I little dreamed that if I had died in that unpardoned and Christless state, I should have been lost forever; for I was profoundly ignorant of the necessity of change of heart—­perfectly unconscious that I must be born again of the Spirit.  This vital truth had never come to my mind; I felt a love for God, and in my ignorance I wished to die.

One morning the thought came to me, as I was sitting all alone by the fire, “What have I been praying for?—­that the Lord would take me to heaven if I died; or, if I lived, that He would let me live to His glory?” Why, this is heaven both ways!—­heaven in heaven, or heaven on earth—­whichever way it pleases God to answer my prayer.  Somehow I felt certain that He would answer it.  I was exceedingly happy, and could not help thanking Him.  From that day I began to feel better, and became impressed with the idea that I was to live, and not die.  The doctor smiled at me when I told him so, for he did not believe it.  He, and two other physicians, had told me that my lungs were diseased; indeed, six months afterwards, all three sounded me, and declared that one lung was inoperative, and the other much affected.

Yet, notwithstanding the doctor’s discouraging announcement—­for he told me, also, that “it was one of the fatal signs of consumption for the patient to feel or think he was getting better”—­I had a certain conviction that I was to recover.  As soon as the medical man had gone, I put on my coat and hat and went out for a walk.  I trembled much from weakness, and found it necessary to move very slowly and stop often; but under the shelter of a wall, courting the warmth of the bright-shining sun, I managed to make my way to the churchyard.

While I was sitting there alone, the great bell struck out unexpectedly, and caused me to shake all over; for I was in a very weak condition.  It was the sexton tolling to announce the departure of the soul of some villager from the world.  Having done this, he came out with his boards and tools to dig the grave.  He did not observe me sitting by; so he at once commenced, and went on diligently with his work.  The ground had so often been broken before that it did not take him long to accomplish his task; he gradually got deeper and deeper into the ground, till he disappeared altogether from my sight.  I crept to the edge of the narrow pit in which he was, and looking into it, I could not help thinking of those words of Kirke White—­

“Cold grave, methinks, ’twere sweet to rest Within thy calm and hallowed breast!”

I had no fear of death, but rather felt that I should welcome it even more than restoration to health.

I have even now a most vivid remembrance of this, and place it on record to show how delusive’ are our feelings:  because I did not feel any danger, I took it for granted that there really was none.  That day, however, was an eventful one in my life; for, in the gladness of my heart, I gave myself to God, to live for Him.  I had given my will before, and now I gave my life, and was happy in the deed.  I did not know at that time that faith does not consist in believing that I have given myself, even if I meant it ever so sincerely; but in believing that God has taken or accepted me.