When I wrote my first letter after my late visit, I felt almost angry with you and quite so with myself.  And why angry with you?  Because I began to fear you would prove a dangerous rival to my Lord and Master, and draw away my heart from His service.  My Louisa, should this be the case, I should certainly hate you.  I am Christ’s; I must be Christ’s; He has purchased me dearly, and I should hate the mother who bore me, if she proved even the innocent occasion of drawing me from Him.  I feared that you would do this.  For a little time the conflict of my feelings was dreadful beyond description.  For a few moments I wished I had never seen you.  Had you been a right hand, or a right eye, had you been the life-blood in my veins (and you are dear to me as either) I must have given you up, had I continued to feel as I did.  But blessed be God, He has shown me my weakness only to strengthen me.  I now feel very differently.  I still love you dearly as ever, but my love leads me to Christ and not from Him.

Dr. Payson received repeated invitations to important churches in Boston and New York, but declining them all, continued in the Portland pastorate until his death, which occurred October 22, 1827, in the forty-fifth year of his age.  The closing months of his life were rendered memorable by an extraordinary triumph of Christian faith and patience, as well as of the power of mind over matter.  His bodily suffering and agonies were indescribable, but, like one of the old martyrs in the midst of the flames, he seemed to forget them all in the greatness of his spiritual joy.  In a letter written shortly after his death, Mrs. Payson gives a touching account of the tender and thoughtful concern for her happiness which marked his last illness.  Knowing, for example, that she would be compelled to part with her house, he was anxious to have a smaller one purchased and occupied at once, so that his presence in it for a little while might make it seem more home-like to her and to her children after he was gone.  “To tell you (she adds) what he was the last six memorable weeks would be altogether beyond my skill.  All who beheld him called his countenance angelic.”  She then repeats some of his farewell words to her.  Begging that, she would “not dwell upon his poor, shattered frame, but follow his blessed spirit to the realms of glory,” he burst forth into an exultant song of delight, as if already he saw the King in His beauty!  The well-known letter to his sister Eliza, dated a few weeks before his departure, breathes the same spirit.  Here is an extract from it: