Will Taylor-A Sketch- read at the funeral of William V. Taylor, July 8, 1871.
William V. Taylor was born in Putnam Co. May 3d, 1844. Of a frail constitution naturally, he was taken with Hemorrhage of the lungs in Feb 1 ’68. From that time he lived in imminent danger of death. Four weeks ago today he took to his room with the sickness which terminated his life at 8 1/2 o’clock on the morning of the 7 inst.
During the last few days of this illness his sufferings were great part of the time, were intense; he bore them patiently, however, only two or three times, perhaps, asking the Lord in mercy to take him.
The manner of his life is known to you all. He was an honest man, a loyal citizen, a kind neighbor, an affectionate husband and father. Would that the record might close here. Do you bid me be silent? He would not. With his last words he warned others to beware of his sad example. These weeping friends do not, for with the bitter recollection of terrible life-mistakes comes the grateful remembrance of repentance followed by peace and pardon in a dying hour.
From early life William had the advantage of religious example and training. In infancy he was dedicated to the Lord in baptism; in youth he was taught the divine precepts. Like so many others, however, he failed to realize his advantages. He fled from the gentle restraints of religion to be bound by the chains of sin. Through all his wanderings the prayers of father, mother and wife followed him. When others felt hopeless these bleeding hearts still and ever sent a prayer Heavenward for the return of the prodigal. And now we know that for months past the weary wanderer himself felt his bondage and groaned for deliverance.
Two weeks ago yesterday, I saw him first in his illness. I had not been long in the room when he requested his mother to get “the book” that the Scriptures might be read and prayer offered. After prayer he seemed to suffer the most excruciating mental agony. Burying his face in his hands, he lamented and wept aloud. When pointed to “The Lamb of God which taketh away the sin of the world”, he thought it too late for him to be received. “I have spent my life”, he said, “in sin. I have disregarded these things all my life and now when death is staring me in the face it is a hard thing–” the sentence was unfinished.
I called again the same forenoon and again he requested readng and prayer. He seemed more hopeful – desired to be remembered in prayer and promised to pray for himself. This promise he kept as he afterward said that he prayed all the time when he was at himself. This was on Friday the 18″ alt. On the Monday following, he held a long conversation with his brother, Samuel. For months past he had given evidence of the fact that he was beginning to realize his condition. Several times he had referred to some secret trouble that he would or could not tell to any one – “trouble enough”, to use his own words, “to kill me’.
In this conversation on Monday the trouble of his life was disclosed. It was the old, old story of the burden of sin, “the gall of bitterness and the bond of iniquity.” And this is the way he told it: “For a long time something has seemed to go just before me leading me into sin, as profanity and other things which I hated. Something else seemed to follow just behind saying: ‘Stop! Stop!’ The former always prevailed. I would go out by myself and pray, but all to no purpose.”
“At eve it shall be light.” Thank God, light came at last, the darkness was gone. A wonderful change had been wrought. His brother asked: “Are your sins forgiven?”
“Yes”, he replied with utmost confidence. “The prayers which have been offered for me and my own have been answered. I have felt a change, though I do not know how, or when it came.”
My friends, does not this bring to mind the words of Him who hath power on earth to forgive sins? The wind bloweth where it listeth and thou hearest the sound thereof but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth; so is every one that is born of the Spirit.”
“Are you afraid to die?” the brother asked. “No,” he answered, “I would like to get up to unite with the church but I never expect to get out of this.”
One week from the time of my first visit I called again. The cloud was gone from the brow and the pain from the heart. He was told that it would require grace and moral courage to meet the opinion of the world in carrying out his new resolution if he should get up again. He said he did not care what others thought of him. He also repeated the substance of the conversation related above to the effect that his sins were forgiven, had experienced a change and was not afraid to die – “that was settled now.”
The Scriptures were read a great deal and prayer was offered daily in his room until weakness and delirium forbade. He seemed perfectly acquainted with the plan of Salvation, with the fact to be ascribed, doubtless, to early training.
When thought to be too weak and delirious to listen to the reading of the word or to engage with us in prayer, it was said to him: “William, we want you to leave us every token you can of the presence of Jesus while you are yet with us. We want to know where you put your trust.” “In God and His promises”, he promptly replied. “Can you trust the Savior?” “Yes. I feel that he died for me.”
We knew that his peace was made with God. But one care was upon his mind, and that was in regard to his little family. Most of all he regretted leaving his little boy, “Frankie”. A few hours before his departure, rousing up from delirium, his eye fell upon the policy he held in the “Mutual Benefit Society” of the Masonic Fraternity. Pointing to it he said: “Thank God, my family will get it.”
Thursday he was rapidly sinking and at one time was thought to be dying. His friends gathered about him to speak a last farewell. In the intervals of consciousness he extended his hand to the wife, mother and child and some others perhaps and in an audible voice said: “Goodbye”. One asked: “Is Jesis with you?” He could only nod a reply, but this and the peaceful look he gave were as the words of the Psalmist: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me.”
Let us allude to one more circumstance, remarkable in its nature and giving an additional ray of hope. The deceased inquired at one time if he used profane language in his sleep or delirium. Whe assured that he did not he manifested satisfaction and said he knew he should not – “was not afraid of that”. Thank God, the lips that had, in consciousness become used to profanity, in delirium moved in prayer. One name often trembled forth in fervent supplication – it was the precious name of Jesus. “O Jesus have mercy,” sometimes was the petition and on Thursday evening when the lips seemed to move in prayer one bent to listen and again that dear name was heard. The words were almost incoherent but were thought to be: “Jesus, Oh, Jesus my friend!”
Friday morning at three o’clock his wife and a brother-Samuel- stood at his bedside. He seemed to rouse up somewhat but it was some time before he recognized them. When consciousness came, the brother put the question so often and anxiously asked before: “Are you willing to die?”
“Yes”, then turning to his companion whom he caressed, he said: “Meet me in Heaven.” “I will” was the answer. “I am going to live a different life.” “Do, do, do,” he said, “let this be a warning to you.” These were his last words, save once when he spoke of being nearly gone.
I have given only a few of the many evidences we have that the prayers which followed our deceased brother for years were at last answered. The last verbal token has been given but there is one other which will be cherished so long as the dying words shall be remembered. It was only a look – a smile of joy beaming upon the countenance just as teh spirit took flight. We love to think of this beautiful and last expression of earth as the first of Heaven – the result of the first celestial impulse, the first immortal pulsation, the first glimmer of light from the glory-land, the first view of Heavenly visitants. Certain it is that he looked upon some vision of glory which earthly eyes have never beheld.
Bainbridge, Ind.,
Feb. 9.” 1872
