Clje <£>crob #lb JEait's UJemorial: 
A SERMON 
Delivered March 26, 1868, at the Funeral of the 
HON. HENRY HALSEY CHILDS, I.D., 
AT PITTSFIELD, MASS., 
BY 
REV. JOHN TODD, D.D. 
CAMBRIDGE: 
PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON. 
1868. fffje 6oob @I1> glim's gltmortal: 
A SERMON 
Delivered March 26, 1868, at the Funeral of the 
HON. HENRY HALSEY CHILDS, M.D., 
AT PITTSFIELD, MASS., 
BY 
KEY. JOHN TODD, D.D. 
CAMBRIDGE: 
PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON. 
1868. SERMON. 
Then Abraham gave up the ghost, and died in a good old age, an old man, and 
full of years. — Gen. xxv. 8. 
Fortunes are sometimes acquired in a day. Wealth 
seems to drop here and there, sometimes without any 
connection with worth. A young man may die rich; 
but character, influence, — that which lives, — must be 
the growth of years. The men in Bible times whose 
names come down to us as the representatives of 
great worth, lights that time can never put out, were 
old men. They were such men as Abraham, Isaac, 
Jacob, Joseph, Job, Moses, Joshua, Eli, Samuel, David, 
Isaiah, Daniel, Simeon, John the aged disciple, and 
Paul the aged. Men cannot become such as these 
without long years of experience and many trials, 
hard wrestlings with temptation, and great victories 
over themselves. We know nothing how these men 
looked. There they are, looming up through the 
past, growing greater, brighter, more beautiful, as the 
years of earth are numbered and roll away. Other 
things perish, — cities, governments, nations ; but the 
influence of such men lives and walks among every 
generation, bright as the constellations which adorn 
the concave of the heavens. 4 
Abraham was eighty years old before his character 
began to be drawn out: so was Moses; but doubt- 
less the foundations of this character were laid in 
the solitudes of their own hearts before. And so 
great is the character of Abraham to this day, that a 
few years ago it was a matter of national diplomacy, 
that the Prince of Wales, the heir to the throne of 
England, should have the privilege of visiting his 
tomb in Palestine. 
When Joseph and all the descendants of Jacob 
follow the body of the old worn-out Patriarch, as 
they carry him up out of Egypt to lay his dust with 
that of his ancestors, a nation becoming mourners, it 
is a tribute to worth of character; it is homage to 
that which can only be the growth of long years. 
The tears unconsciously start as you see the new, 
trim, beautiful ship glide into the water at her launch- 
ing. Her proportions are so beautiful, her form so 
graceful, her finish so exquisite, and her promise of 
walking fearlessly over the ocean on her great errands 
of trust, we at once associate a great future with her. 
Let a score of years pass away, and then stand on 
the wharf, and see that same ship as she enters the 
harbor, her worn-out hull covered with barnacles, 
her masts crippled and shattered, her rigging broken, 
her sails rent and in tatters, her whole form battered 
and bruised. How slowly, as if weary and feeble, 
she comes to the spot where she is to drop the anchor 
for the last time! How sea-worn she looks as she 
finishes her last voyage! How many storms has she 
weathered! how many wrecks has she sailed over! 
how many rocks and reefs has she barely escaped ! 5 
how many ports has she visited! how unlike her- 
self when launched, and yet how rich the cargoes 
she has dropped in her journeyings! how surpass- 
ingly rich the contents of the old ship to-day, as she 
comes home to die! The thoughtless man will see 
only an old, worn-out hulk; but, to the man of re- 
flection, the sight brings a thousand thoughts and 
associations that are impressive. 
There are so many temptations in life, so many 
dangers, that you know not who may fall, nor how 
fully you may give your confidence, till the man has 
passed through all these, safe and entire; but when 
you gather to bury the old man who has passed over 
all the pitfalls, the temptations, and dangers of life, 
you feel sure of character. Till the wheat-field is 
fully ripe, you know not how the blast, the rust, or 
the weevil, may destroy it. It is not till the field is 
white, and the heads bend low, that you feel sure of 
the harvest. 
People sometimes, especially when young, are very 
anxious about their reputation, and are afraid that 
men will estimate them less highly than they ought. 
The truth is, we need have no anxiety about our 
reputation. That will take care of itself. If you 
don’t deserve respect, men can’t give it: if you do, 
they can’t withhold it. It does not depend on others 
whether or not you are respected ; if you deserve it, 
they cant withhold it. No man gains any thing by 
fighting or quarrelling or worrying about his stand- 
ing among men. Let him faithfully meet his duties, 
and he will command the respect of his generation. 
But it is not enough that you be negatively good, 6 
that you are an inoffensive, quiet man, floating 
along with the current; but to gain respect you must 
do something; you must be a positive force in the 
world; you must do something for the good of men. 
Men sometimes find fault with a moving power, and 
call the intensely active man ambitious, or forth- 
putting ; but they will lean upon him and call upon 
him in their need, and they will allow that if any 
thing is done for the good of humanity, such men 
must do it. There are few powers in the world com- 
pared with earnestness. When the old ship “ Consti- 
tution ” bore down to grapple with her adversary in 
the death-struggle, she fired not a gun, nor shifted a 
sail, till within pistol-shot of the enemy. This terri- 
ble confidence and earnestness gave her the victory in 
twenty minutes. And you often see the earnest man — 
sometimes mistaken for self-confident — push aside 
difficulties and overcome obstacles that would appall 
men of no emotion. When, with this earnest spirit, 
you find a tolerable degree of prudence and caution, 
you have then an instrument of great power. The 
man who doubled his five talents and made them ten, 
or his two talents and made them four, might have 
seemed too energetic, and been accused of ambition 
and self-seeking; but it was the inoffensive, good- 
natured, slothful servant who did nothing, who is 
cast into outer darkness. It is not the man who 
meets, but the man who refuses, responsibility, calling 
indolence by the beautiful name of modesty, who 
has this terrible doom pronounced upon him. We 
may make mistakes: that is almost inseparable from 
humanity. But the power and faculties which God 7 
has given us are for use, and no one is excusable for 
not using them to their full measure; and we are to 
be held accountable to this, at the last great day. 
All the providences of God are in favor of him who 
uses his talents, great or small. It is encouraging, 
too, to notice how the men whom God has highly 
honored in his Word were of different callings and 
employments. Some followed the lowly occupation 
of herdsmen ; some, shepherds; some, generals, law- 
givers, judges, priests, leaders, kings, and prophets. 
The beloved physician shall write two very im- 
portant books in the Bible. The tent-maker shall 
write several; the fishermen, several more. Thus no 
class can say, There is no place for me in minister- 
ing to the wants of humanity. The upright judge, 
the faithful magistrate, the true lawyer, the skilful 
physician, the conscientious senator, the humble min- 
ister of the gospel, are all in high positions for doing 
good, and making a character that will have a wide 
influence; and so is the merchant and the manufac- 
turer and the mechanic and the farmer, and every 
other class of men. The difficulty is, we don’t put 
forth half the efforts, nor produce half the results, 
we might. What a waste of life, of talent, of in- 
fluence, and of usefulness is constantly going on in 
every community! So that when we see one who is 
earnest in his efforts, and who rises above difficulties, 
we are amazed at the results. They are the excep- 
tions to the majority of men; whereas the slothful 
and the inactive ought to be the exception. 
No one of the good old men commemorated in the 
Bible was great or good independent of God, but 8 
just in proportion as he united himself with God. 
It is the glory of God that He inhabits eternity, even 
in the high and holy place. It is the glory of man 
that this high and lofty One will come down and dwell 
with him; filling his mind with light, his plans with 
wisdom, and his soul with divine love. We are con- 
nected with the eternal world, not by our innocence, 
but by the indwelling presence of God. And we 
should esteem him only to be great who is most like 
God when He left the magnificence of heaven to 
dwell among men. We esteem those to be respecta- 
ble who have great talents, deep learning, high sta- 
tion, honorable titles ; and such we chase after. With 
such we want to associate, and to such pay our hon- 
ors. But so did not the Son of God; and were He 
to come to our world again to dwell, He would speak 
to those whom others would pass by, associate with 
those whom others would scorn, and communicate 
most freely with those who are most lowly. We are 
not, then, to feel that a character is symmetrical, or 
has fulfilled his mission, if he has tried to cut loose 
from God, and walk in his own light. 
The cross, the cross of Christ, is the brightest 
thing of earth! and he who tries to serve his genera- 
tion without fixing his eye on that, will accomplish 
little real, permanent good. Strength must be fed with 
what creates strength, — faith in God, faith that you 
are co-operating with him, only can give you the 
untiring stimulus and perseverance of the good man. 
Cut loose from God, you are an atom floating amid 
the mists of time, without chart or compass, harbor 
or rest. No life has been a success, no character has 9 
been filled out, no influence has been the best and 
safest, no character has been the noblest, out of which 
the element of religion has been left. God will 
honor them, and them only, who honor Him. “ Be 
not deceived: God is not mocked; for whatsoever 
a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” 
We have come together at this time to bury an old 
man, an old citizen. We cannot yet realize that 
we shall meet him no more in our streets, in our 
assemblies, and in the various walks of good citizen- 
ship. But it is not age merely that gathers so many 
here to-day, and gives to all the look that is solemn 
and mournful. It is to character, and a great amount 
of character, to which you are now paying deserved 
homage. We have lost an honored and an uncom- 
mon man. Born in this town on the 7th of June, 
1783, he was almost eighty-five years old at his 
death. 
Henry H. Childs had a distinguished ancestry. 
His grandfather was a captain in the Revolutionary 
War, and his father was a lieutenant. They were 
both on their march as soon as the guns on Bunker 
Hill were heard. Dr. Timothy Childs, of Pittsfield, 
his father, was a physician here of large practice, 
and as such, highly esteemed, — a man of marked 
character. His mother I knew and admired for many 
years before her death. She was over ninety at her 
death’, and a very remarkable woman, — remarkable 
for strength of mind, much reading, admirable in 
domestic life, highly and intellectually educated, and 
consistently and ardently pious. Her large family — 
the sons, pillars in society, the daughters, polished 10 
stones in the palace of God — was an uncommon fam- 
ily. I believe it was when Dr. Childs was Lieutenant- 
Governor of old Massachusetts, that her sons met at 
her house, and sat down on stools at her feet as they 
did when little boys, — one a general in the army of 
the United States, one a member of Congress, who 
bore, moreover, the title of Judge, and the other a 
Governor, — and received her counsels and smiles with 
a delight seldom equalled. They are all among the 
dead to-day, save one only sister. 
Dr. Childs graduated at Williams College, in 1802, 
at the early age of nineteen. He studied medicine 
with his father and commenced practising it with an 
ardor not often met with. At that early age he first 
introduced vaccination into this town. For more than 
fifty years he has stood here, the practice of medi- 
cine being his chief pursuit. Among the things he 
has accomplished are the following: — 
He has acquired a wide-spread reputation as a 
physician, — a reputation which few attain, even by 
more than fifty years’ labor. He has established a 
medical school, himself, the originator and father 
of it, the moving power. He was the eye, the ear, 
the mouth, and often the hands, of the institution. 
It has educated and sent out nearly thirteen hundred 
young men, who have done honor to the institution 
and to the profession. He has called around him, 
as lecturers, from time to time, many of the first men 
of whom our country can boast; and wherever you go, 
in any part of the country, you will hear Dr. Childs 
inquired for, and spoken of with the kindest and 
deepest respect. He projected and created the medi- 11 
cal college at a time when probably not another man 
would have thought of or would have attempted it. 
Against the indifference and prejudices of the Legis- 
lature, he forced his act of incorporation, and soon 
turned incredulity into admiration. To handle and 
manage a machine already made, is a very different 
thing from creating the machine. 
He has attained a high rank as a medical lecturer 
at home, in the medical institution in Vermont, and 
also the larger one at Columbus, Ohio. At one time 
his students at home amounted to one hundred and 
fifty. 
He has more than once represented his native town 
in the Legislature ; the county in the Senate ; and the 
State in the convention to revise its Constitution in 
1820, and as its second magistrate in 1843. 
He has twice been elected President of the Berk- 
shire Bible Society, presiding with great acceptance. 
He has been a member of the First Church in this 
town forty-nine years, and its oldest officer nearly six- 
teen years. He has achieved and maintained a repu- 
tation among his fellow-men of a high order, with 
so little to detract or tarnish, that he goes down to 
the grave like an autumnal sun, full and clear, in the 
fulness of its glory, with not a cloud to obscure its 
brightness. As a son, a husband, a father, a friend, 
he has left a name and an example worthy of all 
admiration and imitation. 
The most prominent trait in his character was a 
deep, inward, irrepressible enthusiasm. It was not 
that he sometimes or easily kindled, but he was 
always aglow. No matter what the thing in hand, 12 
he went at it with a zest that left no place for failure. 
Let him meet a medical society, a political caucus or 
convention, a medical class in the lecture-room, a 
literary gathering, a town-meeting, or a church prayer- 
meeting, the result was the same. There was an 
enthusiasm about him that would kindle others. It 
was contagious. If he did not convince you, he 
moved you. It was a fire ever burning in his bones, 
never quenched by difficulties, never abated by any 
present want of success. It commanded success. It 
made him the heroic physician, the enthusiastic 
teacher, the warm friend, the glowing patriot, and 
the warm-hearted, generous Christian. It was a very 
different thing from vanity or self-seeking. It was 
no question with him whether he made or lost money 
or reputation. There was the thing to be achieved, 
and he moved so quickly and rapidly, that he often 
accomplished his object before other people had de- 
cided whether or not it was feasible, or even prudent 
to attempt it. 
When any thing for the public good was proposed, 
whether to build a church, introduce gas or water, 
build a school-house, or any thing else, we always 
knew that Dr. Childs would be foremost with his 
purse and his influence. Few men can be named as 
his superior in public spirit. Generous almost to a 
fault, there was no charity to which he did not con- 
tribute, and often most bountifully. At home his 
hospitality was charming, cheerful, cordial, and un- 
sparing. No one ever forgot what a good place it 
was to come to the second time, after having shared 
it once. Had he been as saving and careful as he 13 
was generous and charitable, he would have been 
one of the very richest men in the county. Money 
was a mere servant with him, and the servant never 
came near being master. It was wonderful to see 
how a man over eighty could be ever at his post, — 
even at every religious meeting, rain or shine. It 
was wonderful to see how elastic was his body, how 
young and sympathetic his spirit, how warmly he 
sympathized with the young, how fully he kept up 
with the times, and never let the world in its move- 
ments outstrip him. 
It is not out of place, too, to mention his uniform 
gentleness and politeness. He was a Christian gentle- 
man of the old school; and I have heard it remarked, 
that when lieutenant-governor, in his official capacity, 
he extended to strangers the courtesies of his official 
character with a politeness that was marked and 
admired. 
In losing the wife of his youth, and a lovely 
family, among whom was a son who was an honor 
to his name, his town, and his profession; in passing 
through multiplied sorrows, and wading deep in the 
waters of affliction, — his confidence in God, his faith 
in Christ, not only sustained him, but enabled him to 
manifest a cheerfulness and a chastened submission 
seldom seen. The bow of hope always spanned the 
dark waters as they surged and foamed and dashed 
down the most beautiful pillars of earth before him. 
The basis of Dr. Childs’ character, I must say, after 
long observation, was religion. 
It is sometimes thought almost necessary for a 
physician to be sceptical, and to feel that the very 14 
little he can do with matter must shut out a spiritual 
world, and leave us to flounder and wilder in mate- 
rialism.. I cannot understand the cause of this. Cer- 
tainly it is stopping in a very low and dark region, to 
stop at what is material, leaving the noblest part of 
our nature and of the universe out of calculation. 
I wish it to be distinctly understood that such a scep- 
ticism, however elevating to pride or vanity, never 
raises a physician in the estimation of the commu- 
nity. On the contrary, we well know that no man is 
sceptical in religion, who has not some shallow spot 
in his mental organization. There is a screw loose 
somewhere. For nearly fifty years, Dr. Childs has 
been a consistent believer in the inspiration of the 
Bible, the divinity of Christ, and the atonement. I 
question whether he ever had a doubt on the subject. 
And you can all decide the question, whether it is not 
the character which is underlaid by the religion of 
Christ, which causes us to honor him so truly and so 
sincerely to-day. This hopefulness in religion not 
only upheld him personally, but it underlay his hope 
for his country. Many times I have heard him say, 
he relied on the Gospel for all reformations, and for 
all his hopes for his country; that his democratic 
principles would not save his country, except as they 
were based on the Gospel. This great hopefulness 
made the world bright, and the future of the world 
bright. Indeed, he seemed to stand on the mountain- 
tops, on the very edge of the millennium, and had 
visions of the future of the world as bright as dia- 
monds, — the swallowing up of the kingdoms of this 
world in the fulness of millennial glory. 15 
His medical brethren present have lost their aged 
chieftain, the very Nestor of their profession; a hard 
worker in the vineyard before most of them were 
born; one who has been an ornament and a power, 
as an example of hard work, as the originator and 
the very soul of the medical college, as long at the 
head of the medical society of the county, as the 
warm-hearted co-laborer, genial, ready, kind, and 
gentle. 
The Church of God has lost an old member, an 
efficient officer, a liberal giver, a constant attendant 
at the meeting for prayer, and a warm heart in all 
that is good. 
The pastor has lost a friend, long-tried, sincere, 
appreciative, and true. 
His family have lost the large, loving heart, the 
ready counsellor, and praying head. The light which 
he shed on their home goes not out by his removal. 
The community has lost a patriarch who has long 
been seen standing at the altar of patriotism and of 
religion. 
If it were allowable to have envy, should we not 
almost envy the man who has lived so long, accom- 
plished so much, made so deep a mark upon his 
generation, with so few blemishes to be lamented, 
so few weaknesses to be excused, with a disposition so 
cheerful and a nature so happy that he made all 
about him cheerful, and has gone home to the re- 
wards of the redeemed? 
Doubtless I might mention frailties and weaknesses 
which you would all recognize; but this is not my 
business, nor do I deem it within the line of my duty. 16 
It is those who, not active, not efficient, and who have 
little character, whose weaknesses are not seen. 
For months, and even years, I have seen that our 
friend was ripening for a better state, growing mild, 
mellow, gentle, and childlike, as he drew near the 
end of life. 
Even Christians have a different experience in dying 
as well as in life, one from another. Some, the best 
of men, die with an intellect darkened by disease or 
medicine, or both. Some, too, have such an over- 
powering sense of sin, of their sinfulness, that they 
dare not step out in the full light of hope. But 
when the disposition is naturally cheerful, and the in- 
tellect unclouded, and the powers free from narcotics, 
we should expect to find the end of the Christian’s 
life light. The pilgrim has finished his wanderings ; 
the day of life, not fully light nor all dark, is now 
closing, and God hath promised that “ it shall come 
to pass that at evening-time it shall be light.” I can 
give you no better picture of his last sickness than in 
the words of one of the loved ones who watched over 
and ministered to him during his last sickness; pre- 
mising, that, a few weeks before his death, I made a 
journey to Boston on purpose to see my aged and 
true friend once more. His joy on seeing me was 
a full reward for the journey. I found him much 
emaciated, nerves very sensitive, eye bright, mind 
clear, and his faith strong. We compared notes 
respecting the great things pertaining to salvation. 
He was resting firmly on Christ, the Bock of Ages. 
He was resigned entirely to the will of God. I said, 
“ The family who occupy your house wish me to 17 
say they will vacate it at any time you are able to 
come back to Pittsfield.” — “Oh, thank them, thank 
them from me. I have had a great desire to go back 
there once more. Possibly I may be able. But all 
that is passing over, and it’s of no consequence.” 
Requesting me to pray with him, I knelt at his bed- 
side, holding one of his hands in mine. The gentle 
pressure of his hand as we prayed for him, his chil- 
dren, and grandchildren; for the Church; for the 
cause of our dear Redeemer; for dying grace when 
we should die, — showed that he made every petition 
his own. We were alone, the minister and the old, 
dying patriarch, and we prayed just as we felt. His 
eyes were full of bright tears — tears of faith and 
hope — when we closed. Looking around the beau- 
tiful chamber, I said, “ You have every thing here 
which kindness and love can bestow.” — “ Oh, yes: Pm 
full of mercies; and I can’t thank God enough.” — 
“ And you have no fear of dying l ” — “ Oh, no ! My 
fear is I shall not be patient to wait God’s time.” 
We both felt that we should never meet again on the 
shores of time. I felt that he was just dipping his 
feet in the waters of the river, and felt sure it would 
open, and let him pass over on dry ground. I kissed 
and parted with the old man, who had been my fast 
friend more than twenty-six years, the senior deacon 
of my church for nearly sixteen years; and I was 
more overcome than he. 
I now turn to the narrative already mentioned. 
Dr. Childs was confined to his room seven weeks, and 
most of this time, to his bed. During all this period, he 
was almost absolutely free from pain or disease. It was 18 
only a gentle ebbing away of the powers of life, leaving 
the mind bright and clear to the last. 
During the early part of his illness, — if it can be called 
such, — he had an earnest longing to return to his old home, 
and to die or to live there, as it might please God. This 
wish was often expressed by him, and it sometimes mingled 
even with the murmurs of his sleep. But, for about three 
weeks before his death, he seemed to have laid aside this, 
with every other anxiety and care of a temporal character. 
After that, and until the close, his only themes were love 
and gratitude to the dear ones who were constantly and 
devotedly administering to him, or the goodness of God, 
and the delightful prospect that was opening before him 
of the enjoyments of heaven. 
To say that he was calm and resigned would very in- 
adequately describe the remarkable and blessed spirit in 
which he passed these last mortal days. He was not only 
always resigned and cheerful, but there were periods — 
and these not a few — when his soul seemed to rise into a 
holy ecstasy in view of the “joy that was set before him.” 
The following are a few of the expressions into which 
his love and faith broke forth during the last week of his 
life. 
On the Sunday night, a week before his death, when 
he thought his end was very near, he repeatedly ex- 
claimed, — 
“ Oh, how good and gracious and merciful! ” 
Calling the name of the beloved wife who had preceded 
him, he said, — 
“ O dear [mother] ! I shall see you soon. I shall see all those 
loved ones. I thank God for it. 
“ I thank God for all his goodness to my dear family. We 
have enjoyed much together here, but nothing compared with the 19 
enjoyment of His heavenly kingdom. Blessed be God, blessed be 
the Saviour of the world ! 
“ What shall I render unto the Lord for all his goodness, — 
his mercies to me ? ” 
At another time he said, — 
“What a wonderful thing is this twofold existence, — a tem- 
poral life and an ethereal life ! I can understand it now as I never 
could before. The object of this tempoi’al life is not merely to 
live, but to have communion with God, and to prepare for his 
blessed and eternal kingdom.” 
Again: — 
“ You cannot conceive, I cannot tell you, how delightfully the 
moments pass, thinking of the goodness of God. No pain, no 
suffering, no death. God be praised, and He will be praised.” 
He repeatedly said, and almost to the last day, — 
“ All things work together for good,”— “ perfect peace.” “ What 
an extraordinary illness ! no pain ! — I thank God for it.” 
The Monday night preceding his death, he spoke with 
great fervor of the goodness of God, and of the happy 
prospect before him; and then turning to his family, all of 
whom were present (including a much-loved niece), he 
said, u I want to bid you all farewell.” To each one he 
then gave his blessing and farewell, — the dear grandchil- 
dren so loved, and loving him so much, kneeling one by 
one at the bedside of the patriarch. 
He spoke to all in the most impressive and affection- 
ate terms, not forgetting the kind and gentle nurse who 
had been devoted to him by night and by day; and, while 
they were overwhelmed with grief, he was full of peace 
and joy “ in anticipation,” as he said,11 of meeting them in 
heaven with those dear ones who had gone before.” 
He closed this most affecting scene by repeating three 
times the word “ farewell; ” and then, as if he had done with 
earth, he said, “ Now let me go to sleep.” 
The day before his death he turned to his daughter, 20 
and calling her by name, with a look and tone inexpressibly 
tender and loving, he gave her his last benediction: — 
“ [Annie,] God bless you a thousand times.” 
He died, as he would have wished, on Sunday morning, 
March 22, at fifteen minutes past eleven o’clock. A few 
minutes before, he was asked if he would like some nourish- 
ment which was offered to him. He replied that “ he was 
perfectly well either with it or without it.” He then asked 
to be turned in his bed, and, in a moment after, without a 
sigh or murmur he fell asleep. 
So lived and so died our friend, “ an old man, and 
full of years.” Now take out the Christian’s character 
and hope; take out the atonement, which recovers 
the sinner, and connects him with God; take out 
eternity, to which this life is the mere vestibule, — 
and what is all the rest? The man lives fourscore 
years, and we call it a long life ; but, if that be the 
end, what is this ? He was active and energetic, and 
accomplished a great deal; but, if that is the end, 
what is it ? But if the man be immortal; if he has 
achieved the great ends of life by being brought to 
God in sympathy and communion; if all the expe- 
rience of life here is so woven into character as to fit 
him for higher, nobler duties in the new state on 
which he has entered, thus connecting him with God 
in his great plans, and making him a part of eternity 
in its unfoldings, — it is something more than a piece 
of worn-out humanity that we consign to the grave ; it 
is something that was the temple of the Holy Ghost, 
— something to be raised hereafter in power and 
glory, — something that will shine above the bright- 
ness of the sun for ever and ever. 21 
Men talk of nature ; but nature separates us widely 
from God. We go up the mountain, where the eye 
sees far, and the air is thin, and the clouds are near; 
but we do not meet God there. We sail on the vast 
ocean, days, weeks, — no land, no termination, — and 
the eye wearies with vastness; but we do not meet 
God. We go to the sister-planets, and gather them 
around the sun, a family of sisters, and this world 
among the smallest, and God is not there. We follow 
nature up to the great sun, and then to the nearest 
fixed star, and then to the next, each star, a sun, with 
its family of worlds around it, — and then we shoot 
off into the nebulEe of the heavens, till we have vis- 
ited eighty millions of such planetary systems, — but 
we have not overtaken God. We go forward, and He 
is not there ; and backward, where Pie doth hide Him- 
self, but we cannot perceive Him; and on the right 
hand, where He doth work, and we cannot find Him; 
but, when we come back to the God of revelation, we 
find Him here, in the Church, at the communion-table, 
at the family altar, in the chamber of the dying Chris- 
tian, and in the heart of the humble one. His throne 
is in the high heavens; but His mansion is also on earth, 
in the heart of the contrite. Cold, cold, unsatisfy- 
ing, are all the consolations we can draw from other 
sources, wrhen we turn away from the atonement of 
Jesus Christ. No man is great enough, wise enough, 
good enough, to step off the shores of time, into the 
untried eternity, alone. He wants help greater than 
human: he wants to feel a hand leading him that 
is almighty, and be embraced by a love that is infinite. 
We do not hope for infinite mercies and life eternal 22 
for our departing friends because they are so good, or 
have attained so much; but because they have com- 
mitted their souls to a Redeemer who is almighty 
to save. We have no hope of our own salvation 
because we are good, but because we have an Advo- 
cate with the Father, a great and merciful High 
Priest, who hath been tempted with us, and who died 
for us; and we wish for no other hope, no other refuge ; 
and we desire, when our end shall come, we may, 
with the dying martyr, commit our souls to Him, and 
breathe the prayer, “ Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” IN MEMORIAM. 
Died Sept. 8, 18G4, Mrs. Sarah Childs, wife of Hon. H. H. Childs, M.D., 
Pittsfield, Mass.* 
Time, while it assuages our grief, vet strengthens the 
sense of all that was lost in the death of this beloved wife 
and mother. To those who knew her, it will seem no 
exaggeration to say, that no lovelier character, no purer or 
more beneficent life, ever blessed a human home. She 
seemed to live but for one purpose, — to do her Master's 
will by ministering unto others. 
Forgetful only of herself, it was her constant study and 
her greatest pleasure to promote the comfort and well- 
being of all who came within the reach of her unobtrusive 
but exhaustless charity. 
To a most amiable and generous disposition she united 
a refined and spotless delicacy of soul which rivalled the 
lily in purity. 
Great personal beauty rendered these qualities, if possi- 
ble, still more attractive ; and, although time left some 
traces of its threescore years and ten, it spared, to the last, 
the soft and beaming eye, the loving smile, the ever- 
graceful and winning demeanor. She was most womanly 
in every thought, word, and action. She believed that 
woman’s true sphere of usefulness and honor is home; 
and she rendered her own the abode of cheerful hospital- 
ity and of almost perfect domestic happiness, by all the 
ministrations of a ready taste, a skilful hand, and a lavish 
and loving heart. 
* This notice of Mrs. Childs was written at the time it bears date, and is 
now published in compliance with the wishes of Dr. Childs. 24 
Whatever was most bright and beautiful had an unusual 
charm for her. She rejoiced in the genial and varied glow 
of opening summer, — in flowers, in the innocence and 
gayety of little children. 
Inexpressibly tender and yearning was her love for those 
younger olive plants — her children’s children — who 
brightened and filled again with sweet blossoms the gar- 
den of her home. 
Her judgment, which seemed to be intuitive to her 
calm and guileless nature, was remarkably just and true. 
Abhorring and lamenting what she deemed an indelicate 
and unfeminine officiousness in public affairs, she was yet 
very far from being indifferent to the course of public 
events, and took an eager and intelligent interest in all 
that related to the honor and welfare of her country. 
There is, however, no trait in her character upon which 
it is so consoling or instructive to dwell, as her humble, 
self-distrusting, unostentatious piety. Unostentatious, in- 
deed ; and yet it proclaimed itself in all her life and con- 
versation, and shed an attractive radiance about her daily 
path. It enlarged her heart in prosperity; it taught her 
trustful submission under some grievous sorrows and 
bereavements ; and, at the last, it robbed death, even to her 
gentle and shrinking spirit, of all its terrors, and enabled 
her to commit her soul with unfaltering trust to that 
blessed Saviour who was the strength of her heart, and 
has become her portion for ever. 
December, 1864.