George Whitefield: A Biography, with special reference to his labors in America

And finally, to his dear friend Mr. Keen of London, he wrote from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, September 23, just one week before his death, "By this time I thought to be moving southward. But never was greater importunity used to detain me longer in these northern parts. Poor New England is much to be pitied; Boston people most of all. How grossly misrepresented! What a mercy that our Christian charter cannot be dissolved! Blessed be God for an unchangeable Jesus! You will see, by the many invitations, what a door is opened for preaching the everlasting gospel. I was so ill on Friday that I could not preach, though thousands were waiting to hear. Well, the day of release will shortly come, but it does not seem yet; for by riding sixty miles I am better, and hope to preach here to-morrow. I trust my blessed Master will accept these poor efforts to serve him. O for a warm heart! O to stand fast in the faith, to acquit ourselves like men, and be strong! May this be the happy experience of you and yours. I suppose your letters are gone for me in the Anderson to Georgia. If spared so long, I expect to see them about Christmas. Still pray and praise. I am so poorly, and so engaged when able to preach, that this must apologize for not writing to more friends: it is quite impracticable."

Whitefield's hope to "preach here to-morrow" was fully realized. In the "Pennsylvania Journal and Weekly Advertiser," we find a letter from Portsmouth, dated Sept. 28, 1770, which says, "Last Sunday morning came to town from Boston, the Rev. George Whitefield, and in the afternoon he preached at the Rev. Dr. Haven's meeting-house; Monday morning he preached again at the same place, to a very large and crowded audience. Tuesday morning a most numerous assembly met at the Rev. Dr. Langdon's meeting-house, which it is said will hold nearly six thousand people, and was well filled, even the aisles. Evening he preached at the Rev. Mr. John Rodgers' meeting-house in Kittery, and yesterday at the Rev. Mr. Lyman's in York, to which place a number of ladies and gentlemen from town accompanied him. This morning [Friday] he will preach at the Rev. Dr. Langdon's meeting-house in this town."

We are now approaching the closing scene, and are invited to hear Whitefield's last sermon. On his way to Newburyport, where he had engaged to preach on Sunday morning, September 30, he was entreated to preach at Exeter. This had been the scene of some of his former triumphs. He was once preaching here, when a man was present who had loaded his pocket with stones to throw at the preacher. He heard his prayer with patience, but as soon as he had read his text, the man took a stone out of his pocket and held it in his hand, waiting for an opportunity to throw it. But God sent a word to his heart, and the stone dropped from his hand. After the sermon, the poor fellow went to Mr. Whitefield, and said, "Sir, I came here to-day with the intention of breaking your head, but God has given me a broken heart." This man was converted to God, and lived an ornament to the gospel.

As though it had been felt by the public that this might be our preacher's last sermon, inconvenient as Saturday noon must be for the assembling of a congregation for worship, such a multitude was collected that no house could contain them, and Whitefield, for nearly two hours, discoursed to an attentive crowd in the open air. Of this last sermon at Exeter, a gentleman who was present has given a deeply interesting and affecting account. The relator was then in his eighty-sixth year, but he retained a strong remembrance of the most trivial incidents connected with that extraordinary man. He says:

"It was usual for Mr. Whitefield to be attended by Mr. Smith, who preached when he was unable on account of sudden attacks of asthma. At the time referred to, after Mr. Smith had delivered a short discourse, Mr. Whitefield seemed desirous of speaking; but from the weak state in which he then was, it was thought almost impossible. He rose from the seat in the pulpit, and stood erect, and his appearance alone was a powerful sermon. The thinness of his visage, the paleness of his countenance, the evident struggling of the heavenly spark in a decayed body for utterance, were all deeply interesting; the spirit was willing, but the flesh was dying. In this situation he remained several minutes, unable to speak; he then said, 'I will wait for the gracious assistance of God, for he will, I am certain, assist me once more to speak in his name.' He then delivered perhaps one of his best sermons, for the light generally burns most splendidly when about to expire. The subject was a contrast of the present with the future; a part of this sermon I read to a popular and learned clergyman in New York, who could not refrain from weeping when I repeated the following: 'I go, I go to rest prepared; my sun has arisen, and by aid from heaven, given light to many; 't is now about to set for – no, it cannot be! 't is to rise to the zenith of immortal glory; I have outlived many on earth, but they cannot outlive me in heaven. Many shall live when this body is no more, but then – Oh, thought divine! – I shall be in a world where time, age, pain, and sorrow are unknown. My body fails, my spirit expands; how willingly would I live for ever to preach Christ! but I die to be with him. How brief, comparatively brief, has been my life, compared with the vast labors I see before me yet to be accomplished; but if I leave now, while so few care about heavenly things, the God of peace will surely visit you.' These, and many other things he said, which, though simple, were rendered important by circumstances; for death had let fly his arrow, and the shaft was deeply enfixed when utterance was given to them: his countenance, his tremulous voice, his debilitated frame, all gave convincing evidence that the eye which saw him should shortly see him no more for ever. When I visited the place where he is entombed, Newburyport, I could not help saying, 'The memory of the just is blessed,' Few are there like George Whitefield; however zealous, they do not possess the masterly power, and those who do, too often turn it to a purpose that does not glorify God."

We have already spoken of the Rev. Daniel Rodgers, a descendant of the martyr of that name, and pastor of the second congregational church at Exeter. It was this old friend of Whitefield who had importuned him to preach at Exeter. The "Almanack Journal" of this excellent man contains the following items of the activity of our "eloquent orator" in his closing days: "September 10, 1770, dear Mr. Whitefield preached here, A. M., ten o'clock. 11th, Mr. Whitefield preached again in Mr. Parsons' meeting-house. 12th, I rode over to Rowley, Mr. Whitefield preached there. 14th, a storm of rain. 15th, the rain continues. Mr. Whitefield went to Boston, not well. 25th, I heard dear Mr. Whitefield preach. 26th, he went to Kittery, and preached for brother John; P. M. I rode to York. 27th, Mr. Whitefield preached at York; P. M. we returned to Portsmouth. 28th, Mr. Whitefield preached his farewell sermon; I returned home. 29th, dear Mr. Whitefield preached for me the last sermon he ever preached."

Mr. Smith's account of the closing scene will not be considered too minute in its details. "Before he commenced his journey of fifteen miles from Portsmouth to Exeter, Mr. Clarkson, senior, observing him more uneasy than usual, said to him, 'Sir, you are more fit to go to bed than to preach.' Whitefield's reply was, 'True, sir;' but turning aside, he clasped his hands together, and looking up, said, 'Lord Jesus, I am weary in thy work, but not of thy work. If I have not yet finished my course, let me go and speak for thee once more in the fields, seal thy truth, and come home and die.' His last sermon was from 2 Cor. 13:5, 'Examine yourselves, whether ye be in the faith. Know ye not your own selves, how that Jesus Christ is in you, except ye be reprobates?' He dined at Captain Gillman's. After dinner, Mr. Whitefield and Mr. Parsons rode to Newbury. I did not get there till two hours after them. I found them at supper. I asked Mr. Whitefield how he felt after his journey. He said he was tired, therefore he supped early, and went to bed. He ate a very little supper, talked but little, asked Mr. Parsons to discharge the table, and perform family duty, and then retired up stairs."

The Rev. Dr. Hallock tells us, that, in 1822, he visited Newburyport and the tomb of Whitefield. He was then told by persons whom he considered reliable, that when Whitefield was retiring to his chamber on this last evening of his life, many were so desirous to see and hear him, that he stood on the stairs with a lamp in his hand, and there gave them a tender spiritual address.

We resume Mr. Smith's account: "He said he would sit and read till I came to him, which I did as soon as possible; and found him reading the Bible, with Dr. Watts' Psalms lying open before him. He asked me for some water-gruel, and took about half his usual quantity; and kneeling down by his bedside, closed the evening with prayer. After a little conversation, he went to rest, and slept till two in the morning, when he awoke, and asked for a little cider; he drank about a wine-glass full. I asked him how he felt, for he seemed to pant for breath. He said to me, 'My asthma is coming on again; I must have two or three days' rest. Two or three days' riding, without preaching, would set me up again.' Soon afterwards, he asked me to put the window up a little higher, though it was half up all night. 'For,' said he, 'I cannot breathe; but I hope I shall be better by and by: a good pulpit sweat to-day may give me relief; I shall be better after preaching.' I said to him, 'I wish you would not preach so often.' He replied, 'I had rather wear out than rust out.' I then told him, I was afraid he took cold in preaching yesterday. He said he believed he had; and then sat up in bed, and prayed that God would be pleased to bless his preaching where he had been, and also bless his preaching that day, that more souls might be brought to Christ. He prayed for direction whether he should winter in Boston, or hasten to the southward; and he prayed for a blessing on his Bethesda college, and his dear family there, for the Tabernacle and Chapel congregations, and all connections on the other side of the water; and then he laid himself down to sleep again.

"This was near three o'clock. At a quarter past four he awoke, and said, 'My asthma, my asthma is coming on; I wish I had not given out word to preach at Haverhill on Monday; I don't think I shall be able; but I shall see what to-day will bring forth. If I am no better to-morrow, I will take two or three days' ride!' He then desired me to warm him a little gruel; and in breaking the fire-wood, I waked Mr. Parsons, who thinking I knocked for him, rose and came in. He went to Mr. Whitefield's bedside, and asked him how he felt. He answered, 'I am almost suffocated. I can scarcely breathe, my asthma quite chokes me.' I was then not a little surprised to hear how quickly, and with what difficulty he drew his breath. He got out of bed, and went to the open window for air. This was exactly at five o'clock. I went to him, and for about the space of five minutes saw no danger, only that he had a great difficulty in breathing, as I had often seen before. Soon afterwards, he turned himself to me, and said, 'I am dying.' I said, 'I hope not, sir.' He ran to the other window, panting for breath, but could get no relief. It was agreed that I should go for Dr. Sawyer; and on my coming back, I saw death on his face; and he again said, 'I am dying.' His eyes were fixed, his underlip drawing inward every time he drew breath. I persuaded him to sit down in the chair, and have his cloak on; he consented by a sign, but could not speak. I then offered him a glass of warm wine; he took half of it, but it seemed as if it would have stopped his breath entirely. He went towards the window, and we offered him some warm wine, with lavender drops, which he refused.

"In a little time he brought up a considerable quantity of phlegm. I then began to have some small hopes. Mr. Parsons said he thought Mr. Whitefield breathed more freely than he did, and would recover. I said, 'No, sir, he is certainly dying.' I was continually employed in taking the phlegm out of his mouth with a handkerchief, and bathing his temples with drops, rubbing his wrists, etc., to give him relief, if possible, but all in vain; his hands and feet were as cold as clay. When the doctor came in, and saw him in the chair leaning upon my breast, he felt his pulse, and said, 'He is a dead man.' Mr. Parsons said, 'I do not believe it; you must do something, doctor.' He said, 'I cannot; he is now near his last breath.' And so indeed it was; for he fetched but one gasp, and stretched out his feet, and breathed no more. This was exactly at six o'clock. We continued rubbing his legs, hands, and feet, with warm cloths, and bathed him with spirits for some time, but all in vain. I then put him into a warm bed, the doctor standing by, and often raised him upright, continued rubbing him and putting spirits to his nose for an hour, till all hopes were gone. The people came in crowds to see him."

Whitefield seems to have had somewhat of a presentiment that his death would be unattended with any remarkable expression of spiritual enjoyment. In his last preceding visit to this country, he had spent a day or two under the roof of the Rev. Dr. Finley, then president of the college at Princeton, New Jersey. One day Dr. Finley said at the dinner-table, "Mr. Whitefield, I hope it will be very long before you will be called home; but when that event shall arrive, I shall be glad to hear the noble testimony you will bear for God." Whitefield replied, "You would be disappointed, doctor; I shall die silent. It has pleased God to enable me to bear so many testimonies for him during my life, that he will require none from me when I die. No, no. It is your dumb Christians, who have walked in fear and darkness, and thereby been unable to bear a testimony for God during their lives, that he compels to speak out for him on their death-beds."

We resume Mr. Smith's narrative: "The Rev. Mr. Parsons, at whose house my dear master died, sent for Captain Fetcomb, and Mr. Boadman, and others of his elders and deacons, and they took the whole of the burial upon themselves, prepared the vault, and sent and invited the bearers. Many ministers of all persuasions came to the house of the Rev. Mr. Parsons, where several of them gave a very particular account of their first awakenings under his ministry several years ago, and also of many in their congregations that, to their knowledge, under God, owed their conversion to his coming among them, often referring to the blessed seasons they had enjoyed under his preaching; and all said, that this last visit was attended with more power than any other, and that all opposition fell before him. Then one and another would pity and pray for his dear Tabernacle and Chapel congregations, and it was truly affecting to hear them bemoan America and England's loss. Thus they continued for two hours, conversing about his great usefulness, and praying that God would scatter his gifts, and drop his mantle among them."

Dr. Gillies says, "Early next morning, Mr. Sherburn of Portsmouth sent Mr. Clarkson and Dr. Haven with a message to Mr. Parsons, desiring that Mr. Whitefield's remains might be buried in his own new tomb, at his own expense; and in the evening several gentlemen from Boston came to Mr. Parsons, desiring the body might be carried there. But as Mr. Whitefield had repeatedly desired to be buried before Mr. Parsons' pulpit, if he died at Newburyport, Mr. Parsons thought himself obliged to deny both these requests."

Mr. Parsons, in a note to his funeral sermon, says, "At one o'clock all the bells in the town were tolled for half an hour, and all the vessels in the harbor gave their proper signals of mourning. At two o'clock the bells tolled a second time. At three the bells called to attend the funeral. The Rev. Dr. Haven of Portsmouth, and the Rev. Messrs. Rodgers of Exeter, Jewet and Chandler of Rowley, Moses Parsons of Newbury, and Bass of Newburyport, were pall-bearers. Mr. Parsons and his family, with many other respectable persons, followed the corpse in mourning."

"The procession," says Mr. Smith, "was only one mile, and then the corpse was carried into the Presbyterian church, and placed at the foot of the pulpit, close to the vault; the Rev. Daniel Rodgers made a very affecting prayer, and openly declared, that, under God, he owed his conversion to that dear man of God whose precious remains now lay before them. Then he cried out, 'O my father, my father!' then stopped and wept as though his heart would break; the people weeping all through the place. Then he recovered, and finished his prayer, and sat down and wept. Then one of the deacons gave out the hymn,

"'Why do we mourn departing friends?'

some of the people weeping, some singing, and so on alternately. The Rev. Mr. Jewet preached a funeral discourse; and made an affectionate address to his brethren, to lay to heart the death of that useful man of God, begging that he and they might be upon their watchtower, and endeavor to follow his blessed example. The corpse was then put into the vault, and all concluded with a short prayer, and dismission of the people, who went weeping through the streets to their respective places of abode."

The Rev. Mr. Rodgers, from whose "Almanack Journal" we have quoted, records that the vast assembly at the funeral consisted of "four, since thought five thousand people," and adds, Oct. 7, "I preached from those words in the first Philippians, 'Having a desire to depart and be with Christ,' etc. I spoke extempore, somewhat largely, of dear Mr. Whitefield's character."

The late venerable Mr. Bartlet of Newburyport, some years ago, erected a monument to the memory of Whitefield in the church beneath which his remains are interred. The cenotaph was executed by Mr. Struthers of Philadelphia, after a design of Strickland, and the inscription which follows was written by the late Rev. Dr. Ebenezer Porter, of the Theological seminary at Andover.

THIS CENOTAPHis ERECTED, WITH AFFECTIONATE VENERATION,To the MemoryOFTHE REV. GEORGE WHITEFIELD,BORN AT GLOUCESTER, ENGLAND, DECEMBER 16, 1714;EDUCATED AT OXFORD UNIVERSITY; ORDAINED 1736IN A MINISTRY OF THIRTY-FOUR YEARS,HE CROSSED THE ATLANTIC THIRTEEN TIMES,AND PREACHED MORE THAN EIGHTEEN THOUSAND SERMONSAS A SOLDIER OF THE CROSS, HUMBLE, DEVOUT, ARDENT,HE PUT ON THE WHOLE ARMOR OF GOD:PREFERRING THE HONOR OF CHRIST TO HIS OWN INTEREST, REPOSE,REPUTATION, AND LIFEAS A CHRISTIAN ORATOR, HIS DEEP PIETY, DISINTERESTED ZEAL,AND VIVID IMAGINATION,GAVE UNEXAMPLED ENERGY TO HIS LOOK, UTTERANCE, AND ACTIONBOLD, FERVENT, PUNGENT, AND POPULAR IN HIS ELOQUENCE,NO OTHER UNINSPIRED MAN EVER PREACHED TO SO LARGE ASSEMBLIES,OR ENFORCED THE SIMPLE TRUTHS OF THE GOSPEL BY MOTIVESSO PERSUASIVE AND AWFUL, AND WITH AN INFLUENCE SO POWERFUL,ON THE HEARTS OF HIS HEARERSHE DIED OF ASTHMA, SEPTEMBER 30, 1770SUDDENLY EXCHANGING HIS LIFE OF UNPARALLELED LABORSFOR HIS ETERNAL REST

CHAPTER XVII.

TESTIMONIES AND FACTS ILLUSTRATIVE OF WHITEFIELD'S CHARACTER

"Last evening," says a letter from Boston, October 1, 1770, to the "Pennsylvania Journal," "we were informed by a melancholy messenger from Newburyport, that yesterday morning about six o'clock, at that place, the renowned and Rev. George Whitefield, chaplain to the Right Hon. the Countess of Huntingdon, etc., was, by a sudden mandate, summoned to the bosom of his Saviour. He had been preaching in divers parts of this province since his arrival from the southward, with his usual diligence and energy; was now from a tour to the province of New Hampshire on his return to this town, but being seized with a violent fit of the asthma, was in a short space translated from the labors of this life to the enjoyment of a better.

"Of this truly pious and very extraordinary personage, little can be said but what every friend to vital Christianity who has sat under his ministry will readily attest. In his public performances throughout Europe and British America, he has, for a long course of years, astonished the world as a prodigy of eloquence and devotion. With what frequency and cheerfulness did he ascend the desk, the language of his actions being ever, 'Wist ye not that I must be about my Master's business?' With what divine pathos did he plead with, and persuade by the most engaging incitements, the impenitent sinner to the practice of piety and virtue. Filled with the spirit of grace, he spoke from the heart; and with a fervency of zeal perhaps unequalled since the apostles, ornamented the celestial annunciations of the preacher with the graceful and most enticing charms of rhetoric and oratory. From the pulpit he was unrivalled in the command of an ever-crowded and admiring auditory; nor was he less entertaining and instructive in his private conversation and deportment. Happy in a remarkable ease of address, willing to communicate, studious to edify, and formed to amuse – such, in more retired life, was he whom we lament. And while a peculiar pleasantry enlivened and rendered his company agreeable, his conversation was ever marked with the greatest objects of his pursuit – virtue and religion. It were to be wished that the good impressions of his ministry may be long retained; and that the rising generation, like their pious ancestors, may catch a spark of that ethereal flame which burnt with such lustre in the sentiments and practice of this faithful servant of the most high God."

Another contemporaneous article says, "Dr. Cooper of Brattle-street, called an enthusiast by none, won early to serious religion by his [Whitefield's] instrumentality, delivered a sermon upon his death, in which he pronounced a strong eulogy in favor of his holy and successful activity in the cause of vital and practical religion through the English dominions. Pews, aisles, and seats were so crowded, and heads and shoulders were in such close phalanx, that it looked as though a man might walk everywhere upon the upper surface of the assembly, without finding an opening for descending to the floor."

When the news of Mr. Whitefield's death reached Georgia, its inhabitants vied with each other in showing him the highest respect. All the black cloth in the stores was bought up; the pulpit and desk of the church, the branches, the organ-loft, and the pews of the governor and council were covered with black. The governor and council in deep mourning convened at the state-house, and went in procession to church, where they were received by the organ playing a funeral dirge. Two funeral sermons were there listened to by the authorities. In the Legislature high eulogiums were pronounced on the admirable preacher, and a sum of money was unanimously appropriated for removing his remains to Georgia, to be interred at his orphan-house; but the inhabitants of Newburyport strongly objected, and the design was relinquished. Forty-five years later when a new county was formed in Georgia, it received the name of Whitefield in commemoration of his worth and useful services.

In a letter from Dr. Franklin to a gentleman in Georgia, he says, "I cannot forbear expressing the pleasure it gives me to see an account of the respect paid to his memory by your assembly. I knew him intimately upwards of thirty years; his integrity, disinterestedness, and indefatigable zeal in prosecuting every good work, I have never seen equalled, I shall never see excelled."

Of course it would be expected that the sermons at Savannah would be of great interest. Such a discourse was delivered by the Rev. Mr. Ellington, who very truly said, "Whitefield's longing desires for the salvation of immortal souls would not admit of his being confined within the limits of any walls. How he has preached, with showers of stones, and many other instruments of malice and revenge about his ears, many of his surviving friends can witness. But having the salvation of sinners at heart, and a great desire to rescue them from the power of an eternal death, he resolved to spend and be spent for the service of precious and immortal souls; and spared no pains and refused no labor, so that he might administer to their real and eternal good. He died like a hero on the field of battle. Thousands in England, Scotland, and America have great reason to bless God for his ministrations."

Who shall attempt to describe the feelings of the congregations at the Tabernacle and Tottenham Court chapels, when the news of their pastor's death first reached them? All were indeed clothed in mourning. By Whitefield's own previous appointment, the Rev. John Wesley preached the funeral sermon at Tottenham Court-road chapel. The preacher bore this testimony: "In his public labors he has for many years astonished the world with his eloquence and devotion. With what divine pathos did he persuade the impenitent sinner to embrace the practice of early piety and virtue. Filled with the spirit of grace, he spoke from the heart with a fervency of zeal perhaps unequalled since the days of the apostles; and adorned the truths he delivered with the most graceful charms of rhetoric and oratory. From the pulpit he was unrivalled in the command of an ever-crowded auditory. It was the love of God shed abroad in his heart by the Holy Ghost which filled his soul with tender, disinterested love to every child of man… Mention has been already made of his unparalleled zeal, his indefatigable activity, his tender-heartedness to the afflicted, and charitableness towards the poor. But should we not likewise mention his deep gratitude to all whom God had used as instruments of good to him? of whom he did not cease to speak in the most respectful manner, even to his dying day. Should we not mention that he had a heart susceptible of the most generous and the most tender friendship? I have frequently thought that this, of all others, was the distinguishing part of his character. How few have we known of so kind a temper, of such large and flowing affections! Was it not principally by this that the hearts of others were so strongly drawn and knit to him? Can any thing but love beget love? This shone in his very countenance, and continually breathed in all his words, whether in public or private. Was it not this which, quick and penetrating as lightning, flew from heart to heart; which gave that life to his sermons, his conversation, his letters? Ye are witnesses."