The Life And Testimony Of Eliza Grace

Gospel Standard 1880:

Death. On Jan. 1st, at Brighton, aged 69, Eliza Grace, the relict of John Grace, for many years minister at West Street Chapel in that town.

Mrs. Grace was so well known and esteemed by many of our readers, the memory also of Mr. Grace is still so blessed, that we feel sure some account of her last days will be acceptable to them. Several of our ministers who sojourned, when supplying the pulpit at Galeed, in her house, will feel that they have sustained a painful loss. There was something so genial in her disposition, so genuine in her character, that she won not only the esteem of those who knew her best, but their affection. For our own part, we can only say that we feel to have lost, what is so valuable in such a world as this, a sincere friend. Mrs. Grace could not get out to the public means of late as much as she desired. We believe her heart was at the chapel when, through severe bodily infirmity, she bad to remain at home. We have seen her ready to weep, and almost to feel rebellious at being kept from the place of worship where at times she had heard with sweetness and power. She dearly loved experimental preaching, and to have the way the Lord had led her these many years in the wilderness clearly traced out. When this sort of preaching was accompanied with the Lord’s power to her heart it seemed for a time to make her well in body and soul.

But we must say no more. Many at Brighton and elsewhere will feel that they have sustained a great loss in the removal of Mrs. Grace. Her children especially will feel what a gap is left in the family circle. It is their privilege to reflect that they have two beloved parents now in heaven. May they find the God of those parents an all-sufficient help to them in troubles. We add a short account, written by one of Mrs, Grace’s daughters, which, we are sure, will commend itself to our readers from its naturalness and simplicity. Those who knew Mrs. Grace will see the same unselfish, kindly disposition, the same affectionate regard for those dear to her, displaying themselves on a death-bed which were so unostentatiously manifested in her life.

On Thursday, Dec. 18th, I came from London to help nurse our dear mother, whom I found very ill, though not worse upon the whole than I expected to see her, and able to take an interest in many things. But as each day passed she got worse, so that we did not once have reason to hope or believe that she would be restored to us. It was indeed comforting to me to find how glad and relieved she was to have me to share the nursing. She often said, “How wonderfully it has all been arranged! How I did beg of the Lord to direct you! And it has all been done without my saying anything.” This she said many, many times. It seemed as if a great load had been taken off, for ‘she had feared that the strain upon my sister Rhoda would be too much. One night, when I had put her straight, and was going to the chair to rest, she said, so affectionately, “Good night, my dear child; the Lord reward you for all your kindness to me.”

All through her illness she was wonderfully sustained and very patient, and so fearful that we should be tired out. Her favourite hymn was:

“Does the gospel-word proclaim

Rest for those who weary be?”

(356 Gadsby), and she wanted me to read it to her the morning after I came. She seemed to enjoy several hymns, and asked often for a hymn or two and a psalm to be read to her. On reading “O Zion, afflicted with wave upon wave,” she said, “That is just the hymn I wanted. I was  trying to think of it this morning.” In the night, seeing Rhoda crying, she said, “I have thought so much about leaving you, but I feel that God will be a Father to the fatherless.” And on Rhoda saying, “I feel quite reconciled to parting with you, seeing you such a sufferer,” she answered, “I am so glad;” and then, as If thinking aloud, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

“Confirmed by one soft secret word,

I seek no further light,

But walk, depending on my Lord,

By faith, and not by sight.”

And, 

“Cheer up, desponding soul;

Thy sins are all forgiven.”

One afternoon she said,

“I asked them whence their victory came;”

and wanted it finished for her; and then wished to have read:

“Gold in the furnace tried;”

And the next hymn:

“Happy the man that bears the stroke.”

When washing her one morning, she said,

“And pass the river telling

The triumphs of my King;”

and when we had found and read the hymn, she said, “I don’t think I can have been deceived, and have deceived so many good people.” At another time she said, “It doss not signify to me what anyone thinks of me; I want to know from the Lord if I am right.”

Last Saturday she was quiet for some time, and we thought she was asleep; but she said, “I have not been asleep; I have had a sweet visit. I wish I could tell you about it. Perhaps I ought not to say, sweet; but I thought Jesus came into the room, and some one asked, ‘who is that?’ And I said, ‘Don’t you know? It is Jesus!’ And he said to me, ‘My peace I give unto you; my peace I leave with you. In my Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.'” Sitting by the side of her one day, she said, “I can’t think; but the Lord thinks it all for me. I don’t think I can be deceived.”

She got worse and worse; her breathing was so distressing, and she suffered so much, that talking was a great difficulty; and the last two days we had to go quite close to her to hear what she said. Her sufferings lasted to the end of her life; so that we could rejoice and thank God when the last breath was breathed, and we knew that her sufferings were at an end, and she had entered that rest that remaineth for the people of God.

Jan. 2nd, 1880.