Henry Wilson, one of God's best...

Preface

In gathering together a few facts relative to a Hfe so unspeakably beautiful, so truly Christian, so extensively influential, I may be pardoned if perchance around the commonplace statements I am guilty of throwing the halo of filial affection, the admiration of a close and satisfied critic, or the unbounded adoration, formed at close range, due to a soul as nearly perfect as man could be : of whom it might be said, "the world was not worthy," or perhaps in a higher order of judgment, "he was a man after God's own heart."

This little sketch is made with the prayer that to the toilers on the uphill steeps of Life, the Reality of the Eternal Dawn, the sure and certain meeting of the Blessedly Departed, and the glorious reunion of all those who have been "faithful unto death," may be made so vital that for the joy that is set before them they may a little while longer bear the cross and endure the shame until Death is swallowed up in victory.

Madele Wilson.

NOTE.

After reading with profound interest the chapters which had been prepared by Madele Wilson as a loving memorial of her father and my beloved friend, Dr. Henry Wilson, I felt the record would be inadequate without, at least, an attempt to portray the seventeen years which he spent in the work of the Gospel Tabernacle and the Christian and Missionary Alliance, and which constituted the last, and perhaps the most active and fruitful portion of his noble and useful career. I have, therefore, incorporated in the volume. Chapters V-IX inclusive, giving, I fear, but an imperfect sketch of Henry Wilson's Work with the Christian and Missionary Alliance, Henry Wilson as a Minister, Henry Wilson and the Children, Henry Wilson and the Work of Missions, and Henry Wilson as a Man. The other chapters are from the pen of his daughter and add many intensel}^ interesting letters of biography and correspondence accessible to her alone. They will be read, I am certain, with intense interest by the wide circle of friends who

6 Preface

loved so well that dear friend, whose charming and striking personality and many sided character and work no pen or picture can ever adequately reproduce.

A. B. Simpson.

All's Well T89

Chapter I. A Brief Sketch

"Let me die the death of the righteous and let my last end be like his."

"If I should die to-night my friends would look

upon my quiet face Before they laid it in its resting place And deem that Death had left it almost fair. And laying snow-white flowers beneath my hair, Would fold my hands with lingering caress. Poor hands ! So empty and so cold to-night. If I should die to-night, the eyes that chill me

with averted glance, Would look upon me as of yore perchance And soften in the old familiar way For who could war with dumb, defenceless clay? And I should be forgiven of all to-night. Oh, friends keep not your kisses for my cold,

dead brow, The way is lonely, let me feel them now, When dreamless rest is mine. I shall not need the tenderness for which I long

to-night."

IT would be difficult to describe in any adequate words the personality of one so truly great and so genuinely kind as Dr. Wilson.

The geniality of his character extended from the hearts of little children to the minds of great men.

He was alike the companion of both. His sympathy, compassion and unfailing cheerlo Henry Wilson

fulness, allied with a vigorous body, a sound mind and ever-ready willingness, made him the truest friend in sorrow, the kindliest adviser in difficulty and the servant of all under all circumstances.

No personal ambitions, pleasures or rights ever swerved him from the path of conscience, duty or liberality.

Even family claims were secondary to his high and holy calling. When on one occasion he was called upon to part with all his worldly possessions and position for conscience' sake, he unflinchingly did it. When later in life, the call came a little closer home to his heart and God required one of his flesh and blood for His service he again willingly made the sacrifice. And when on the third occasion, additional spiritual light was revealed to his vision he voluntarily resigned a remunerative position that his field of labor might be extended and the glorious Gospel be more widely preached.

In later years his life work took him far afield, making his home the exceptional and bright resting place in his earthly warfare. So Death found him, after a three days' halt, again on his way to do his Master's service.

A Brief Sketch ii

He arrived at Atlanta, at the home of devoted friends, who made his last earthly hours as supremely happy as they could be in the absence of his only two children, who could not arrive at his bedside in time.

The latest services he conducted were on Sunday, February 9, 1908, and on Tuesday, nth, his last hours were given to a meeting with the little children.

On February 13, at the midnight hour, he passed through the "ever open door'' and entered the gates of the Eternal City.

A word to our readers about his earthly career might be interesting.

He was born in Peterborough, Canada, in the year 1841. At an early age he won the Wellington Scholarship and entered Trinity College, from which he won several degrees, receiving the highest and last, that of Doctor of Divinity, in the year 1883.

His first ministry was as curate of the Cathedral of St. George's, Kingston, Canada.

It was in this city that the great crisis and turning point of his life came.

The Salvation Army up to that time was an unknown factor.

On its arrival, despite his high churchly standing, he boldly and uncompromisingly stood up for its principles, defended its metliods, answered its critics, and later in life, sealed his intense devotion to its cause by giving his elder daughter to its service.

This attitude toward the Army cost him his living. His Dean gave him his choice. He made it, and leaving behind him the work of seventeen years, a city full of heartbroken friends, three lonely little graves in a country churchyard (which church he had labored for years to build for the people of that district, and where he now lies) he went forth, not knowing whither he went, taking with him his two motherless little girls.

He found a home and position in the well-known parish of St. George's Episcopal Qiurch, New York, under the rectorship of the Rev. William Rainsford, D. D.

After seven years of service in this field of labor he voluntarily resigned and allied himself with the Christian and Missionary Alliance work, under the leadership of the Rev. A. B. Simpson.

From this field of labor God called him after seventeen years of loving sendee, and now that life's journey is ended may I not

A Brief Sketch 13

adequately quote these words as exemplifying his life :

"Nay, never falter, no great deed was ever done by falterers who ask for certainty ; the greatest gift a hero leaves his race is to have been a hero/' and might we not in a deeper and truer sense add, the greatest gift a Christian leaves his race is to have been a Christ-man.

He lived and acted toward all mankind with the spirit of life, opportunity and service.

His death was triumphant because his life was victorious, and the expression of hundreds of broken hearts was but the reflection of thousands of kindly deeds he performed in his daily ministry, and might we not truly say, ''Mark the perfect man and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace."

CHAPTER IL

CHILDHOOD.

infant heart upon the stage of Time, Thy little life has entered;

The curtain lifts before the mist of years Whose mysteries as yet untold thy little life

must fathom.

So meet its call, that from the bourne, from

whence no traveller returns. Thou may est look back upon the after-glow of

life And bless God for the day He gave and for the

dawn to come.

M. W.

From the following letter w^hich I quote

1 am indebted somewhat for the title of this book; and as my father was such a lover of children I thought the letter of the little lad a most exquisite suggestion.

Tlie letter is written by the aunt of the little boy. She says :

"About sixteen years ago, while on a visit in New York City^ I first met Dr. Wilson. Calling at the house one day, on leaving he said to my four-year-old nephew, 'My boy, when you say your prayers at night will you remember to add, God bless Dr. Wilson and make him a good man !'

"The child did not forget the request, but that night repeated the words of his own

'Their angels do always behold the face of My Father which is in heaven" (Matt, xviii. lo).

ChUdhood 15

accord, continuing the practice for perhaps two years after our return to our home in Ohio. One night when about six years old as he came to that part of his prayer he suddenly stopped and looking up at me said earnestly, 'Auntie, isn't Dr. Wilson a good man yet^ I hardly knew what to say, but satisfied the child with some sort of explanation. Having occasion to write to Dr. Wilson shortly after, I mentioned the occurrence and asked what my answer should have been. Here is his reply — the letter lies before me and is dated July 11, 1896:

" 'Please remember me with much love to the dear boy who has been praying so faithfully for me all these years.

*Tell him that in me at least there is always room for improvement.

*If he thinks that I have reached the positive *'good" there is farther on the comparative "better," and still farther on the "best," not my best, but God's best. So ask him to pray on for this, and read him with my love and prayer for him Mr. Simpson's beautiful lines which I enclose.' (The leaflet has disappeared, but I think it was entitled "God's Best" or "His Best.")'

*'So I read the child both the poem and the quoted words of the letter, though doubtful of his understanding much of either. But that night, after saying the usual words, 'God bless Dr. Wilson/ he paused, and after thinking a moment, added, 'and make him your best man,' and from this on until two or three years later, when he concluded to say his prayers 'into himself,' the words were unfailingly repeated for how much longer I do not know.

"In a letter to Dr. Wilson, perhaps a month or two later, I mentioned this last incident, and he replied:

" 'I thank you for what you tell me of the darling boy and the new prayer he is now oilFering up to God for me.

" Tlease tell him how I appreciate it and how the telling of the story in a meeting the other day was blessed to those who heard it.

" 'May God make of me indeed His very best and give me the pleasure some day of meeting the dear child.' "

"They never met again in this life, but will not the prayer be answered? For the praying boy has grown into the earnest Christian vouth and in the cloudless some day of God's own appointed time will they not surely meet again/'

It is dilSicult, looking back over events, to trace mucK of the early history of what came out in later years in such bold and fine relief, and this is a cause of regret to the writer inasmuch as Dr. Wilson's intense love for little children would have made his ov/n childhood a peculiarly interesting one to many readers.

Suffice it to say that as his own Christian character was so beautifully human as well as sublime there is no reason to doubt that his childhood was marked by those traits of simplicity, love of beauty, change, brightness, cheerfulness and many other points which became more marked as the years went on. Like most children, he was fond of light music, color and animals, and when I tell you that as a small boy he toiled up hill for a quarter of a mile with six pails of water to earn a ticket to see a travelling menagerie, you will see that the boy's love of animals and a willingness to earn what he could not otherwise command showed a strength of purpose and a love of the dumb creation, which are pleasing to note. At a much later age he might be found taking little children to the Zoo or telling them elephant and monkey stories, and such fascination had these stories for his little devotees that on one occasion when in the midst of his morning private devotions two little pair of impatient feet made their waymany times to that sanctum till their patience reached its limit in the words, *'0h, Dr. Wilson, youVe said prayers enough. Come on downstairs and tell us the monkey story."

May I quote to you a few lines from a letter written me after he had passed the borderland, showing the wonderful influence he had with young lives : "My dear Miss Wilson.

"You don't remember me, I am sure. I was one of the little children years and years ago in your father's class at Southampton (Long Island) in the little Dune Church.

"The lessons, stories and hymns made the deepest impression on me, as on all the children, but more than anything he taught us in words was the inspiration of his wonderful personality, and I can rem.ember his face, his smile, his gestures as clearly to-day as if I had seen him yesterday, and I have not seen him since. You know what deep feelings children have and will understand when I tell you that your father taught me what God's love is, and that his words sunk into my heart and have never left me. He was the first person I had ever seen who made religion real, and my gratitude to him is boundless. As soon as I could I tried to teach others what he had taught me. And during the eleven years I have taught I have used his stories and have tried with all my heart to make the children feel what he made me feel. The last two years I went each spring to tell him the seed he planted was growing and both times he was away, and this morning when I went again it was to learn that he was dead."

How dearly he was loved by old and young alike!

He had the unbounded admiration of children, and their elders not infrequently accompanied the younger set to his "children's talks" that for their own hearts and needs they might gather inspiration from the truth set forth in so graphic and winsome a way.

The secret of his success with children in a great measure was due to his adaptability, and his own youthful spirit.

For several years in our own home we kept a small maiden of three summers that we might study at closer range the subject so dear to both our hearts — childhood. And as our Lord took this type as one of the characteristic essentials to the entrance of His kingdom we truly felt as if we were entertaining an angel unawares, and the last night he spent in his own little home was in entertaining our small visitor with the much loved "m.onkey story." I will tell you one little story about a talk he gave many years ago and which made such an impression on my mind as a child that later in life I asked him if he would allow me to reconstruct it and write a Christmas story for my little kindergarten children.

Last Christm.as he allowed me to do so. It was a sad and unexpected ending I put to it. But because it was his story, and also because it had a real ending, I thought you might like to have me repeat it.

THE JOURNEY OF LIFE.

Once there was an old man called Time and whenever he heard that a little baby was born he always went to the door and left a parcel for the little stranger.

If he went to the homes of the rich, the box was always done up in gold or silver paper, and when he went to some other houses it was done up in rough brown paper.

But the strange part of it all was that whatever he put around the parcel the thing inside was always the same.

And wherever he left the parcels he also left strict orders that before they got to the end of life's journey they would have to open their parcels. Some could open them early and some could open them late.

But everybody would have to take them along with them^ — some for a long way and some for a little way — before they laid them down, and when the day came to lay that burden down Father Time would open another door through which they would pass to a beautiful world where they would have no burdens to carry any more.

Now when the rich and poor alike opened their parcels what do you suppose they all found? A number of little things called "The troubles of life."

DISCONTENTED.

Now nobody liked what was in the parcels and nobody wanted to carry them.

Some said they would like to burn them, but they would not burn, and some people wanted to throw them into the sea, but they would not sink, and so they had to do what Father Time said they would, and that was to bear the burden or carry the parcel he had left for them.

So they all started to bear their burdens, and this is the way some of them tried :

They tied their troubles all up again and with a long string they put them around their necks and hung them in front of them so that when they walked along the path of Life their heads were bowed and their eyes were down so that they could not see the beautiful things of life at all.

At last a kind friend called experience said to them : 'Tut your burden behind you and see if that won't be easier.''

So they turned their troubles behind them and they bore them with their heads erect, and eyes uplifted, and walked so straight that people looked at them in wonder, that with such heavy burdens they seemed to walk even straighter than those who seemed to have no troubles.

STUMBLING STONES.

Then some other people did not carry them all together. They opened the box, and took their troubles out one by one and spread them all along the path of Life, and they stumbled over them and fell down and hurt themselves and discourage others ; and when they came to the end of the journey they were all bruised and sore, and had not been able to help themselves or other people just because they had stumbled over what were never meant for ''stumbling stones.*'

But there were other people who took the same troubles and laid them out along the path of Life and stepped upon every trouble that came in their way ; and every time they stepped up they caught a new sight of heaven and their troubles brought them nearer to God.

So they made "stepping stones'' of what they found in their parcels.

MILLSTONES.

Now there were some other people who took each trouble out, one at a time, and tied it around their necks in front and showed it to all their friends, till their friends were tired and worn out looking at their troubles, and at last they became such a burden to themselves and their friends that they went by the name of ''millstones/'

And would you believe there was another way you could put your troubles along the path of Life so that they would not be either stepping stones, stumbling stones or millstones? Well, there was another way. And this was it:

Every trouble they had they put on the road, and it marked an event in their life, and when they looked back on the road they had come along they could see all they had passed by that they would never have to pass again, and it made them feel strong, and those who could count many stones felt stronger than those who could count few, and so they made their troubles beautiful milestones,

MOUNTING STONES.

And then they came to the end of the journey and all the people who had made stepping stones and milestones of their troubles, gathered them together, and their old friend Experience placed them in a large mound at the end of the journey ; and when Time told them the journey was ended, they looked back and there were no more troubles on the path, but they had all been gathered up at the end, and made into beautiful ''mounting stones'' to a higher life. And then Time closed the door and they found themselves where there is no more sorrow nor crying nor any more pain, for they carry no more burdens as they are before the throne of God and the journey of life is ended.

A BEAUTIFUL ENDING.

I am going to tell you the story of a good man who made this journey and came to the gates of the Eternal City on St. Valentine's Day.

When that morning dawned he was within its portals, and had left behind him a city full of sorrow and pain through which he had walked for 67 years, not quite three score years and ten, but very nearly.

This good man, the Rev. Doctor Wilson, was a true lover of little children, and he looks back to-day over a life well spent.

He lived a good life because he had God in it ; he lived a useful life because he found plenty to do in caring for poor unfortunate, needy people; he lived an unselfish life because the motives of his heart were prompted by a consideration for others ; first and always.

His was a life to be envied in the highest and truest sense; his principles were the principles that anyone of us could, by the grace of God, follow to the end.

He was on a journey — going about his Master's business — a journey from which he never returned until attended by the Angel of Death. And because he helped to make life so beautiful for other people all the way along the line, there were many sad hearts, and little children felt they had lost a big brother, and big people felt they had lost a friend, and the earth was poorer, but heaven had opened its door to give an abundant entrance to a true soldier of Jesus Christ.

He was a hard-working little boy; his parents were poor, and later in life he won high honors in college because he made the most of the chances and opportunities that crossed his patfi.

THE LITTLE MAIDEN OF THREE SUMMERS.

But though he was ^, clever rmin, the world honored him most because he was a good man. He had in his heart what earthly wealth could not procure, and so his life was valuable to the rich, and to the poor he was an unfailing friend.

If you had known him you could not have failed to love him. He was never too big to become as a little child to children.

He was never too holy to fail to be human at the same time; never too busy or occupied to fail to be courteous and sympathetic under all circumstances.

He had a "face like a benediction," a smile that was the embodiment of cheer, and a laugh that was an inspiration. He was a cheerful Christian all through to the end, despite the fact that he met with so many sorrowing lives, and "when he had passed it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music."

May God give us all grace to experience so truly vital a Christianity and so noble a life.

Chapter III. His Early Church Career

"Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodland

Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven." (Longfellow.)

THE above quotation aptly describes the character of my father at a time in his life v^hen he passed through dark waters, and for the sake of those who knew him in his later years as the embodiment of happiness, and may I reverently say holiness, I would be untrue to my subject were I to omit the shadows which give balance aud tone to the picture, or paint in lighter vein the strong and sombre background, which brought out in clearer contrast in later years the high Hght of so true and noble a character.

One of his favorite quotations was

"The mark of rank in nature is capacity for pain, And the anguish of the singer makes the sweetness of the strain."

And no life more truly exemplified it than did his.

His early ministry began in the city of Kingston, Canada.

As a young man with very limited means (his father having been a master in one of the Canadian schools) he made his way successfully through Trinity College, Toronto, mainly by his arduous labors, untiring zeal and conscientious study, tutoring at the same time he was preparing for the most difficult examination. He won the Wellington Scholarship, which enabled him to successfully finish his college career, but came to his first parish a physical wreck from overstudy, long hours and a delicate constitution. To those who knew him in later life with his strong and manly physique this part of the story will hardly seem credible, or perhaps I more truly ought to say, the value of his belief in Divine Healing will be more keenly enhanced.

A young, attractive Church of England curate, with a loving helpmeet in his talented young wife, seemed indeed a fair and prosperous commencement to his career, but ere eleven months had fled the solemn bells of the old church rang out their mournful message, and to the little country churchyard where he now lies, a solemn little broken-hearted band laid her to rest beneath the snow on that dark and dull December day. And back to the care of his ten-dayold infant boy he turned with a broken heart. But loving friends were not wanting and tender care was given the motherless infant, and what a parish full of sympathetic hearts could do, was done to lighten his heavy burden, and staunch the bleeding wound. After three years there came to his life as verily '*an angel of light" as was ever permitted to tread God's earth, or grace awhile an earthly home.

He met my mother. Fair of form, gracious of manner, tender of soul, beloved by poor and rich alike, she seemed too fair for this dark earth, lest perchance it were to brighten it awhile and leave the picture darker for the loss of the light that had been.

And into their happy married life there came my baby soul — to fill for one short year their cup of happiness ere it was dashed to earth by a shadow more dark and a blow even more stunning than heretofore.

When again the Angel of Birth stood at the threshold of his life and placed within his care and keeping another baby girl, Death followed swiftly in the track and ere two days had passed added to the list of the blessed dead his young and beautiful wife ere twenty-two summers had crossed her life.

Words utterly fail me here to attempt to describe what only those whose hearts know their own bitterness, can very well imagine. With three little children he made the brave and lonely struggle in the uphill climb of life. Bereft of comradeship, a young and inexperienced father with a broken and shattered constitution as the result of his arduous college career, and the shadows that death had so rudely thrown across his earthly pathway.

And over that open grave, before his God in the silence of his own soul, he vowed a life of devotion to his Master's calling and a sacred fatherhood to his now and ever motherless children.

Brave soul of honor, who in the darkest hour of life could bow to a God from whom no secrets were hidden. Braver soul who in the subtle heat of life's glaring Midway kept his eye fixed on the "star of his soul," and he most brave who, when death called, could say, It is well!

Such characters are rare, and the world is not worthy of them.

To have lived with such a soul was more than one deserved, and if wealth were marked by character earth's riches could not repay for the loss of a soul so great, nor for the ever-living memory of having loved him and of having been loved by him.

With the months life assumed her proper proportions. Duties called and responsibility made her demands, and the horizon seemed for a little while again to be clear and the atmosphere devoid of darkness or storm.

But Death was lurking not far off, and though to all appearances he had had more than his share of sorrow, one more heartbreaking blow was dealt to him.