now freely restored all; but he (perhaps prudently) declined the kind offer of his creditors to begin business again, and now began to work for Coventry houses. The Lord blessed his labours, and he was enabled to provide comfortably for his family.

But fresh trials awaited him. His youngest son, who was most useful to him in his business, was taken ill of consumption and died in 1862. His wife also died of the same disease the following year. A married daughter came to live with him and keep his house, and it was not long before the same disease showed itself in her also, and she died in 1864. These trials, of a long sick house and death succeeding death, added to his daily labours, soul conflicts, and loss of rest, weighed heavily upon him, and it was evident his health began to decline. But God, who comforteth those who are cast down, left him not comfortless; for he had hope in the end of both his wife and children; therefore his sorrow was not as others which have no hope. His soul was fed under the word sweetly, at times, and some hymns were made a means of much comfort and consolation. His conversation was generally spiritual and savoury, and the life of his spirit in these things was manifest; for though, in his wife’s illness, especially the latter part, he was chief nurse, yet he was generally able to attend the means of grace, and was always anxious to be there at the stated times, and it has done me good sometimes to see his heart and eyes both full.

In May, 1864, he married again. His wife was a judicious, God-fearing woman, who was a comfort to him the few remaining days of his life, and a valuable nurse in his affliction. He was able to carry on his business and to attend the Bedworth services up to December, the second Lord’s day of which month was the last time he was there. The day following he was taken very ill, and his friends were apprehensive his end was near. But he rallied again, and in a little time left his room and came down stairs, and sometimes seemed to think he might recover; but this was not the Lord’s will, and he soon had other thoughts himself. His appetite was failing, his strength declining, and his flesh wasting. His disease was diabetes and ulcerated inside. He said, “I have prayed for the recovery of my children, but I cannot for my own;” and (quoting an expression of dear Mr. Tiptaft’s) said, ‘What a mercy to have a religion of the right sort.’ I have no fear of death.” He desired to see the friends at Bedworth, for he said he did not know he loved them so much before. Most of them, if not all, that were able, oft times visited him and found it good to be there; “though the outward man was decaying, yet the inward man was renewed day by day.”

He was subject to violent attacks of sickness, sometimes, when he took any food, which so exhausted him that he could not speak for some time, but afterwards would say what a support and comfort he found portions of the word to him. At one time the following was very sweet to him: “And they shall call his name Jesus, for he shall save his people from their sins.” Once, after much darkness felt, and his affliction heavy, the following verse greatly relieved and comforted him:

“He sees me often overcome, 

And pities my distress;

And bids affliction drive me home, 

To anchor in his grace;”

and he said, “He might have left me justly to perish in my sin; but, bless his precious name, he has not.”

The first time I saw him in his illness was on January 9th, having received a letter from him, desiring to see me. In this letter he says: “I am very ill, and doubt whether I shall go to Bedworth any more. I feel I have a disease upon me which I fear will bring me to my journey’s end; but I would say, the Lord’s will be done. I wish to feel resigned to his dear will, for he is a faithful, unchangeable Friend. It is good at his word to be here: it is better indeed to be gone. As friend Tiptaft said. ‘It is a mercy to be made right and kept right, and to be well laid in the grave.'” This being the first intimation I had of his illness, I felt it much, for I loved him much in the Lord; and (perhaps somewhat peevishly) said, “The Lord is taking away the best from among us.”

I was struck with his serenity and composure, neither much elated nor depressed, but firmly fixed on that Foundation laid in Zion on which, in holy faith, he was built up, and. by which he could 

“Survey with joy 

The change before it come;

And say, Let death this house destroy; 

I have a heavenly home.”

I remarked to him, “You now feel the blessedness of having a religion that holds you up in the prospect of death, that has outlived the storms of your past life, and overcome the world.” He spoke sweetly of the Lord’s grace and goodness in having taught him first to pray, and heard and answered his prayers; who had been with him to support, to defend, and to deliver him in all his temptations, afflictions, and distresses. In answer to my questions, he spoke with much humility of his early life, and sinful habits. I left him, well persuaded the Lord would be with him, living and dying.

Some of his pains were exceedingly severe, and he feared their return, being almost intolerable. At one time, while suffering much from them, he said, “Lord, take it away;” and, turning to his wife, he said, “It’s gone!”

A few weeks before his death, Mr. S., a fellow-member, went to see him. Asking him how he felt, he said, “Sit down;” and, bursting into tears, he said, “I am as full of the love of God as I can hold! O, What can heaven be?” Mr. S. repeated the last verse of hymn 472:

“If such the sweetness of the streams, 

What must the fountain be,

Where saints and angels draw their bliss, 

Immediately from thee?”

He appeared overcome with bliss, and exclaimed, “O grace!”After a while he said, “I feel it withdrawing.” Mr. S. replied, “There is no man that hath power over the Spirit to retain the Spirit.” He said, “No.”

On Lord’s day, March 5th, his son, living at Coventry, came over to see him. Mrs. Sage went to get a little rest, while he was with him. His son left the room for a little while, and in his absence he got up and dressed, went down stairs, and, to their great surprise, was sitting in his arm chair. When they were getting him back to his room, he turned and looked round, saying, “Good-bye, house; I shall never cross you any more.”

The next day his throat was very sore and began to swell. The doctor said an abscess had formed there, and ordered a linseed-meal poultice. His throat was in extreme pain, and in a few days was greatly swollen, affecting his speech, so that he could scarcely articulate a sentence. His sufferings, at times, were great, but it was evident inward peace greatly abounded. He appeared full of matter, but could not relieve himself by utterance.

On Lord’s day, the 12th, being at Bedworth, I went to see him between the services. Once or twice, in the course of the day, he appeared unconscious, but he was quite himself then, and knew those present. I shall not soon forget the love he evidently was filled with, and longed to show and express, nor that I felt. He drew me towards him, and tried to speak. I could hear him say, “Sing, sing!” and “Grace, grace!” I said, “Your heart is full of grace, and you want a mouth for it,” He said, “Yea.” He laboured to make us understand the hymn he wished us to sing; and to me it was painful I could not more quickly comprehend his wish, and relieve him of the effort, which must have been painful for him to use, as at this time his throat was nearly closed. The abscess having formed inside, he could not pass anything, and all they could give him for relief or support was a little moisture with a feather. At length the hymn was found, which I read:

“Hark! how the blood-bought hosts above,” &c.

Whilst reading the hymn, he, in the most animated way, said, “That’s it; That’s it!” convincing us that he had the substance of it in his soul, which was sweetly sustained by grace and love, composing his dying bed.

Commending him to the Lord, and feeling that I not only could, but that I could not forbear, to bless him, I did so in the name of the Lord.

In the evening, and following day, Monday, he was restless, and tried, by motions and gestures, to make them understand, but without effect.

On Tuesday he was quite unconscious, and remained so two to three o’clock on Wednesday morning, March 15th, when he quietly breathed his last, and his happy spirit fled to the rest remaining to the people of God.

His ingenuousness of manner and unrefined plainness of speech, to some were not pleasing, at times; but I think whoever had his acquaintance, and feared God, esteemed him highly, and the more so the better he was known. He was tender to the weak, generous to the poor and needy, and sympathizing to the afflicted. He highly esteemed the Lord’s servants, and used to say, “Such a one has a place in my heart.” When some wondered he could hear such of them as are learned so well, he would reply, “I can do with them, learned or unlearned, if there is life and unction.”

C. Mountfort

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[I knew William Sage well, as he was in the habit for many years of coming over to Leicester to hear me when I preached there, and I have had at times much conversation with him. I never knew a more sincere, upright, honest man, both in word and action. He was somewhat rough and uncultivated in manner and free spoken in expression, but neither forward nor unpleasant, neither contentious nor assuming. He was very clear and firm in the truth, and fearless in contending for it, and a dear lover not only of truth in its purity, but of truth in its power. I have always looked upon him as a remarkable instance of the power of grace; for you could see at a glance, or find as soon as he opened his lips, that one of nature’s rough-cast sons was before you, and though not of powerful make or athletic build, one possessed of that courage and determination, and that thickset frame, which made his former pugilistic propensities very credible. But his pugilism, when I knew him, was to contend earnestly for the faith once delivered to the saints, and his lighting, not as one that beateth the air, but to beat down error with one fist, and letter preaching with the other. With all his roughness, he had a tender, childlike spirit, and with all his bluntness, he had a fine ear and delicate appetite, counting no preaching worth hearing but such as was attended with power, and no provision palatable that was not seasoned with salt and savour. Being generally kept on low ground, and unable to get anything that was not given, his speech and conversation were that of a tried, exercised man; and he had no good works to boast of in nature, and was not favoured with great things in grace, he was preserved both from boasting and spiritual pride in profession. I had not heard any particulars of his death until I read the above Obituary, and it rejoiced my heart to find that he made so good an end. Though favoured with a good hope through grace, I never heard him speak with much confidence of his state. Here, then, is another proof, that “at evening time it shall be light,” and that sooner or later the Lord puts a new song into the mouth of all whom he has taught to fear his great name, to believe his dear Son, and call upon him in spirit and in truth.—Jospeh Philpot]