The Death of a Female Slave, by William Knibb
--Her name, if I remember right, was Mary. She had long been a consistent Christian, and to her affliction's full cup of sorrows had been meted out. When I was requested to visit her, she was in the last stage of a consumption. On entering her lowly hut, I found her lying on a mat, her head supported by a box, which I suppose contained her little all. Never "while memory holds her seat," shall I forget the interview. She looked at me with much affection, and said,
"Minister, me is glad to see you. Me did not like to die, minister, till me see you."
"Why so, my friend?" I replied.
"Minister, me wish to tell you how good God is; Him is too good--Him is too good, minister."
After speaking with her for some time, I said,
"Well, you are about to die, my sister; are you afraid to die?"
"No, minister, me is not afraid to die."
"Do you not know that you have been a great sinner?"
"Yes, me feel that; but, minister, Jesus, Him die for sinner, and me is not afraid to die. Me shall soon be with Jesus, and me shall sing with Jesus for ever and ever."
At her request I read a portion of the word of God, and, kneeling by her side, prayed with her. On leaving, I took her by the hand and said, "I wish you, my sister, an abundant entrance into the kingdom of God."
"Thank you, minister," the dying saint replied. "Me shall soon be there, and please, when you go home, tell the other minister, that me hope God will give him two crowns, when him come to Heaven, because him leave him country, and teach me, a poor slave, the way to go there."
In a few hours, calm and resigned, she breathed her last; and her happy spirit, wafted by angels into the presence of her Saviour, took possession of the promised rest. Thus ended the mortal career of one, on whom the curse of slavery rested heavily for years. Sweet indeed must heaven be to the toil-worn negro. She hears not the voice of the oppressor, while the Lamb that is in the midst of the throne leads her, and feeds her; and God, having wiped the last tear from her eyes, the days of her mourning are ended. The next day her remains were committed to the lowly tomb.
"Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear,
Invade thy bounds--no mortal woes
Can reach the lonely sleeper here,
And angels watch her soft repose."
William Knibb