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 A 
 
 S E R M 0 N 
 
 OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH 
 
 IiEV. EDWIN II . CRANE, 
 
 MISSIONARY TO TIIE NESTORIANS. 
 
 PREACHED AT 
 
 S E I R , PERSIA, 
 
 SEPTEMBER 17, 1854. 
 
 B Y 
 
 EEY. SAMUEL A. RHEA 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY JOHN P. JEWETT AND COMPANY. 
 CLEVELAND, OHIO: 
 
 JEWETT, PROCTOR AND WORTHINGTON. 
 
 1 8 5 5 . 
 
 • 
 
 . 
 
CAMBRIDGE: 
 
 ALLEN AND FARNHAM, PRINTERS. 
 
SERMON. 
 
 ACTS 13:25. 
 
 And being fervent in tiie spirit, he spake and taught diligently 
 
 THE THINGS OF THE LORD. 
 
 Beloved brethren and sisters, — 
 
 The occasion which has called us together to-day, is one of 
 sad and solemn interest. We come to mourn the loss of our 
 dear departed brother Crane, and in few and simple words to 
 embalm his precious memory. But a few brief weeks since, 
 we met in this place to weep over the death of our beloved 
 brother Stocking, one among the oldest, and, in the privilege of 
 toils and sacrifices, one among the most honored of our number. 
 Now we meet to weep at the early grave of our youngest mis- 
 sionary brother, cut down at the very opening of vigorous man- 
 hood, full of joyous hopes, having just girded on his armor, and 
 wielded it long enough to show us, that, if spared, he would 
 prove a most valiant soldier of the cross of Jesus. 
 
 Indeed, when we think how tenderly he had endeared him- 
 self to us and the Nestorians, in the brief period he was per- 
 mitted to spend with us, as a genial friend, a consecrated 
 Christian, a fervent and energetic laborer in the vineyard of our 
 Lord ; and when we think of the very pressing wants of the 
 mountain field, and his eminent qualifications to meet those 
 wants, how very heavy the loss to our mission, to our work, to 
 
4 
 
 our own hearts, and more than all, to the widowed heart of our 
 sorely stricken sister, we cannot but feel it is an occasion on 
 which our tears of most heartfelt grief may freely flow. 
 
 God, in the silent majesty of His power, and the deep mys- 
 teriousness of His dispensations, has come very near to us. 
 We stand amazed at His strange dealing, and yet we bow 
 down our bruised hearts in silent submission, knowing that He 
 doeth all things well. It is His to speak to us in solemn admo- 
 nition ; it is ours, with the broken and contrite heart, to tremble 
 at His word. 
 
 When we endeavor to recall our departed brother, we love to 
 think of him as the devoted husband, the affectionate friend, 
 the congenial associate, the meek and childlike Christian, but 
 perhaps more than all, as God’s young missionary servant, fer- 
 vent in the spirit, and teaching diligently the things of the Lord. 
 Let us endeavor to trace as concisely as may be, an outline of 
 his life, labors, and character. 
 
 The Reverend Edwin H. Crane was born May 30, 1825, 
 in Westmoreland, Oneida county, New York. His father, 
 the Reverend Abijah Crane, was for many years an able and 
 devoted pastor in Central New York, and for the last fifteen 
 years of his life a most efficient agent of the American Home 
 Missionary Society in that region. In all those churches which 
 he visited, and in a large circle of Christian acquaintances and 
 friends, his memory is still fragrant. He was eminently a man 
 of God, and he left to his son, of all legacies the best, that of a 
 holy, venerated character. It may not be out of place to intro- 
 duce here an extract from an address, composed of commemo- 
 rative notices of deceased alumni of Middlebury College, by 
 the Rev. Dr. Hough, formerly one of its professors. He says, 
 “ He was eminently marked by the possession of energy, and 
 enterprise, and perseverance, and lie is a memorable example of 
 a man, not gifted with a superior order of intellect, accomplish- 
 ing much for the church, and securing for himself a wide and 
 desirable reputation. His character, as a religious man, in the 
 estimation I was led to form of it, was eminent, and it greatly 
 aided in rendering him a Jealous, an impressive, and acceptable 
 
preacher. Mr. Crane designed, it is said, to have entered the 
 missionary field, and had offered himself for employment to the 
 A. B. C. F. M., and was for a season engaged in their service, 
 as an agent in Western New York. But for considerations 
 not indicating either instability of purpose, or any deficiency 
 of interest in the missionary enterprise, he relinquished his 
 purpose, and settled as pastor of a church in Westmoreland, 
 Oneida county, New York.” With reference to his services 
 while engaged as an agent of the A. II. M. Society he says, 
 
 “ I never heard it suggested that, during this period in his inter- 
 course with the churches, he sought to promote any interests 
 but those of truth and goodness, or to secure any other objects 
 than the glory of God and the salvation of men.” For this 
 father, our departed brother ever cherished the deepest rever- 
 ence, and his godly walk made upon his youthful heart, and 
 upon his riper years, a deep and lasting impression. Bearing, 
 to a marked degree, in his person, the features of his godly 
 parent, he bore to him a striking resemblance in the cast of his 
 excellent judgment, and his sound, clear, discriminating mind ; 
 but perhaps more than all, in his Christian character, marked as 
 it eminently was, by singleness of purpose, decision, and great 
 consecration. No less favored was our beloved brother in being 
 gifted with' a devotedly pious mother, whom he loved with 
 uncommon tenderness, and whose name of all others was the 
 most endeared. We find a very touching allusion to these 
 godly parents, showing at once the depth and strength of his 
 filial devotion, and his appreciation of their great worth. He 
 had reached manhood, and on the 22d anniversary of his birth, 
 referring to the year just passed, he says, “ Near its commence- 
 ment my mother, my dear, dear mother, that mother to whom I 
 owed more than to any other earthly being, and who was knit 
 to my heart by the cords of most tender affection, suddenly 
 departed. How devoted her piety ! May it be mine to emu- 
 late it. How untiring was her care of her dear family group. 
 May I receive them as her legacy. O, my mother 1 how can I 
 ever forget thy precious instructions ? How can I restrain the 
 tear as I think of thy Christian love ? Departed, happy saint ! 
 perchance this year thou hast watched over thy erring son as a • 
 
 1 * 
 
6 
 
 guardian angel, impressing truth upon his heart, showing him 
 the emptiness of earth, and restraining him from open sin, when 
 his feet had wellnigh slipped. And my father, too, with whom 
 more than any human being, my soul sympathized, suddenly 
 called to rest from his labors, a holy man, now doubtless rejoic- 
 ing in a blissful immortality. O that it might be mine to be 
 as useful ! ” 
 
 We know how such parents would pray and labor for the 
 conversion of their first-born son. God heard their prayers, 
 and remembered His holy covenant, and it was their unspeak- 
 ably blessed privilege to see him, at the early age of thirteen 
 years, consecrating his young heart to the service of the God of 
 his fathers, and with them setting his face steadfastly towards 
 the heavenly city. Before he had completed his fifteenth year, 
 having finished his preparatory studies in the academy of his 
 native village, he entered Hamilton College. Of these four 
 years, our record is brief. We know, however, that here he 
 was diligent in his studies, beloved as a genial companion and 
 friend, highly respected by the faculty and his fellow-students, 
 and that he left his alma mater, bearing upon his brow some of 
 her choicest laurels ; but more than all, he passed out from the 
 great temptations incident to college life with the robe of his 
 Christian profession unsullied. 
 
 The years which intervened between his leaving college and 
 his entering Auburn Theological Seminary, were employed 
 chiefly in teaching and in travelling; and here, as in former and 
 later years, we find the same conscientious discharge of duty, 
 the same heroic spirit in meeting the obstacles which lay in his 
 way to the goal of his fond hopes. They were years of toil 
 and self-sacrifice, not to promote any mere selfish schemes, but 
 to secure the means of fitting himself to be a preacher of the 
 everlasting gospel. During these years his mind was often per- 
 plexed as to the choice of his profession, and from some brief 
 records he has left us, we get glimpses of that severe struggle 
 he underwent, before he saw it clearly his duty to be an ambas- 
 sador of the Lord Jesus. No young servant of our Lord ever 
 pondered more thoughtfully the solemnity of the work, or put 
 out his hand more tremblingly to touch the sacred ark of God. 
 
7 
 
 He felt his unworthiness ; he would gladly have escaped, at one 
 time, from those momentous responsibilities which seemed to 
 him crushing; but Christ strengthened him, and after a conflict 
 long, intense, but triumphant, his last doubt was dispelled, and 
 he gave himself, with whole-souled energy, to preparation for 
 the ministry, his call to whose sacred duties he never afterwards 
 doubted. He entered Auburn Seminary in 1848. Here his 
 progress in holiness was marked and rapid. How ardent and 
 intense were his breathings after personal and whole-hearted 
 consecration ! IIow he longed that his will might be swallowed 
 up in God’s will, and he delivered from the power of sin ! We 
 have, in some brief and transient records of this period, enough 
 to know that they were years of unceasing conflict with sin, 
 and stragglings after higher attainments in that life of perfect 
 love, for which he so ardently panted. No pressure of seminary 
 duties kept him away from his Bible and his closet, or led him 
 to slacken the reins he held with so steady a hand, ever aiming 
 to bring every thought in captivity to the obedience of Christ. 
 For some time he consecrated himself to the home missionary 
 field. The desolations, and the loud calls from the great West, 
 appealed tenderly to his heart, and that, he fondly hoped, was to 
 be the field of his toils. But by and by other cries for help fell 
 upon his ears. The far-ort’ desolations of heathen lands rose 
 up before him. From all quarters, voices of entreaty from the 
 perishing touched his heart still more tenderly, and it was not 
 long before he presented himself before the Lord, saying, “ Here 
 am I, send me.” We cannot suppose that our brother came to 
 this decision without a severe conflict. There were reasons of 
 a very tender and affecting character, which might detain him 
 in his native land. He had a beloved step-mother and seven 
 brothers and sisters, left without a husband and a father, and he 
 felt that their claims upon him were strong. Being the oldest, 
 his younger brothers and sisters would naturally look to him as 
 their guardian, and, in some measure, to take the place of then- 
 devoted parent, of whom they had been suddenly bereaved. Of 
 Mrs. Crane, the second wife of Rev. Abijah Crane, and of the 
 very high esteem and devoted affection cherished for her by our 
 departed brother, we could hardly speak in terms of exaggera- 
 
8 
 
 tion. How often did he delight to dwell upon her virtues! 
 How often did he speak of the powerful influence her tender 
 walk with God had had upon him ! How his eye kindled with 
 joy, when, upon the arrival of our monthly post, he received one 
 of her much prized letters, always so fragrant with the very 
 spirit of our Lord Jesus ! 
 
 To tear himself away from such a mother, and from that 
 loved circle of brothers and sisters so devotedly attached to him, 
 was indeed applying the knife to the tenderest cords of the 
 heart. But our brother did not shrink from this heavy sacrifice. 
 He appreciated their sympathies ; he heard with gentleness 
 then kind entreaties, for his own heart bled with theirs; and yet, 
 with a faith simple and sublime, he committed them to his 
 covenant-keeping God, and it was not long before he had the 
 unspeakable privilege of being assured of their most heartfelt 
 sympathies in all his plans. 
 
 The question of his becoming a foreign missionary was 
 decided during his last year in Auburn Seminary. He gradu- 
 ated in 1851, having been selected by the Literary Association 
 to represent it on the occasion of the anniversary. He was 
 ordained a missionary to the Nestorians, May 28, 1851. The 
 greater part of the time he was detained in America after his 
 appointment, was spent in pastoral labors in connection with 
 the Congregrational church in Cassville. Most faithfully did he 
 go in and out, an under-shepherd to that little flock of the 
 Lord Jesus, feeding the church of God, being instant in season 
 and out of season, reproving, rebuking, exhorting, with all long- 
 suffering and doctrine. In all his public ministrations, in his 
 visits from house to house, and his close, faithful conversation 
 with the impenitent, he showed that he watched for souls, as 
 one that must give account, that he might do it with joy, and 
 not with grief. His labors were not in vain in the Lord. He 
 showed himself, through the grace of God, wise to win souls. 
 That little church, under his faithful ministrations, enjoyed a 
 precious refreshing from the presence of the Lord, and sixteen 
 souls were gathered into the kingdom. Thus early did God 
 give to His young servant the seals of that holy ministry upon 
 which he was just entering, and the pledge of what he might 
 
9 
 
 be pleased to accomplish, through Him, for the benighted people 
 among whom he was to spend his life. 
 
 For a time it was a question whether he would be permitted 
 to realize the ardent hopes he had cherished of planting his feet, 
 a messenger of glad tidings, upon the mountains of Koordistan. 
 God seemed to thwart his plans. This was to him a sore trial, 
 and yet he bore it most meekly, committing his way unto the 
 Lord, assured that lie would direct his steps. lie dfd direct 
 them, and permit him to realize his fondest anticipations. 
 
 He was united in marriage to iVtiss Ann Eliza Cowles, 
 daughter of Mr. Elisha Cowles, of Otisco, N. Y., February 22, 
 1852, sailed from Boston May 31st, and reached Oroomiah 
 October 20, 1852. 
 
 And now, beloved brethren and sisters, we have reached a 
 point, from which you will accompany me with a more appre- 
 ciating sympathy and interest. From this time until he gently 
 passed away from us, we all knew him, and we all loved him. 
 We all remember, from his first appearance among us, how we 
 were impressed with h^ energy, his singleness of purpose, and 
 his devotedness to the Nestorians. It was not long after his 
 arrival here, that he made a short visit to the mountain field. 
 No one could have seen him on that journey, and on his first 
 greeting the Nestorians, and the happy days he spent in becom- 
 ing acquainted with his field, without feeling that he was deeply 
 attached to it, and that he would prove a heroic and whole- 
 souled fellow-laborer. 
 
 With great enthusiasm he applied himself to the study of 
 the Syriac, not merely attending to all the grammatical niceties 
 of the language in his study, but throwing himself also among 
 the people, where, from their own lips, he would catch its 
 striking idioms, and from close, personal contact, drink in its 
 spirit and power. It was but a few r short months after he 
 entered upon the study of the language, I think not more than 
 seven or eight, before he took part in conducting our religious 
 services. He was often urged to do so earlier, and he might 
 have done so with acceptance to the people, but he always 
 replied, with his characteristic modesty, “ I am not yet ready to 
 preach ; I will be content with talking yet awhile.” His acqui- 
 
10 
 
 sitions in the language were not only rapid, but, to a marked 
 degree, accurate, and he soon became able to use it with im- 
 pressive power and great acceptance to the Nestorians. And 
 here I cannot refrain from calling your attention to the three 
 hymns composed for the Syriac hymn-book, recently printed, so 
 sweet and heavenly in sentiment,- and so expressive in style. 
 We can hardly suppose him to have been in other than a very 
 heavenly frame of mind when he composed them, especially 
 the sweet hymn entitled, “ God, my father.” They seem to 
 flow out, like gentle streamlets, from the fountain of his own 
 heart’s experience at that time. 
 
 He joined his associate, in the mountains, in the February 
 after his arrival, and spent some two months and a half away 
 from his family. In July, for the first time, Mrs. Crane enjoyed the 
 privilege of seeing the field of labor towards which she had been 
 so long looking, and to which she became so ardently attached. 
 Our brother fondly hoped that now he might make his home in 
 the mountains; but he had spent but a few days with his family, 
 when it was deemed no longer secure to remain there, and sor- 
 rowingly he retired with his family from the field. But his 
 ardor of attachment was unabated. That same week he was 
 again on the ground, devoting himself with undiminished zeal 
 to his work. In September he again brought his family to the 
 mountains, and ‘enjoyed the great privilege of spending three 
 quiet months in those labors in which he so much delighted. 
 During those months he devoted himself to the multitudes of 
 travelling mountaineers, who were constantly passing through 
 the village, and on the Sabbath visited the surrounding villages ; 
 a work in which, as yet, little progress has been made, on 
 account of the opposition of the people. 
 
 lie again indulged the fond hope that he might be permitted 
 to remain with his family during the winter; but after the win- 
 ter had set in, and the snow had fallen a foot deep, and the 
 tempests had already swept down from the mountains, it was 
 deemed impracticable for Mrs. Crane to remain there alone, and 
 lie again sorrowingly, yet cheerfully, with his little family, 
 turned his back upon the mountains. But it was again only 
 for a short time. Seeing them comfortably provided for, he 
 
11 
 
 bid them adieu in haste, and was soon again at his post, as 
 ever, the happy, joyous servant of Him he loved to serve. One 
 might suppose, from the cheerful courage he kept up, these 
 trials but slightly affected him; but his heart was strung with 
 tender sensibilities, and though he was ever slow to pour the 
 tale of his sorrows in other ears, yet he felt them none the less 
 keenly. Here, for two months, again he gave himself with 
 devotedness to his work. He longed to be among the villagers, 
 declaring to the poor the unsearchable riches of Christ, but was 
 prevented by the incessant tempests that prevailed during those 
 months. But he was not idle, nor was he employed merely in 
 his study. Every one of those humble houses, could they speak, 
 would bear testimony to his faithfulness. He often visited 
 them one by one, and sat down among their inmates in all their 
 filth and repulsiveness, and with the simplicity of a little child, 
 imparted to them the words of eternal life. Those words of 
 advice, those tender expostulations, are still remembered, and 
 have been often alluded to since his death, by the bereaved vil- 
 lagers. He indeed watched for souls, as one that knew he 
 must give account. 
 
 During those months it was his duty to make a most toilsome 
 journey on foot to Oroomiah. It was the dead of winter. The 
 cold was intense. The roads were unopened, and there was 
 liability to terrible tempests. He accomplished it with great 
 fatigue and self-denial, but we heard from him no whisper of 
 complaint. It was simply duty, and this settled, he went for- 
 ward without a single misgiving. The snows having melted, he 
 again, but with great difficulty, on account of the high waters, 
 was reunited to his family in his mountain home. This was to 
 him a most joyful event. So ardently was he attached to the 
 field, he longed for the day when he would feel that he was a 
 resident of the mountains, and that his home was with the peo- 
 ple. During these months he gave himself to the study of the 
 Koordish language with his wonted enthusiasm. He felt and 
 prayed that he might one day preach to the benighted Mussel- 
 men, by whom he was surrounded, and for whom his sympa- 
 thies were often tenderly drawn out. During the summer he 
 made a brief tour into the neighboring districts of Jeloo and 
 
12 
 
 Bass, accomplishing the journey, at that early season, the roads 
 being as yet unopened, with many trials, but he was highly de- 
 lighted ; his acquaintance with his field was extended, his 
 attachment deepened, and his strongest sympathies enlisted. 
 He was also untiring in his efforts on the plain, being instant in 
 season and out of season, and on the Sabbath riding twenty 
 miles and preaching oftentimes three sermons. He also gave a 
 portion of his time to providing a more comfortable home for 
 his family. This was a duty, and he gave himself to it with 
 his accustomed energy. He never appeared so happy and 
 cheerful in his anticipations. How often did he cheer his own 
 heart, and that of his associate, with the recognition of God’s 
 favoring providences. How often did his ever hopeful mind 
 gladden itself as he saw new tokens of good for Zion, and new 
 omens of blessing for the mountain Nestorians. 
 
 Our dear brother was preparing a home, for as yet he had 
 been a pilgrim ; but it was very evident that he himself was 
 ripening, during those summer months, for his home in heaven. 
 His brow, ever cheerful, now wore a more thoughtful aspect. 
 An unusual gentleness now marked all his deportment. He 
 was much in prayer, and oftentimes deeply absorbed in holy 
 meditation. His conscience, unusually tender, was now more 
 than ever sensitive to the least failing. His ministrations 
 were solemn and pungent ; and though burdened with many 
 secular cares, we felt our dear brother was maintaining, from 
 day to day, a very tender walk with God. Whether mingling 
 in the distracting scenes of needful worldly cares in connection 
 with his home, or in the recreations of our evening walks, or 
 around our table, or during the exercises of divine worship, we 
 felt that his conversation was in heaven, and his life was hid 
 with Christ in God. He seemed to have a very tender concern 
 for all the members of his family, conversing and praying with 
 them frequently, and over his sermons especially, exercising a 
 most careful watch. His words, during those last months, were 
 fewer than usual, and marked by an elevated tone of spirituality 
 and heavenly-mindedness. 
 
 He was often accustomed, during seasons of devout medita- 
 tion, to write his thoughts on little scraps of paper, which he 
 
13 
 
 would afterwards destroy. Some of these little scraps, written 
 during the last months of his life, found among his papers, fur- 
 nish some brief records of what his feelings were during that 
 time. On one is written the following : “ Grant, O Lord, that 
 though all thy waves and billows roll over me, my own love to 
 thee, and my fellow men, may be a never-failing stream. Purge 
 me, O Lord, and make me clean. Let the sharp pruning-knife 
 pierce my vitals again, and again, and again, but O let nothing 
 separate me from the precious love of Jesus.” And again he 
 breathes the petition, “ Purge me. Let the knife only bring me 
 to thee. Bring sickness, poverty, yet bring me to thee.” 
 Shortly after his arrival in Gawar the last time, he writes, 
 “ Again I am, as it were, commencing my work in Gawar. 
 How shall I commence it? shall I deny myself, take up my 
 cross and follow Jesus, and bring forth much fruit ? or 
 shall I take things easy, glide smoothly in the current, and 
 live a divided, unprofitable life? Would that I might remember 
 that every moment is fraught with infinite consequences, both 
 as respects my own eternity and that of my fellow men, and 
 that Jesus, too, is ever near me to see my unfaithfulness, yet not 
 to leave or forsake me. O for a heart one with that of Jesus ! 
 I must strive for this spirit, not one day or week, but every day, 
 as long as I live. I am satisfied nothing will obviate the neces- 
 sity of striving after God, in the way of His own appointment.” 
 Again he writes, “ Why should I ever lose the spirit and frame 
 of prayer? Why not always be exerting such an influence 
 over my family and those about me ? Wo be to me if I ever 
 do any thing inconsistent with such an influence.” These brief 
 extracts need no comment. They show that his mind was 
 wakeful, watchful, struggling, and in a frame uncommonly 
 spiritual and consecrated. How rapidly was he changing from 
 glory to glory ! How near was the great Refiner then, and how 
 choice and precious the work he was doing ! How soon was 
 he to put on the heavenly ! Our brother often spoke of living 
 to a good old age among his people, yet we have reason to 
 believe that thoughts of his probable early removal, were not 
 unfrequent nor unwelcome visitors to his bosom. During the 
 month of August, while preparing his letters for the post, .and 
 
 2 
 
14 
 
 having a number of unanswered ones on hand, he remarked, 
 during one of our ever delightful evening walks, “ I want to 
 write up my correspondence this month, for I remember a 
 remark of Dr. Green, that a Christian is not ready to die until 
 he has replied to all his unanswered letters.” 
 
 This remark seemed almost prophetic ; for scarcely had the 
 messenger borne away that packet of letters, breathing, as they 
 did, so much of the tender, gentle spirit of Christ, when our 
 dear brother was seized with typhus fever, which, in the brief 
 space of eleven days, did its dreadful work, bearing him sud- 
 denly away, and leaving us a little company of broken-hearted 
 mourners. O how very sudden and unexpected was that blow, 
 which bereft our dear sister of a tender and affectionate hus- 
 band, our circle of one of its most beloved members, our moun- 
 tain field of a devoted missionary, and the poor Nestorians of 
 a warm-hearted and ever sympathizing, self-sacrificing friend ! 
 He was taken ill August 17th. That day, accompanied by his 
 associate, he went to see the governor of the district, who was 
 dangerously ill, and returned by the village of Chardiwar, to see 
 a sick priest, with whom he conversed for some time, and most 
 earnestly plead with him to be reconciled with God, and pre- 
 pare for death and eternity. Thus the destroyer met him while 
 about his Father’s business. He fell with his armor on. This 
 was the last precious soul he warned to flee from the wrath to 
 come. He returned home that evening with a severe pain in 
 his head. His disease crept upon him slowly, and did not 
 entirely prostrate him until a week after. Then its strides 
 were rapid and fearful. It was attended with great stupor and 
 prostration, and, in its last stages, by delirium. He seldom 
 spoke, and it was very trying for him to be conversed with. 
 On Saturday evening, August 26, our hearts were greatly 
 soothed by the arrival of our beloved physician. But it was too 
 late. The fearful disease had done its work. Delirium soon 
 ► came on, and during that long night of watching, no faint signs 
 of hope for the better cheered our hearts. The Sabbath dawned. 
 It was a calm, delightful morning, and at half-past seven 
 o’clock, having given to his beloved wife a tender and affecting 
 recognition, he most gently and sweetly fell asleep in Jesus. 
 
15 
 
 At one time during his illness, he expressed fears that his sick- 
 ness might be unto death, but he showed a sweet spirit of resig- 
 nation, committing himself into the hands of God. 
 
 On Sabbath evening, just a week before his death, he awoke 
 from sleep, while, at onr evening service, we were singing the 
 plaintive strains of Barby to the words, 
 
 “ With tears of anguish I lament, 
 
 Here at thy feet, my God, 
 
 My passion, pride, and discontent, 
 
 And vile ingratitude. 
 
 “ Sure there was ne’er a heart so base, 
 
 So false as mine has been ; 
 
 So faithless to its promises, 
 
 So prone to every sin. 
 
 “ How long, dear Saviour, shall I feel 
 These struggles in my breast ? 
 
 When wilt thou bow my stubborn will, 
 
 And give my conscience rest ? 
 
 “ Break, sovereign grace, 0 break the charm, 
 
 And set the captive free ; 
 
 Reveal, Almighty God, thinc-arm, 
 
 And haste to rescue me.” 
 
 * 
 
 He joined us in clear, distinct tones, and after the service, 
 remarked, “ I never heard music so sweet. It was like the 
 music of angels.” Our dear brother had often sung that tune 
 with us, but doubtless his mind was then in a frame so heavenly 
 and angelic, that, with a sympathy not of earth, he could enter 
 into the spirit of those simple strains of music, and those lines 
 of deep, poetic, contrite feeling. 
 
 On Monday evening he lay absorbed in thought for some 
 time. At length arousing, he said to Mrs. Crane, “ I have had 
 some very sweet thoughts of heaven.” He then requested her 
 to write the words, “ Heaven,” “ Jesus there,” “ So holy,” saying, 
 “ These will enable me to recall those sweet thoughts. When 
 I am well I will fill them out.” Yes, dear departed brother, 
 thou hast filled them out. Thou hast fully realized that blessed- 
 
16 
 
 ness of which those sweet thoughts were the foretaste. That 
 heaven thou hast now reached. That precious Saviour hast 
 thou now seen. With the beauty of holiness thou hast been 
 robed. 
 
 These simple incidents give us some faint glimpses into the 
 inner chamber of his thoughts during those days of severe illness. 
 The earthly was crumbling into ruins; the immortal spirit, now 
 fast changing into the image of its glorified Saviour, was walk- 
 ing along the borders of the happy land, regaling itself with its 
 glorious visions of beauty, and its sweet songs of glory. Our 
 brother left us no dying words ; but did we need them ? Since 
 we knew him, was not his life a continual dying to this 
 world, and all its vanities ? He did not, while crossing over the 
 dark river, beckon back to us that all was well, but for a long 
 time all had been well with him, for he had kept his lamp 
 trimmed and his light burning. His dying hour was not 
 attended with ecstatic visions, but, while walking among us, 
 from day to day, he had the ornament of a meek and quiet 
 spirit, and was daily bringing forth the peaceable fruits of 
 righteousness. 
 
 The funeral services were attended by a large concourse of 
 people in the village church. Deep sadness and gloom hung 
 over our little village. The poor people wept and sobbed in 
 their grief. Many were their expressions showing that they 
 felt our bereavement was tlieifs also, one saying, “ Our father 
 is taken from us.” The poor widow smiting upon her breast 
 and saying, “ He was a father to my orphan boys.” Each one 
 could tell some word of advice they had received from his lips, 
 while yet living, and the poor would tell of his charities, and 
 weep with the consciousness that they had lost their best earthly 
 friend. Often during the affecting funeral services, the whole 
 assembly would break out into weeping and sobbing. 
 
 His grave is with us, — just on the spot where, above all others, 
 we think he would have wished it to be. It is at his mountain 
 home, on an eminence, — a sacred spot, near the village church, 
 where he often preached. It looks out upon the beautiful 
 plain, the scene of his labors, and behind it, in sight, are the 
 lofty, snow-capped mountains, over which he toiled, and which 
 
17 
 
 inclose the people dear to his heart. The passing traveller ean 
 see it from the great thoroughfare, and it will be a silent mes- 
 senger to his soul, telling him of the holy, consecrated life of 
 him who rests there, and bringing vividly to remembrance his 
 many faithful instructions, counsels, and warnings. His is the 
 first precious dust of the Christian missionary committed to the 
 soil of Koordistan, and for many long years there has not been, 
 save the lamented Dr. Grant, so burning and shining a light in 
 all those dark regions. 
 
 He has gone! But, blessed be God, he has not left us com- 
 fortless. He has bequeathed to us a fragrant memory, and the 
 precious legacy of a holy character ; and that we may treasure up 
 this precious legacy, let us direct our thoughts to some of those 
 prominent, distinguishing traits of character. Our brother was 
 eminently conscientious. He had a very tender conscience, and 
 made conscience of every thing. In the strict improvement of 
 his time, in all his expenditures, even the smallest, at his meals, 
 in his studies, conversation, recreations, and labors, he carried 
 with him a conscience at once tender, wakeful, inquiring, sensi- 
 tive. Hence our dear brother’s religion was not emotional, or 
 fitful, or ecstatic. It was a religion of principle. He aimed to 
 do his whole duty in every thing, at all times, and in all places. 
 He aimed habitually at completeness of Christian character; 
 he never professed to have attained. No one knew better his 
 faults than himself, or struggled more earnestly to get the 
 entire victory. His standard of holiness was high, and he 
 seemed to be pressing steadily toward it. 
 
 He was eminently truthful. I do not mean merely in his 
 words. His character was eminently truthful. He seemed to 
 have nothing to conceal. His life was beautiful with the trans- 
 parency of truth. He never would express more than he felt. 
 He wished simply to go for what he was worth. There was 
 nothing assumed. He wished his outer life to be only a fair 
 counterpart of his inward life. He would never do or say, 
 what would indicate to others, that he had attained more than 
 he really had. His words were truthful words. He not only 
 did not intend to exaggerate, but in all his statements and nar- 
 rations, he did not exaggerate. His words were measured, and 
 
 2 * 
 
18 
 
 he knew, to be truthful, he must be on his guard as to what 
 impression others would get from his words. How beautiful is 
 truth ! and how beautifully did it sparkle, one of the brightest 
 gems in our brother’s lovely character ! 
 
 He was a noble-hearted and generous Christian. I know 
 not that I ever met with any one more free from all that was 
 bigoted, or narrow-minded. If he ever had them, he had to a 
 great extent lost all his denominational prejudices. His ample 
 charity embraced Christians of every name, as brothers in 
 Christ Jesus. While in America, a minister in the Presbyterian 
 church, he was not unfrequently found in the Methodist Class, 
 or the Baptist Experience Meeting, relating, with others, what 
 the Lord had done for his soul. He was not afraid to examine 
 any theory, or investigate the tenets of any sect, however much 
 they had been abused or vilified. He was not ashamed to walk 
 several miles to meet and converse with a poor Methodist 
 woman, eminent for holiness, and who hoped that she had 
 attained to some degree of “ perfect love.” He sought truth, 
 and he believed it was to be found in fragments among all 
 classes and denominations of Christians. 
 
 This trait of character was marked, in that charitable spirit 
 he exercised towards his fellow men. How gentle was he to 
 their frailties ! How ready ever to apologize for them, and put 
 the best construction truth would allow upon all their conduct 1 
 How tender was he of the good name of his brethren and asso- 
 ciates! I never knew him to utter a word that could be con- 
 strued so as to injure them. He loved them as he loved him- 
 self. Equally charitable was he to the many frailties of the 
 natives with whom he had intercourse. 
 
 He was generous, too, in his charities. There was nothing in 
 his nature close or narrow-hearted. He loved the poor. He 
 ever looked upon them with a pitying eye, and I do not believe 
 any one in distress ever left his door without invoking bless- 
 ings on his head. He gave, too, in such a way, that often- 
 times the receiver could never know whence his bounty came. 
 He gave from his own self-denials. He denied himself many 
 indulgences, that he might give bread to the hungry, clothing 
 to the naked, and the gospel to the perishing. He practised 
 
19 
 
 upon the principle that it is more blessed to give than to receive, 
 and that blessedness he experienced. 
 
 He was an humble and childlike Christian. “ \es,” said one 
 of our helpers who knew him well, “ he was just a little child 
 among us. One of those little ones of whom our Lord said, 
 ‘of such is the kingdom of heaven.’” How precious such a 
 testimony! In what a simple-hearted, harmless manner did he 
 move about among the people, kindly saluting them, visiting 
 their humble abpdes, interesting himself in their trials, and like 
 a little child making himself accessible to them. Said one of 
 our pious Nestorians, “ When he would talk with me about my 
 soul, he put his arms about my neck, and treated me like a 
 brother.” He did not think of himself more highly than he 
 ought to think. He bore injuries meekly, trials uncomplain- 
 ingly. I never heard him speak one angry word, or show any 
 bitterness of feeling whatever. 
 
 Our dear brother was a hopeful Christian. I do not think I 
 ever saw him discouraged or disheartened. At least it was but 
 for a moment. In all that was trying and disheartening in our 
 work, he kept a cheerful courage up. All is bright to God, 
 he would say, and then go on his way rejoicing. He knew his 
 Father was at the helm. In the darkest hour he trusted, and 
 no repining word ever escaped his lips. He had long before 
 counted the cost of giving himself to the missionary work, and 
 when trials came, they were just what he was waiting for. He 
 ever thanked God for the privilege of coming to Koordistan. 
 He expected, he longed to spend his life for the Nestorians, and 
 then to make his grave among them. 
 
 Our brother, for one of his early years and limited experience 
 in the missionary work, had, in a marked manner, a sanctified 
 judgment. In action he was quick and enthusiastic ; in delib- 
 eration he was calm and sober. His opinions were formed with 
 great care ; and the soundness of his views, and the maturity 
 displayed in some of his papers prepared for the missionary 
 rooms, had been often remarked in our circle. 
 
 He was eminently a self-denying Christian. His house, fur- 
 niture, dress, and his whole style of living, illustrated his self- 
 denying spirit. He denied himself many personal gratifications, 
 
that he might devote himself more exclusively to his work, and 
 do good to his fellow men. He felt that since a large part of 
 the funds of the Board were not from the abundance of the 
 wealthy, but from the poverty of the poor, he could not be too 
 careful in all his expenditures. Ever generous to others, he was 
 severe to himself. What to others would have been necessaries 
 or conveniences, were to him luxuries, and resolutely he refrained 
 from using them. He did not feel, that because he had made 
 the great sacrifice of leaving all that was dccy; to him in his 
 native land, he might here lay down his cross. He even took it 
 up more cheerfully, and bore it meekly after his suffering Sav- 
 iour. He denied himself many little things, which a conscience 
 less sensitive than his would have overlooked; and yet, with all 
 his self-denials, so slight were they compared with the sacrifices 
 of the Lord Jesus, he would often say that he had never yet 
 known what self-denial was. 
 
 He was eminent for that singleness of purpose with which he 
 devoted himself to the missionary work. What he did, he did 
 heartily as unto the Lord. I do not believe another will be 
 found who will love the poor mountaineers more tenderly, or 
 devote himself in a manner so self-sacrificing to their eternal 
 interests. The fondest affections of his nature had fastened 
 upon the missionary work, and his heart, glowing as it ever did, 
 with love to it, all trials and self-denials were met with unusual 
 cheerfulness and resignation. One purpose absorbed his affec- 
 tions, summoned his energies, and that was, to glorify God, in 
 labors for the salvation of the Nestorians. To this every thing 
 else was subordinate. He loved his friends devotedly. As a 
 husband and a father he was kind and considerate, but he loved 
 the Lord Jesus more than them all. 
 
 I might say more of him with whom I enjoyed sweet com- 
 munion during nearly two of the happiest years of my life. 
 But it is enough. Would that we might find some relief for 
 our deeply stricken hearts. 
 
 To you, dear sister, we turn, but it is with the feeling, where 
 shall we find acceptable words with which to soothe and solace 
 you in this the hour of your sorest bereavement? Ah, here we 
 feel entirely powerless. You are where our feeble sympathies 
 
21 
 
 can do you but little good. We would rather sit down and 
 weep in silence with you. When we think how bitter the cup 
 you all alone have been called to drink! When we think how 
 suddenly the beautiful stall' on which you lovingly leaned, was 
 broken asunder, and in its broken fragments you saw your 
 broken hopes; and when we think of dear little Morris, so 
 beautiful a miniature of his father, whom fond affection now 
 clasped with unwonted tenderness, as its own ; how he, too, that 
 same sad week, went to the embraces of his glorified parent, 
 and you were left all alone, O we feel that we must be still and 
 not intrude with our poor consolations. During these days of 
 your sorrow, heaven must have become increasingly dear. The 
 two dearest earthly objects have been transported there. Blessed 
 be God, you sorrow not as those who have no hope. You have 
 the sweet assurance that all is well with the dear ones who 
 have gone before you. May our ever sympathizing Saviour 
 most gently wipe away your tears and bind up your broken 
 heart. He came and took away Ilis precious prizes, and left 
 you no word to unravel the mysterious visitation. But He 
 says, “ I will see you again, and what you know not now you 
 shall know hereafter.” 
 
 And we, the associates of our beloved brother, how shall we 
 comfort and solace our own hearts ? We all felt that he had 
 entered upon a career of great promise for usefulness among 
 the Nestorians. His knowledge of the language was accurate, 
 and lie used it ably and efficiently. As a preacher, in his expo- 
 sitions he was clear, fervent, and oftentimes powerful in his 
 appeals. In his intercourse with the people he was always kind 
 and conciliatory, but never compromised with sin or error. He 
 was eminently a man of the people. He loved his study, he 
 loved his books, but more than all, he loved to preach Christ to 
 the masses. 
 
 He was fervent in the spirit, and taught diligently the things 
 of the Lord. We felt that he would be a chosen instrument of 
 great good to the Nestorians, and as we think of his eminent 
 qualifications for an efficient missionary, of his consecrated life, 
 of all the shining virtues which adorned his character ; when we 
 think of him as a warm-hearted friend, and most worthy asso- 
 
22 
 
 ciate, we are overwhelmed with a sense of the heavy, irreparable 
 loss we have sustained. We stand amazed at this strange, 
 providential dealing. But it is the Lord, and we thank Him 
 that He has not left us without consolation. For our beloved 
 brother we shed no sorrowing tear. God took him to Himself. 
 He is not here ; he is risen. He is still as ever a happy, minis- 
 tering. spirit, but now pure and holy. The battle is fought, the 
 victory is won. He is crowned a king, and consecrated forever 
 a priest unto God. While we weep, he sings the song of ever- 
 lasting joy. While we put on sackcloth, he the white robe of 
 triumph. While we go mourning and disconsolate, he ceases 
 not, day and night, to ascribe blessing, and honor, and glory, 
 and power, unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the 
 Lamb forever. 
 
 Shall we call him back to us? Would we have him tread 
 again this vale of tears ? The river once crossed, would we 
 have him pass again through its cold waters ? No, no. Stay 
 then, ransomed of the Lord. Sing on thy glad song, for we are 
 coming too. By God’s rich grace we hope to join you in your 
 happy, eternal home. 
 
 Beloved brethren and sisters, let us heed this most solemn 
 admonition. It is for us. We, too, are dying men. Are we 
 as holy as we ought to be, as we might be, if we would stir up 
 ourselves to take hold on God ? Let us be sober. Let us be 
 vigilant. Let us be instant, in season and out of season. Let 
 us live hour by hour, and moment by moment, our loins girded, 
 our lights burning, waiting for the coming of our Lord. 
 
 “ Weep not for the saint that ascends 
 To partake of the joys of the sky ; 
 
 Weep not for the seraph that bends 
 With the worshipping chorus on high ; 
 
 Weep not for the spirit now crowned 
 With the garland to martyrdom given ; 
 
 O, weep not for him ; he has found 
 His reward and refuge in heaven. 
 
 “ But weep for their sorrows, who stand 
 And lament o’er the dead by his grave ; 
 
 Who sigh when they muse on the land 
 Of their home far away o’er the wave. 
 
23 
 
 And weep for the nations who dwell 
 
 Where the light of the truth never shone, 
 Where anthems of praise never swell, 
 
 And the love of the Lamb is unknown. 
 
 u Weep not for the saint that ascends 
 To partako of the joys of the sky ; 
 
 Weep not for the seraph that bends 
 With the worshipping chorus on high ; 
 But weep for the mourners who stand 
 By the grave of their brother in tears, 
 And weep for the people whose land 
 
 Still must wait till the dayspring appears. 
 

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