The death-bed of John Knox
A poem, by Anne Ross Cousin
Anne Ross Cousin is best known as the authoress of the hymn, The sands of time are sinking. Its nineteen verses (in its original form) are based on the death-bed sayings of a remarkable seventeenth century Scottish preacher, Samuel Rutherford. What is not so well known is that Anne Ross Cousin put into verse some of the death-bed sayings of a Scotsman who died nearly a century earlier, the great Reformer John Knox. Readers who have access to a biography which records the things Knox said in his final days (such as the one by Thomas M‘Crie) will be struck by the accuracy of Mrs. Cousin’s rendering. The poem is long (fully thirty-five verses!) but well worth the time it takes to read.
THE DEATH-BED OF JOHN KNOX
He has come down the pulpit stair,
Creeps slow along the street;
And eager groups are gathered there,
The care-bent man to greet.
And loving eyes look fond farewell
On him they’ll see no more;
And boding hearts in fear foretell,
“John Knox’s work is o’er”.
He has gone up into his bed,
To rest him and to die;
He layeth down his fainting head,
And lifts his soul on high.
He who ne’er feared the face of man,
Before his God lies low;
He who fought sternest in the van
Breathes sacred quiet now.
He lieth in a solemn calm;
No sound is near him heard,
Save voice of prayer and holy psalm,
And of the blessed Word.
But list! He speaks. “The hour is near
That I have sighed to see;
Have prayed with many a groan and tear,
Might shortly come to me.
“Sore weary of the world am I,
And thirsting to depart;
Now God doth end my misery,
And comforteth my heart.
“Thou know’st, Lord, what my wars have been,
What burdens I have borne;
Thou know’st the sorrows I have seen,
How weak I am and worn.
“I kept my watch on Zion’s wall.
And to my trust was true;
Thou bidst me lift the trumpet’s call,
And a loud blast I blew.
“Men have miscalled me harsh and stern,
A man of war and strife:
They knew not how I sighed to turn
From that sore troubled life;
“How I had loved to serve my Lord,
Far from the battle’s shock,
A faithful preacher of His Word
And pastor of His flock.
“What time I rained on evil men
God’s threats, like burning coals,
Albeit I loathed their sins, e’en then
Full well I loved their souls.
“And in yon galley, fevered, chained
Beside the slavish oar,
One fervent hope my soul retained,
Here to preach Christ once more.
“The long thirst of my sorrowing heart
Might never be allayed
Till this bruised land, through every part,
Christ’s name had fragrant made.
“I leave with Him – her Head and Lord –
His precious chosen spouse,
To keep her faithful in His Word,
True to her covenant vows.
“All ‘neath the sun is toil and irk –
Is vanity and loss;
Nought is abiding save Christ’s Kirk
Fighting beneath the Cross.
“Last night for her I wrestled long –
I wrestled and prevailed;
She shall be built – stand fair and strong,
By whomso’er assailed.
“The Eternal, our own God shall rise,
And this long warfare close;
Shall wipe the tears from His saints’ eyes,
And give them sure repose.
“My meditation was most sweet
In the mid-watch last night;
My glad soul did its glory greet,
And well-nigh walked by sight.
“Oh! I have tasted and possessed –
Drunk pleasures with the Lamb –
Have reigned within my heavenly rest,
Where even now I am.
“Death has no victory – no sting –
Thanks be to Christ the Lord!
O salutary solacing!
O comfortable word!
“I take good night of all the saints
In both these realms that be;
My flesh beneath its burden faints;
Let them toil after me.
“With my dead hand, yet gladsome heart,
I hail them to the fight;
Bid them lift up when I depart,
The pure Evangel’s light.
“Now read the Mediator’s prayer –
Great utterance of His will;
I cast my soul’s first anchor there,
And it is steadfast still.”
He sleeps; but mark, a troubled sleep;
For, ever and anon,
There comes a sigh – heart-drawn and deep –
There comes a heavy groan.
It is a sleep disturbed – oppressed –
By some dim anguish moved –
Not like the tranquil child-like sleep
God gives to His beloved.
He wakes; deep awe is in his eye,
But peace is on his brow;
Whate’er the ill that brooded nigh,
Its spell is broken now.
“Ofttimes”, he sighs, “in this frail life,
Hath Satan tempted me;
And oft it was a deadly strife
Ere he was forced to flee.
“But now – O serpent subtilty!
O coil of cunning lies!
He tempted me to think that I
Had merited the prize;
“That I had earned a conqueror’s place –
A palm – a crown – a throne –
Not by the gift of God’s free grace,
But deeds that I had done.
“Oh! but mine ancient enemy
Had well-nigh won the field,
Till the last dart that he let fly
I quenched upon my shield.
“And then I drew the Spirit’s sword –
‘The grace of God, not I’;
And from that quick and piercing word
The vanquished fiend did fly.
“And now, I know, without more pain,
Or anguish of the mind,
The fair deliverance I shall gain –
The abundant entrance find.
“All hail, sweet rest and free reward!
Yet – hear my latest breath! –
Live – live in Christ and serve the Lord,
And ne’er need flesh fear death”.
E’en now the sight fails from his eyes,
And now ‘tis come at last!
With lifted hand – with two deep sighs,
That kingly soul hath passed.