The Life And Ministry Of Thomas Voysey

Earthen Vessel 1892:

The Late Thomas Burness Voysey

[We are obligingly indebted to our dear brother E. MARSH, of Wellingborough for the annexed interesting memoir of our now glorified brother T. B. VOYSEY. May the Lord graciously bless it to many precious souls.—Editor]

He’s gone, and what a blank is left!

A loving-wife and four dear babes bereft. 

Beneath the blow our bleeding hearts are riven, 

Although assured our dear one’s gone to Heaven. 

Deep shades of mystery shroud the whole event, 

Nor can the stricken heart, with anguish bent,

Unaided say, “Thy will, my God, be done.” 

Though confident the crown and victory’s won. 

It is our loss as true as ’tis his gain;

And God will not rebuke the tears of nature’s pain. 

Did not the Lord of all with women weep,

And share, with human love, their sorrow deep 

Yet, “knowing in Himself what He would do.”

He tried them that they might the better view

His Godhead glory, as with mighty voice

He hushed their grief and made their hearts rejoice,

Now, through the deepest gloom He still the same appears;

He strikes! but in the blow no anger bears. 

Nay! ’tis His own almighty hand sustains,

And faith through Him the fullest victory gains. 

Thy will, my God, be done, for that is best,

Our brother is not dead, but gone to rest.

Our beloved brother was born June 11th, 1849. He was the son of godly parents; a privilege for which he ever blessed the Lord. His beloved mother was the eldest daughter of the late Mr. Jas. Jeffs, of blessed memory. She was called to her rest on September 8th, 1871. Her removal was a heavy trial to our dear brother. His beloved father long filled the office of deacon well in the Church at Brentford, where his memory is still fragrant. Our departed brother was the subject of convictions of sin as far back as he could remember. He ever treasured many of those words and sayings of his dear mother, which were as arrows that pierced his soul, and, anon, as balm to heal the wound. One instance, when quite a lad, he never forgot. He had spoken in an improper manner to one of the shopmen, and his mother, hearing of it, called him aside, and told him to “go upstairs and seek the forgiveness of God, and then come down and beg the young man’s pardon.” He used to say in after years “the second was nothing after the first.” He never forgot that time spent in his bedroom seeking forgiveness under the burden of sin. Convictions deepened, and for a long time no ray of hope appeared, or only appeared to intensify the distress which followed, until at last the Lord, who is rich in mercy, led that burdened heart to the cross of Christ, there to lose his load and sing:—

“Blest cross! blest sepulchre! blest rather be 

The Man who there laid down His life for me.”

Brought up from infancy to attend the house of God, he lived to learn the difference between this as duty to parents and delight in God. The ministry of Mr. J. Parsons was much blest to him; and he was by him baptized on Lord’s-day, July 28th, 1867, at New North-road, Old Brentford, where be had for a long time been engaged in Sunday-school work; and how deeply he felt the importance of that work many of his letters to the writer testify.

When the late brother R. Rowles could no longer lead the singing, he in an almost ominous manner looked across the desk, and said, on the last occasion he attempted it, “You take it, Thomas,” which he did from that time. Instead of the fathers shall come up the children. Our dear brother followed in his futher’s footsteps through the offices of superintendent of the Sunday-school, deacon, and secretary of the Church. Fully realizing the importance and responsibility of any work in the service of the Lord, he shrank from going forward, yet with a willing mind was ever ready to serve his God as doors were opened for him. His whole soul was in his work among the young, and he was beloved by all in the school at Brentford. “A man’s gifts make room for him,” and it became very evident his gifts were not to be confined to the Sabbath-school only. He was called by God to the public ministry of the Word, and with no uncertain sound he went forth to cry, “Behold the Lamb.” He lived the Gospel he loved, and preached to others that which was the food of his own soul. In doctrine uncorrupt, and in practice exemplary, he has left none to question his experience of the glorious Gospel of the blessed God. Almost his last words, when asked if he had any message to his friends, were, “Tell them I am dying as I have preached;” and to the writer he said:—

“I’m a poor sinner and nothing at all, 

Jesus Christ is all and in all.”

His soul anxiety touching this work—his concern to be led of the Lord alone—his fear lest he should go before instead of follow after his Lord (as told out in many of his letters) shows he realized the solemnity of his position, standing between the living and the dead; and also his ready obedience to the voice of God as soon as heard, accompanied with a burning zeal for “the old theology,” and soul-longing for the salvation of souls. Does not this exercise largely account for the great blessing which attended his ministry at Staines, Brentford, St. Neots, Margate, and other places? For eight years he laboured at Staines, and to the last he would speak of the blessing enjoyed among the Lord’s dear people there. Up to the time of his affliction when compelled to give it up, he laboured hard during the week as well as on the Lord’s-day, and often, aye, generally, the rest his body needed was denied, as through the small hours of the morning he would gather food from the Word for the flock.

In 1890 he first became attacked with internal abscesses. All possible means were used to cure, and hope, at one time, was entertained of recovery. Throughout his affliction he was much favoured in soul, and enjoyed very sweet communion with Christ. Indeed at times, though weak in body, and bent with pain, his soul seemed to dwell in the precincts of glory. The truths of the everlasting Gospel sustained him; they were his meat and drink. The Lord “made all his bed in his affliction.” How precious is the following extract from a letter dated February 17th, 1890:—

“As I lied in bed yesterday morning four words dropped sweetly into the soul. I tried to cast a measuring line around them, but either the muscles of my arms were too weak, or the tape was not long enough—or both. I could not get the circumference. I cast the eye upwards as far as possible, still there was more beyond. I began (foolish effort) to dig to see if the foundation might be arrived at. I found that, but then the foundation went down, down, down—the little spade was useless, excepting that the glorious fact was bare to the mind that God Himself was the foundation in the Trinity of His persons, in His covenant of love, in His eternal choice, and predestinating favour. What were the words, ‘Joint-heirs with Christ.’ Oh! how I wished I could there and then have shut my eyes and ears until I should be at the Sanctuary, and there tell out some of the sweetness I then enjoyed. It was very precious to view the family as a whole in their grace position—to hear Christ say, ‘The glory which Thou hast given Me, I have given them’—to note the apostle’s declaration, ‘When Christ, who is our life, shall appear, ye also shall appear with Him in glory’—to observe the support John gives, ‘We shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is’—but, more than this, the consideration of the words was inexpressibly precious as a realization of participation in the joint-heirship was enjoyed. The witness was borne so that I had to sing:—

“‘Grace has put me in the number of the Saviour’s family.’ 

And then I had to go through dear old John Kent’s hymn:—

“‘Sovereign grace o’er sin abounding.’ 

Thus the Lord favoured me.”

Oh! how he longed at this time to meet with the dear people at Staines, yet so submissive to the will of his Lord. How characteristic of him is the following comment on the first operation he underwent:—

“I surrendered myself to the doctor’s tender mercy having first committed all the case into the hands of my never-erring Friend. I could not tell what the operation might result in, but I did know “He would not leave me nor forsake me,” BECAUSE HE TOLD ME so.”

In the following May he was taken to King’s Cliff Hospital, Scar-borough, and appeared for a time to progress. Just before going there he wrote, “How I long to be once more at work. God has had no message to send by me lately, so He has laid me aside. I do not want to be rebellious or impatient, but it is hard work to be as I am just now.” 

The progress, however, was but short, and he had to return home worse rather than better. From the hospital he wrote, when only able to sit up a short time together, “These things are apparently against me, but not really. My Father’s hand is where my times are. What the outcome may be He, too, only knows. The mercy is “He leadeth by the right way.” Rough it may be, but right; and I desire He may still lead me till the pearly gates be reached and the home, so often looked at and longed for, eternally entered. How small will these things look then! Gaining a little strength, it was thought a change at Margate would do him good. He went, and to the joy of his heart was able to serve the Lord among His dear people at “Mount Ephraim.” The word was blest, the congregations increased, and the little Church desired him to become their pastor. Arrangements were in progress to this end, but the Lord whom he served suddenly came to His temple and called His dear servant to the nobler service above. Last January he had anticipated once more meeting his dear friends at Staines, but was stricken down the day before and unable to go. Touching this break-down he wrote: “It was, and still is to me extremely mysterious; one of those events which tend to make me silent before God—one in which He says: ‘Child, My love to thee requires that that which thou hadst planned shall not ripen; I have something better for thee; only wait and murmur not; thou shalt see presently.’ It may be seen soon.”

He was expected at Brentford on the Easter Monday. On Feb. 2nd. he wrote: “I hope I may be able to keep my engagement; but sometimes I take these future matters with a good deal of trembling. Am somewhat better, but carry about a weak and painful body.”

On Friday, 11th, symptoms were alarming. On being asked if the sun was shining, he replied, “Oh! yes, He is always shining, but I do not feel it as I should like.” By the question he understood the anxious fears felt, and remarked, as he had done on the Tuesday, “I do not know whether it is the death of a promise before it is to be raised again.” When asked what he meant, he said, “I don’t know if God is about to bring me very low then raise me again.” Asked if he referred to any promise specially his own, he said, “No! only the leadings of providence in bringing me here have been so mysterious, and the Lord has given me no indication what His will is concerning me now, I cannot think my work is done; I know it is right whichever way it is, but I am in the dark.” Later on in the morning he wished the writer to be telegraphed for. On receiving the reply saying he was on his way, he said, “I tell you what, if Marsh is not quick he’ll be too late.” He then asked to see Mr. Doughty, one of the deacons at Mount Ephraim. When Mr. D. came in he said to him, “Well, brother, passing through the waters?” he replied, “I don’t know, but if I do go I should not like to go without saying good-bye.” Mr. D. said, “We know whom we have believed.” With great emphasis, he replied, “I do.” “You’re on the Rock, brother?” Again he said sharply, “On the Rock, and in it too.” “I am dying as I preached, I have nothing to retract.” After giving instructions concerning his burial, he asked brother Doughty to engage in prayer, and commit the dear ones he was leaving to the Lord.

Referring to the Church at Margate, his dear wife said to him, “We thought there was a work for you to do here, didn’t we?” he replied, “Well I could serve Him here as I could not serve Him there, but I can serve Him there as I cannot serve Him here.”

Later on in the day his dear brother and cousin from London visited him; he still expressed himself in the dark as to whether the Lord meant to restore him or not. When asked which he would rather do, go home or get better, he replied, ”Ah! now you put me in a fix; there’s the glory there—having a desire to depart and be with Christ which is far better,” but…(his brother had to finish the rest, adding), “The Lord can and will take care of Lottie (his wife) and the children.” He said, “Yes! yes!”

On reaching Margate, at 10 p.m., I hastened to his room; he appeared sinking, but, recognising me, he said, “Well, Eb.! you’re come to see the last.” He again spoke of not feeling the joy he could wish. On reminding him of the words of Jesus, ”as ye are able to bear it,” a sweet calm possessed him, as if he realized the force of the words, and he repeated slowly, “Yes! dear brother, yes! it is as ye-are-able-to- bear-it, and He knows I am not able to bear much now.” Asked, “Are you happy, brother?” he said, “I shall be when I’ve dropped this poor body; only waiting! only waiting!” During the night, when his dear sister gave him some refreshment, on putting it to his lips, she said, “Can you sip it, dear?” he said, “Oh, when we get to the fountain there’ll be no…” and his strength failing, his sister added—”No sips there.” “No! no!” he said—”full droughts.”

Towards daybreak on Saturday, being asked if he could leave us all in His dear hands, he said slowly, and with much emphasis, “Yes! all! all! Lottie—children—the Church—world—all in His hands.”

It was evident on Saturday the end was near. Strength failed, and he realized he was sinking. Referring again to his beloved wife and dear children, he said, “I commit them to the living Lord;” and commenced, but could not finish the verse:—

“Firm as a rock His promise stands, 

And He can—will secure

What I’ve committed to His hands 

‘Till the decisive hour.”

Being reminded of a promise which some time ago had been a great support to him, “For the Lord will go before thee, and the God of Israel will be your re-reward,” it was observed: “He has promised to be your re-reward, and will, therefore, take care of those you leave behind.” He said, “He will, He will be faithful; He will keep His word, He cannot deny Himself.” Once when alone with his dear wife he said, “We’ve been to the throne a great many times together, let us go once more;” and then began in a most earnest manner to plead for his family, that they might be brought early in life to know the Lord, and that not a hoof might be left behind in Egypt. In the afternoon he wished the children to be brought that he might say good-bye to them.

During the last night, when labouring hard for breath, he said, “It is all right. Happy, happy, all joy, hallelujah!” Again, after a little while,

“Then loudest of the crowd I’ll sing…,”

Being unable to finish it, it was supplied for him; one remarking, “It will be all to sovereign grace, then, will it not?” “Yes,” he said, “yes, all sovereign grace.” Then making an effort he said once more,” Good- bye, all; good-bye, all.” His dear wife said, “The victory will soon be now, dear.” He said,” ‘Tis won! it is won! I’ve nothing to do but take possession.” His brother said, “Dying is but going home.” He replied, “Yes; but it is these buts.” Then again he said, “‘Tis not far, only the other side of the curtain.” Addressing his brother, he said, “He will not fail, Al.” At another time, talking of home, he said, “It will not take me long to find my Lord there.” There were many attempts to speak, but power to articulate failed, while he remained conscious to the last struggle. The expressive gaze told there was more passing in his mind than he could utter.

At ten minutes past seven on Lord’s-day morning, he said, “Get another…tell same tale.” Evidently the little Church at Margate was on his heart, in connection with their getting another under shepherd, and whoever they had he was anxious he should tell the same tale he had told. During the night he wanted to know who was to preach on the Sunday. At 7.25 he said, “Mysterious to us all.” His dear wife said, “It is all right, dear.” “Yes, yes,” he replied. Not long before he departed, the verse which has been placed on his memorial card was repeated to him, and he said, ”That’s it; that’s it.” A few minutes after 10 a.m. he sweetly fell asleep in Jesus, and entered on that eternal Sabbath where congregations never break up, and where, as he said in his dying moments, he could serve his Lord as he could not here.

His dear bereaved widow, to whom he was married at Laxfield, on March 7th, 1883, is the granddaughter of the late Mr. Manser, the founder of the cause at Horham. In her he found a true helpmeet, and in him she found a faithful loving husband, and the dear children a fond and affectionate father. The Church has lost a true and faithful steward. But the Lord had need of him at home, and yet a little while and our meeting shall be to know no parting, but to be “for ever with the Lord.”

We laid the redeemed dust to its rest on Friday, March 18th, and on the following Lord’s-day memorial services were held at Staines, Brent-ford, Margate, and the next Lord’s-day at Wellingborough.

“Rest from thy labour, rest, 

Soul of the just set free;

Blest be thy memory, and blest 

Thy bright example be.”