The Life And Testimony Of William Asker

Gospel Standard 1882:

A Vessel Of Mercy, Or, The Early Experience And Life Of William Asker, A Member At Gower Street

I was born of very poor parents in the small village of Houghton, in Norfolk, Oct. 6, 1806. My father was a shepherd, and died ten weeks before I was born, which plunged my dear mother into much sorrow and distress. I had one sister, four years old at the time of my birth, and three other sisters; also one brother from home, but not able at that time of trouble to render any assistance to the poor widow. As soon as my dear mother could get about she put me out to a neighbour, and my sister with me; and went out as nurse till I was about 12 years of age. At length she was obliged to give it up, being seized with dropsy and jaundice. From ten to fourteen years of age I was put to an uncle, my mother’s brother. My mother paid for my food, and found me in clothes; but he proved to be another Laban; which was a great grief to her, for she was one of the tenderest of mothers. By this time, through her affliction, it pleased the Lord to dry up that brook; and I was conveyed to the parish authorities, and taken into an old squire’s garden. The first week I received one shilling and sixpence as wages; the next week two shillings. After a time it amounted to two shillings and sixpence; and when I was sixteen years of age he was generous enough to give me five shillings per week. I stayed with him for a year and a half after this rise of wages; but by that time I began to feel the oppression; and I knew enough of the Scriptures in theory, by reading them frequently to my mother at her request, to know that God was a God of providence. So I thought, if it were his pleasure he could provide me with another place. I had gained some information that a head gardener who had left the squire’s where I then was, was in the Marquis of Salisbury’s gardens at Hatfield, Herts; and without further hesitation, I wrote a note begging him, if possible, to procure me a situation with him, and stating my oppression with the squire, to which he was not an utter stranger. In the space of a fortnight I received an answer to come to him. At this I was not a little pleased, and immediately gave notice to the squire of my intention of leaving his employ. He was at that time a shareholder in the American slave trade, and also a slave master at Bagthorpe, in the county of Norfolk; and I was glad, at the time, to be delivered from under his yoke. But I am sorry to say I have every reason to believe he is now, and has been for many years, reaping the just reward of such cruel deeds; for he died an awful death, with oaths and curses on his lips. My own sister was in his service at the time, and was both an eye and ear witness to the solemn scene. I wish from the bottom of my heart I could give a better report of his end.

This change of providence brought me into quite a new position in life, my week’s wages being doubled, from 6s. to 10s. per week; and the vanity of my mind rose much more than my wages. Many projects came into my mind, which I was never able to carry out, and must now pass over.

I was at that time a very moral lad, and, as people call it, rather religiously inclined. But, alas! my morals soon became corrupted, which I painfully recollect. Innocent amusements, falsely so called, soon led me to ruin and disgrace. In two years’ time I exceeded my ungodly companions in sin and folly; and in less than three years’ time my companions would cry out shame on me for my filthy conversation. When some of them would rebuke me for my swearing and other ungodly habits, all they would get from me was, “Never mind, a short life and a merry one; I shall leave it off when I die.” I was suffered to go on in this mad course for three years and a half, but not without three or four checks of conscience in my solitary moments; which I kept a secret from my companions, braving it out as well as I could, with a secret promise to be better for the future. But, after each of these times, I confess with shame, I launched out into more ungodliness than before, as if “taken captive by the devil at his will.”

I shall not say more relating to my bad course. One verse from dear Hart will tell all the rest:

“A forward fool, a willing drudge,

I acted for the prince of hell;

Did all he bade without a grudge;

And boasted I could sin so well.”

But, as dear Kent says in one of his hymns,

“The appointed time rolls on apace,

Not to propose, but call by grace;

To change the heart, renew the will,

And turn the feet to Zion’s hill.”

One Saturday evening about the end of August, 1827, I went to a village three miles off to fetch a pair of shoes; and on my way back, while crossing a large field, a very severe tempest came on, and the lightning was fearful to behold. It came with great force and power to my mind that it was the day of judgment, and that the end of the world was come; and I verily believe, at the moment, I knew what the feeling of those poor sinners will be at the great and terrible day of the Lord, who will call upon the rocks and mountains to fall on them and hide them from “him that sitteth upon the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb.” For I thought that the wrath of the Lamb was come, and I was not able to abide it; and if it could have been possible to have sunk into a state of non-existence, I would have given a thousand worlds, if I had them in possession, to have done so. But, alas! it could not be. I stood still; not knowing where to flee, nor what to do. I was speechless; for I thought it was too late to pray, and the judgment was set, and I must soon hear that solemn sentence: “Go, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels.” I was near two or three houses, in one of which one of my former companions lived. There I ran in for shelter from the tempest and rain, which was very heavy; but in doing so, I feared God would cut me down with a thunderbolt. Nevertheless I entered the house and said nothing, but sat down opposite a window. So terrible was the lightning, that it kept up a continual light, flash after flash; and no small tempest was raging in my poor mind; for I felt as much the sentence of death in my distressed soul as any poor criminal at Newgate in a literal sense.

“To see sin, smarts but slightly;

To own with lip confession, is easier still;

But oh! to feel, cuts deep beyond expression.”

After a while the storm abated; and glad I was it was but a tempest, and not the end of the world. I hope I can say, I felt a thankful heart that my forfeited life was spared and I was out of hell, which I felt to have deserved. But I never lost my guilt till the time when pardon and peace were proclaimed in my conscience. I then prepared to go home, about a mile and a half, begging all the way for mercy, with many solemn vows and promises of future amendment. The next day I repaired to church; and having a prayer-book in my clothes-box, it must come out; and I could feelingly say after the parson, “God be merciful to me, a sinner.” “What was spoken in the pulpit I never knew. This text was one day given out by the curate: “Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes; but know thou, that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment.” (Eccl. 11:9.) I entered feelingly into the text, and the text into me; every word was as clear to my mind as the sun at noon-day. What the man said upon the words, and the character thus brought into judgment, I know not; for I do not recollect one single sentence more than the words, as he read them over twice; but I know this, I came out of the church a great deal more miserable than when I went in. The misery and anguish, which for the first few weeks I had been trying to conceal from those I had to work with in the garden, began to show itself in my countenance. The strange and striking difference in my conduct became too plain to be concealed any longer. For the devil to lose such an active and willing subject caused no small stir in the town of Hatfield; and, in a few more weeks, it was noised abroad for miles round the town, that Bill the gardener was gone raving mad.

I shall not enlarge here upon what I passed through during six months of hard travail, labour, and sorrow of heart; it is better known between God and my own soul. I had scarce a glearn of hope all the time of my distress, till God graciously delivered my soul. I think no poor sinner strove harder to gain the favour of God, and appease his wrath, than I did. I read much; but in every line I read, condemnation appeared pointed towards me. And when the spirituality of the law was more and more opened to my understanding, wrathful feelings rose up in my poor mind against the God of heaven, because he had created me a living soul instead of one of the brute creation; and I cursed the day of my birth. Not one night’s rest did I get for the six months. Every threatening against the ungodly appeared to be mine; and I believed that God had set a mark upon me, as he did upon Cain. If I fell asleep for a little while through weariness of body, my dreams were fearful and very painful; so that when night came I wished for morning, and when morning came I wished for night. Many passages of Scripture would cut me through and through, and yet I could not give up reading it altogether. I well recollect reading Prov. 1, under very painful feelings; especially the following verses: “Because I have called, and ye refused; I have stretched out my hand, and no man regarded; but ye have set at nought all my counsel, and would none of my reproof: I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your fear cometh; when your fear cometh as desolation, and your destruction cometh as a whirlwind; when distress and anguish cometh upon you. Then shall they call upon me, but I will not answer; they shall seek me early, but they shall not find me.” Now I thought it was all over, that there could be no mercy for me, and I sank in my feeling near to black despair; but yet, in the agony of my mind, I was obliged to cry for mercy. Then to sink me lower, if possible, it would come into my mind: “But you have sinned against the Holy Ghost, which will never be forgiven, neither in this world nor in the world to come; for God hath said it, and you believe what he hath said must be fulfilled.” Then my poor mind was directed by the enemy to my youthful days, to the time when I was very moral and religiously inclined; and it would come to my mind: “That was the time when God would have saved you, but now it is too late, the day of grace is passed with you you have sinned beyond the reach of mercy; and therefore there remains nothing but a fearful looking for of judgment.” This was painful work indeed for me; but now, after many years, I have to look back to that very spot and say, with dear Jeremiah, “Remembering mine affliction and my misery, the wormwood and the gall. My soul hath them still in remembrance, and is humbled in me; this I recall to my mind, therefore have I hope.” (Lam. 3:19-21.)

But to return. I tried hard to save myself by legal performances; but the wrath of God in a broken law lay heavy on my conscience; and I thought it very hard that the more I strove to appease the wrath of God, the worse I felt myself to be. Then hard thoughts of God would rise again and again, till my heart was sick and faint, fearing every step I took the earth would open and swallow me up; and once the enemy of souls so wrought upon my poor mind, taking advantage of my nervous debility, that I thought I felt the earth move under my feet quite plainly and he suggested that in a minute I should be in hell. O the horror and trembling that seized my poor guilty mind! Many such like feelings had I after that, which I decline naming; but I thought there never was such a monster of iniquity in the whole world, nor could I find one like me in the whole Bible. I found here and there some who had been great sinners; still it would remain with me: “But they were not in such a desperate condition as you are, who have sinned beyond the reach of mercy; yours is a singular case.” After striving hard for some time to gain the favour of God, and my case, instead of getting any better, grew worse and worse, such a spirit of fretfulness came upon me and hard thoughts of God, some of which are not to be named. One among the many was, that if God was in my wretched state, and I was in God’s place, I would not let him suffer as I did, but would send him peace. O what a long-suffering God is the God of heaven! I had not the least idea at the time, that the dear Lord was waiting that he might be gracious; for my strength was not all gone as yet.

One evening about this time, while alone in my bedroom (for I chose solitude when I could get it, especially as I had not one soul in the whole town that I could speak to about the things I was passing through), this came into my mind: “Suppose you could, from this time up to the day of your death, keep the whole law, and never commit another sin in your life, what would become of all the sins you have committed from your childhood till now?” I shall never forget, while I retain my senses, the solemn weight of the sins of my youth. I think, according to my feelings at the time, I was as pale as death; my body trembled severely from head to foot. But, notwithstanding this solemn shock to my working for life and salvation, it did not kill me outright. For after I was a little recovered from this severe stroke, I must needs still try again. This thought came now to my mind, but from a wrong source, as the effect will prove: “You must double your diligence, so as to clear yourself for the future, and make reconciliation for all that is past.” So to work I went again, as though spurred on by some Arminian proselytes, though I knew none at the time. In the evening I felt I must read a certain number of chapters in the Bible, and all the church prayers that were accustomed to be read on the Sabbath evening; and, for fear I should not have the opportunity to read the morning prayers before going to my work, I read them in the evening, in order to get my work forward, till my poor body and mind were tortured and worn out with “both lash and labour too.” Then upon the back of all this, these words were continually coming into my mind: “Except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Matt. 5:20.) Then I pondered over those people, to know who they were, and how far their righteousness reached, for at that time I was ignorant of them. One thing I knew, I was miserable enough, being sorely oppressed with guilt and condemnation, and became worse and worse, till at length my poor body sank under the trouble, so that I was obliged to give up my work; and what with the evil workings of my heart, notwithstanding all my reading and prayers, I was of necessity obliged to give all up for lost.

Now I felt myself to be in a hopeless condition, and “without God in the world.” I looked upon myself to be in the same case as Esau, who “sold his birthright,” and could find “no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears.” This was a time of sore trouble. What became of my prayer-book I never knew from that day to this; for I was obliged to abandon it, and breathe out my sore complaint in sighs and groans, with a heartfelt sense of the poor publican’s prayer, “God be merciful to me, a sinner;” which prayer is not worn threadbare with me, though I have used it for these 36 years on special occasions. And I do believe it will be in use by me all my life long, although there are now and then particular seasons when “the prayers of David, the son of Jesse, are ended;” but these seasons are very rare and short.

My case had now become a case for the compassion of a God. “Deep,” in my soul, “called unto deep;” and I felt the depth of my fall to a certain extent, both as to my state by nature and actual transgression. All hope of being saved was given up; but yet, somehow or other, I could as soon live without breathing as cease to breathe out the desires of my soul to God for pardon and mercy for Jesus’ sake. The dear Lord had waited to be gracious, and now I had to wait till the set time was come to receive favour from his dear hands, which was not long. I felt myself exactly in the same condition as dear Hart describes, where he says: “It was not whether I would be saved, but whether God would save me.” That dear man of God’s salvation was a full, free, and sovereign salvation, and so was mine; and I can say with him:

“The fountain of Christ, assist me to sing,

The blood of our Priest, our crucified King;

Which perfectly cleanses from sin and from filth,

And richly dispenses salvation and health.”

I was in lodgings at that time with three other young men in a poor old widow woman’s house; and one Saturday night I retired to my bedchamber in a most deplorable state of mind, apparently near black despair. I paced the room for a considerable time, and at last threw myself down on the floor with this resolution formed in my heart; which now appears to me to have been a holy reverential violence, and not a presumptuous one. My feeling was, that if I must perish I would perish there at the feet of Jesus Christ, begging for mercy; believing that he had power on earth to forgive sins; while at the same time I felt myself fast sinking. The petition of David would have been very appropriate to me, had I known it at the time, which is this: “Let not the pit shut its mouth upon me.”

“I look’d for hell, he brought me heaven.”

This most important point, I well recollect, I was brought to, to make a solemn submission before a heart-searching God; and could, notwithstanding all my hard thoughts against him, feelingly justify him in my condemnation if he sent me to hell. I could sign my own death-warrant freely, but as it were with a trembling hand, while my soul was all the while panting deeply for pardoning mercy through a Saviour’s blood. This was a painful spot to me at the time, and now while I write it I feel something of a solemn awe pervade my mind at the remembrance of it. I felt the meaning of the words of Isaiah, which afterwards I found in the Bible: “Enter into the rock and hide thee in the dust for fear of the Lord, and for the glory of his majesty. The lofty looks of man shall be humbled, and the haughtiness of men shall be bowed down, and the Lord alone shall be exalted in that day.” (Isa. 2:10, 11.)

I come now to speak of the way and manner in which the dear Lord was pleased to deliver my soul from the guilt and misery that I suffered for six months under the wrath of God in a broken law, after all hope of being saved was given up by me, and destruction and misery stared me in the face. This part, I confess, I have often tried to keep in the background, except when I could not avoid it; when a confession of my faith has been called for at particular times. The reason I assign for it is, that it was out of the ordinary way the dear Lord generally works for and with his living people. I have hundreds of times secretly wished that he had been pleased to have spoken to me by his written Word; and then I have felt a check for doing so, because I was as satisfied of my soul’s salvation as Mary was in Simon’s house, when she was face to face with her beloved Lord, and heard it from his own lips the incarnate Word; the power and the effect were the same. I have often thought and proved the same, since that memorable time what a necessity for the personal application of the power of divine truth, of which the “Lord the Lamb” is the sum and substance; and how this is proved in the case of that dear woman. The Lord told Simon that “her sins, which were many, were all forgiven her;” and I cannot help thinking Mary must have heard this; but I do not think she received the power till the dear Redeemer turned round to her, and spoke personally to her heart as well as her ears. What a love I feel to dear Mary, though she has been in heaven for eighteen centuries past.

But I suppose I must now give some brief account of the way I obtained mercy. I would rather feel it than tell it, for my own part; but I feel it now called for, as on other occasions. The way was this: As I lay on the floor as before stated, in the deepest agony of soul, but as rational and perfectly awake as at this minute while writing, I saw with the eyes of my mind the heaven opened, and, as I thought at first sight, the face of an angel; but when at a short distance from me, I felt a persuasion it was the Lord Jesus Christ; and as he looked upon me, the look bespoke compassion and love with a feeling of acceptance and reconciliation. The solemn change in my feelings I shall not attempt to describe. Suffice it to say that, one five minutes before that blessed look of love and mercy I felt myself perfectly lost, and that (as I thought) for ever; but the next five minutes perfectly saved, and that for ever. The feeling was with me, as with dear Simeon: “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace; for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.” Yea, I went so far as to think I was going that same night to heaven; but in this I was sorely deceived. I could scarcely refrain from disturbing the whole house, it being mid-night or early on the Lord’s-day morning. That day was the first Sabbath my ransomed soul ever enjoyed; for on that day I had ceased from my own works as God did from his; and in my soul’s feeling I had entered into rest. One of the young men who slept with me I did disturb by awaking him from his sleep, and telling him to tell my sister not to fret after me, for I was going to heaven. But in this I was deceived; for I had yet many painful lessons to learn.

After a comfortable sleep, with peace and quietness, I arose in the morning to my breakfast; and being Lord’s-day morning, we four lodgers and the landlady were all together. I went down stairs that morning with a Countenance no more sad. As soon as I had seated myself by the fireside, the poor old woman turned round and looked at me very hard, and said, “Why, William, your face quite shines;” and I, with all the simplicity of a child, told out all that had happened to me in the night; how the Lord Jesus Christ had appeared to me, and had pardoned all my sins; not thinking for a moment but that they would quite understand all I was telling them. Poor things, they looked one at the other with the greatest amazement; and no doubt, as it had been noised abroad that Bill the gardener had gone raving mad, this strange tale of mine was a confirmation of it. This strange circumstance was told about from one to another, while I was enjoying the sweets of pardoning mercy, till it reached the rector’s ears; and for fear, I suppose, it should go any further, he came one day to see me, and did the best he could to put a stop to this terrible delusion, as he was pleased to call it. The poor man said to me, with as much Solemnity as he could muster, “Why, Asker, there are none in the days we live in that know anything about the pardon of sin, as Peter, James, and John, and the rest of the apostles knew it; we must wait till we get to heaven.”

I have often thought of that poor blind guide, and have said, “What an evident proof it is that he did not know it for himself!” We may justly say to such persons, “Art thou a master in Israel and knowcst not these things?” After he had left me, I felt some reasonings come over me, “Suppose he is right, and you are wrong; he s a learned man and you are unlearned;” and many other things not worth naming. It set me searching in the New Testament to see if he was right; and, to my satisfaction, I found many more besides the apostles, and it so occurred that most of the instances had taken place on the Sabbath day, and had very much enraged the Scribes and Pharisees, just such poor blind guides as the poor man who had been to see me. Still, my peace of mind was preserved for that time; and although I tried to think upon my sin and guilt, that would not alter it; for the guilt and condemnation were as completely buried from my feeling as the Egyptians were from the sight of the poor Hebrews, when the God of Israel buried Pharaoh and his host in the Red Sea; and here was the mercy, they were to see them “no more for ever.”

After this blessed deliverance I enjoyed a peaceful state of mind for one month as near as I can recollect; and then a sharp and cutting trouble came suddenly upon me without a minute’s notice. I was digging up a flower border when it passed quietly through my mind, “You have an uncle down at home, of the name of Mordecai.” “Well,” I said, “and what of that?” “Why, Mordecai is a Jew’s name; you are of the race of the Jews. And you know you read that the Jews are rejected, and the Gentiles chosen; so you have no part in the salvation of Jesus Christ.” I cannot describe the feeling of my poor mind; nor shall I ever forget it. After about one month’s joy and peace, I had one month’s sorrow and bitterness. Some folks would think it a very trifling thing to be so troubled about; but it was no trifling matter to me, and cost me many a groan. I searched well the Epistles of Paul to see if I could find that one Jew had been converted after the resurrection and ascension of Jesus Christ; but I could not find one; neither had I heard of one then. O the blindness and ignorance of my mind even in the bare letter of truth! I knew both my lost and saved condition; and if any one had asked me about that, I could have answered as clearly as possible. But had they asked me anything respecting the doctrines of election and predestination, or to give an account of the Trinity in Unity and the manner and plan of salvation, I could no more have answered them that the pen I am writing with. All I could have told them was I had felt I was lost; and that Jesus Christ had pardoned and saved me. But to return. Being thus persuaded that I was of the race of the Jews, I was brought into great distress of mind, and was afraid all was over. It never entered my mind about those who were called under the preaching of Peter after the resurrection; nor about the Apostle Paul himself, who was “as one born out of due time.” I felt somewhat like the dear disciples after their Lord and Master had been crucified. It appeared that all their hopes and expectations were blasted; they thought it was all over with them. This made them walk about in sadness; and so did I. I did once in the time get a little help from these words of the Apostle Paul to the church at Rome. Speaking of the natural branches of the good olive tree which were broken off, he says, “And they also, if they abide not still in unbelief, shall be graffed in; for God is able to graff them in again. For if thou wert cut out of the olive tree, which is wild by nature, and wert graffed contrary to nature into a good olive tree; how much more shall these, which be the natural branches, be grafted into own olive tree?” (Eph. 11:28, 29.) This gave me a little encouragement for awhile; then I sank again. But one day, as I sat alone reading, I came upon these words: “For he is not a Jew, which is one outwardly; neither is that circumcision which is outward in the flesh: but he is a Jew which is one inwardly; and circumcision is that of the heart, in the Spirit, and not in the letter; whose praise is not of men, but of God.” (Rom. 2:28, 29.) My burden fell off, and I was like a bird let loose. For I felt that circumcision of heart was all to me, whether I was born a Jew or a Gentile; and it has been no burden to me ever since.

Passing over a few more troubles, such as are common to all, I come now to my removal from Hatfield to London. I came to London in the commencement of the year 1829, having a strong inclination thereto for two or three reasons not worth naming, and obtained employment in a nursery-garden in Camden Town. Here I worked until the month of July, when the strawberry-gathering time came. One Saturday evening my master said to me, “William, I shall want you to-morrow all day to gather strawberries.” I said, “Sir, I cannot come.” “Why,” he said, “are you afraid the devil will have you?” “No, Sir, I have not that fear; but I have a fear about me, that I cannot gather your strawberries all the Lord’s day.” So he told me to go home and get my tea, and consider about it for an hour, and then come and take my week’s money; and if I still refused, he said he should not want me any longer. You may guess, a very uncomfortable tea I had. It was an unexpected trouble to me. I had just before this enjoyed some solid peace in my mind; but now came a sad reverse. I went and took my money; and the master discharged me, as I could not agree to his terms.

For about the space of three weeks I wandered about London till my money was almost gone. My wages being very low, I could save but little while in work; so that I had but little stock in hand, and less in the bank. I begged very hard for the dear Lord to open a way for my escape from this new trouble. But as no way appeared, it came to my mind that I must beg all my way home to the parish I belonged to, in Norfolk, which was about 120 miles. This sorely cut up my feelings; for I knew I was a very poor beggar. The enemy of souls was permitted to harass me sore; and the following passage of Scripture, among others, caused me much pain of mind: “I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.” (Ps. 37:25.) For it came into my mind, as there appeared nothing for me but to beg all my way home, it was an evident proof that I was not a child of God, but altogether a deceived character. For you read that David says he never saw “the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.” At that time I was very ignorant of Satan’s devices; nor did I think Satan was capable of twisting Scripture about to suit his own purpose. I had no thought at the time of poor Lazarus at the rich glutton’s gate, or it might perhaps have broken the snare; but the devil was too artful for me. I kept on begging hard that I might have some way opened for me. So, you see, I was begging of God all the while, if not of mortals; nor do I believe any but beggars get to heaven. And bless his dear Name, in three weeks he granted my request. It came into my mind one day to try and find a vessel sailing for Lynn, in Norfolk, and to ask the captain to let me work my passage there. Then I thought I could walk the rest of my way to the parish I belonged to, without any begging. Accordingly I went in search of a vessel, and found one with the greatest ease; which was rather remarkable, as I was quite a stranger to that part of the town. When I told my sad tale of woe to the captain, and my desire to escape begging, he looked at me very hard and said, “You will be of no use to me in a storm.” And I thought so too; for I felt more fit for a hospital than a storm at sea. The captain paused for five or ten minutes, and thus gave me time for bitter reflection. My begging case occupied most of my thoughts; but I stood my ground, and waited for a more favourable answer. At last he broke silence, after I had had time to sink fathoms in my feelings, and said, “Well, I am in want of a cook, and you shall go to Lynn with me. And if you like it, you shall stop with me; but if not, you can go home to your parish. Tomorrow you must come on board, as we shall sail in a day or two.” I thanked him kindly with a feeling heart, and got away as soon as possible to give vent to my feelings. For my soul was now as much overcome with the goodness of God as it was oppressed but a few minutes before, not so much on account of begging, as of its being a proof that I was not a child of God.

We sailed for Lynn on the 7th of August, 1829, and had a very pleasant trip. This time there was no proof of my usefulness in a storm, for we had fine weather and a fair wind; and, to add to my comfort, I had a heart full of gratitude to the God of all my mercies. The captain was satisfied with me as a cook, and I was satisfied with him; so I continued with him about five months. During this time I saw many changes, and the captain had more than one opportunity of proving my usefulness in a storm. The last passage I had in that vessel was in the mouth of December. We were three weeks coming up to London. One gale we encountered lasted out four days, and it was next to a miracle our bark lived in such a sea. She was a sloop of only 100 tons’ burthen. In this heavy gale there were many wrecks, and many driven on a lee-shore; but we were mercifully preserved, and safely arrived in the port of London with very little damage. One day, during this passage, a trifling circumstance took place as follows: I let go a wrong rope in my hurry, while it was blowing very hard. The mate, enraged at me, struck me on one side of the face with his fist. I was enabled to take it as mild as ever I took an insult in my life; but I did not feel disposed to turn to him the other. And I quietly told him I did not like it, and would leave the ship when we got to London. At this he exclaimed with an oath, I might go, then, if I liked. As soon as I had an opportunity to get by myself I spread the case before the Lord, as Hezekiah did the letter, and begged of him to deliver me from that ungodly man. For I had suffered much from his ungodly tongue before this blow came. The dear Lord kindly gave me an answer in this way. A solemn persuasion dropped with much weight and power into my heart that when I reached London I should have a place; and I as firmly believed it as if I were in it.

The next day I told the captain of the mate’s behaviour to me; and also that my mind was fixed to leave the ship when we arrived in London. The captain was very partial to me, and used every argument he could to drive me from my purpose. He told me I should see hundreds and hundreds of able young seamen walking London streets without shoe or stocking, or a bit of bread, who could not get a ship for the life of them. But when he had ended I told him with the confidence I felt, that if there were hundreds more walking about as he described, I should have a place; but as to the kind of place I could not tell, nor was I concerned to know; nor was I disposed to tell him how I came by that confidence. My mind was peaceful, and I felt a grateful heart for the Lord’s goodness to me. I was enabled to carry out the word of the apostle, “Hast thou faith? Have it to thyself before God.”

To be brief. When we arrived in London, after mooring the vessel, I was coiling up the ropes on deck to make it a little tidy before going ashore, when a man came on board who had previously sailed with us; he came direct to me, and laid his hand on my shoulder and said, “Bill, I have a berth for you.” “You have?” I said. “Yes, in a schooner of Southampton; and you must go on board in a day or two.” Accordingly I left the sloop, and went on board the schooner; but was so confounded at such a speedy answer to prayer, in such a conspicuous way, that I felt quite a trembling while I believed. What a wonder-working God is our God, even as a God of providence; how much more so as a God of grace! But this ground, though pleasant at the time, had to be tried and proved shortly after.

We sailed in a few days, bound for Southampton, expecting to take in a cargo for Jersey. But God had ordered it other-wise. There was no cargo ready for us; and the captain laid the vessel up for the remaining part of the winter, and paid off all hands.

This circumstance commenced a fresh trial for my faith, and in a very short time I was at my wit’s end, not knowing what to do. I started on foot for London the next day with two others of the ship’s crew. It was bad travelling, both without and within. The roads were full of snow and water; and no promise had I in my mind of a place when I should reach London. I kept on begging, but no answer came. At length I began to doubt the reality of my former assurance, and to think I had only been deluded. In London all that the captain of the sloop said to me came fresh to my mind. I was tramping from place to place, and could not get another ship for the life of me. Then I thought more of the captain’s words than ever, and called myself a fool for leaving him. However, in the space of three weeks I was recommended by a gentleman to a place in Brompton Square as groom and gardener. Then was I glad, and could bless God with all my heart. The few months at sea were made a real blessing to me, as regards my health. I was very much strengthened in body, especially my nervous system, which had been much shaken through trouble of mind.

After I had been in my new place a short time, I went to see my first captain in a friendly way. When I got to the wharf one of the men said to me, “The next time the ‘Bee’ (for that was the vessel’s name) went down to Lynn, she was driven by a gale upon a lee-shore.” This was another proof of the dear Lord’s kindness to me, and confirmed my mind in the truth that he is a God hearing and answering prayer. And it has proved one of my “high heaps” ever since, when he hath kindly brought it to my remembrance in times of need.

At this place I remained as groom and gardener till the following September. Circumstances not worth naming caused me to leave, and return to Hatfield once more. During all this time I had heard many different preachers, but with an uncircumeised ear, being extremely ignorant as to the letter of truth. If I did but hear anything about Jesus Christ, a name I loved dearly, I felt satisfied; how he was preached I could not say much about. “The simple believeth every word;” so it was with me. I was taken captive by the poor blind Wesleyans for about the space of a year and a half; but they could not make much of me, nor I of them. The reason I was taken with them was because I had at that time more zeal than knowledge. I dare say they thought me a very poor disciple, by the exhortations I received from them every week at their class meetings that I was to pray and read more; for when my class-leader used to ask me, “Well, brother Asker, what good thing have you done for the Lord during the past week?” I was always behind with my task, and my answer was, “Nothing.” I could not see anything I had done worth mentioning; but I assure you I heard, on the right and left, those who had plenty of good deeds to prate about. One thing I recollect they frequently warned me of, and that was to beware of Antinomians. They might as well have spoken Arabic or French to me; I should have understood it quite as well. I was very much puzzled to know what these people called Antinomians were. I rather think they were afraid I was a little tainted with it myself, according to their idea of it.

I had been at Hatfield about twelve months when I heard of some people at Welwyn, a place over five miles from Hatfield; and that the minister held very strange doctrines, different from everybody else; one of which was called election; and I was told that the people had been in the same state of mind as I had. This made me anxious to go, for I did not know any one else had been like me. So I went, and Mr. Oxenham, formerly a friend of Mr. Huntington’s, preached; and the dear old man took for his text these words: “Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou?” (Jn. 20:15.) This was a time not to be forgotten by me. All the path I had trodden from the Saturday night when I thought the end of the world was come, and my standing before the Lord in that guilty state, my happy deliverance therefrom, and all I had felt and feared in that short space of my experience, were so clearly brought forth that the dear man appeared to me to know it as though he had lived with me, and had been an eye and ear witness to all that had happened. He brought it all out much better than I could have told him; and from that day to this, my teachers have not been “hid in a corner.” From that time I consider my ear was circumcised to hear the truth. After this special hearing I proved that the ear trieth words as the mouth tastes its meat. (Job 12:11.)

This change gained me enemies where I little expected them, and among some whom I had looked upon as my bosom friends. One of them soon after called me a blasphemer to my face; but I was enabled to leave them, and cast in my lot with those poor despised few at Welwyn, where I continued to hear till March, 1835. I had to prove many changes in my feelings, both good and evil. The latter I had not so much expected, and had looked for better days; but to my grief, such enemies without and evils within made me “stagger like a drunken man,” and brought me to my “wit’s end.” But one thing was in my favour. I was much helped on Lord’s days in hearing; so that notwithstanding my trials and conflicts all the week, I was often made joyful in the “house of prayer.” O how I did in those days hail the Sabbath with a hearty welcome, and thanked God and took courage.

During the time I was at Brompton Square, a correspondence had been formed between me and a God-fearing woman, a member of a Strict Baptist church in London. After four years’ acquaintance, which was mostly by letters, only seeing each other twice a year, our minds were made up to a marriage union when it should please the Lord to bless us with the means. Both of us being in poor circumstances, we could make but slow progress.

I very much wanted a better situation, but could not get one. There was a gardener’s place vacant belonging to two maiden ladies at Hatfield; but it was at the disposal of the rector of Hatfield church. I quite expected it would not be. for me, as he was the same gentleman I have already named, who was so much put out by my saying that my sins were pardoned. I had an interview with him respecting the place; and told him I should like it; but he said, “The place will not suit you; you would not like to go to church.” I answered in the negative: “Not for ten better places than that.” Here the matter was soon settled. He was made honest enough to say he believed I was an honest, upright, young man and competent for the place; but that he did not like my religion, for my sentiments and his very much differed. So I returned home as I went, with this exception the rector could find no fault in me except in my religion, which was a little consolation to me. When my intended wife knew of the circumstance she was very glad; for she could not see her way clear to come to Hatfield for two or three reasons, chiefly because she would be deprived of church-fellowship; and she was fully assured in her mind that if I came to London I should get employment. And by what she stated to me in a letter I found she had good cause for so saying. She had laid the matter before the Lord, and this promise had been sweetly applied to her mind: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.” “And,” she added, “to my mind, ‘all other things’ are temporal things.” In this she was so confirmed that she felt she was doing right in refusing to come to Hatfield. I was then led to consider her weak body, and that she would have nearly six miles on a Lord’s day to go to hear; besides the church not being Baptist, she would be deprived of church-fellowship. I was not a member myself, although I loved the people dearly; so that I did not feel that tie she had expressed to me respecting the Baptist cause in London.

In a short time I felt an inclination to comply with her request, and returned once more to London; but I must acknowledge it was more upon the strength of her faith than my own. To my astonishment I had work very soon with a gardener in Berkeley Square and Leicester Square, and several little gardens; and work was promised me till October. When that month drew near, and nothing else appeared for me, fears began to arise in my mind lest the approaching winter should be a bad one, and the little money I had saved would all go. I wanted the Lord to open another door before that door was shut. What forbearance with my bad manners did he show towards me. I did not know what was in reserve. The poor man who had employed me through the summer was laid by with a bad leg, and instead of discharging me at the time appointed, was obliged to keep me on to do his work. An application was now made to him by a noble earl in Berkeley Square, to manage a small conservatory in which the earl had a few hothouse plants; but he refused to undertake it, and asked me if I would do it, as he thought with this and his little work I should be bettered. I agreed to his proposition, and my winter’s work was much better than the summer’s. I felt the Lord’s kind hand in it, and so did my intended wife. Then she would remind me of the promise she had had.

But there was another trial for faith before many weeks were over. This noble peer of the realm would sometimes have his workmen very busy on Lord’s days, pulling down what they had built up in the week, if it did not suit his taste. The hothouse was out of sight of the public eye, at the back of the house. One Lord’s day it happened that I was wanted for something; but no one knew where to find me. On the Monday the porter told me that his lordship had wanted me yesterday, and no one knew where I lodged. So I told the porter I would give him my address, and if his lordship wanted me next Lord’s day I would come, but that I got my living in six days. It so occurred that I was wanted the next Lord’s day; and it was to fill in a large hole I had dug on the Saturday. On Lord’s day morning, while at chapel, his lordship sent for me. On hearing this when I went home, I hastened to get my dinner and go, though not very comfortable, fully expecting the result would prove the loss of my work. I went into the conservatory, and the porter acquainted his lordship that I was come, I begged hard of the dear Lord to stand by me, and bring me honourably through this trial. I trembled in my feelings till his lordship made his appearance; but as soon as he came to me my fears all fled in a moment, and I felt as bold as a lion, and said to him, “I understand your lordship wanted to see me.” He said, “Yes, William,” and pointing his stick to a hole I had dug on the Saturday, said, “I want you to fill in that hole.” I answered with firmness of mind and without trembling, “What your lordship hath for me to do on the Sabbath that is requisite to be done, I will do with all my heart; but to fill in that hole I’ll not do for you or any man.” Poor man! he turned himself round as if he were thunderstruck, and did not utter a word, but walked back into the house. I picked up my hat, and returned to my intended wife, who was anxiously waiting to know the result. I went back with peace in my conscience, and blessed God that he had enabled me to deal faithfully with so great a man as the noble earl, not regarding the loss I had anticipated. In making known the result to my intended, she immediately said, “You have done right, let what will be the consequence.” I went on the Monday morning, and brought away my tools, quite expecting his lordship had done with me; but I was sent for on the Wednesday to see him, and went, wondering what he wanted. He said, “William, I did not mean you to leave me, though we did differ about the wages,” which we had previously done; and not a word was said about filling in the hole. “But,” he added, “I have kept you in suspense some time; here is a small present for you;” and he put two sovereigns into my hand. I thanked him kindly, and came away with love and wonder in my heart to the God of all my mercies. I made my way to my future wife, and gave her my two sovereigns, saying, “There, my dear, there is the produce of my first sermon.” I knew she had made up her mind to be a sharer both of my sorrows and joys. This door was kept open for me till the spring, by which time I had full employment with the gardener at Berkeley Square; and in the following July I married.

For brevity’s sake I now pass over about five years of our married life, during which time we were the subjects of changes within and without. A cutting trial came at my dear wife’s confinement with the second child, after having lost our first. She had hard labour, which threatened the life of both mother and child. Two doctors were with her. When all hope was given up by them, I was admitted at the request of my wife, to take my final farewell of her in this world. After this painful occasion I withdrew from the room in anguish of mind; yet, as I knew there was life, I kept on crying. The dear Lord was graciously pleased to order it so that skill was given, and the child which had been dead six hours was brought into the world, and the life of my dear wife spared. Still great fears were entertained of her sinking through weakness, as her labour had lasted three days. All the night she was in a raging fever. I went to work the next morning with a heavy heart, fearing I should lose her after all. But after I had been at work about an hour, I felt a cry go out of my heart with these words, “O Lord, do spare her life, do spare her life.” Immediately what the disciples said to Jesus concerning Lazarus came to my mind: “Lord, if he sleep he shall do well” (Jn. 11:12); and my heart responded to it, and I said, “O Lord, if she sleep she will do well.” All my anxious fears and burden of mind fled, and for the time being I felt, “The prayers of David the son of Jesse are ended.” I went direct to one of the workmen, who I believed knew the truth, and told him the circumstance; and I said, “Friend Hall, I do believe the Lord hath done something for my wife.” I was very anxious for the time to come for me to go home to breakfast, to know what had passed. As soon as I got home I went to the bedside, and asked, “Well, my dear, how are you now?” She looked at me with a smile, saying, “I am better. I have had such a comfortable sleep.” I burst into tears, and my heart was too full of love and gratitude to relate the circumstance for a while; but when I did, the time corresponded to the minute when the raging fever suddenly left her and she fell into a sleep for twenty minutes; and from that time she recovered. This is one of our “high heaps” which at certain seasons we are enabled to look at. In this sharp conflict I bought this truth; “And this is the confidence we have in him, that if we ask anything according to his will he heareth us; and if we know that he hear us, whatsoever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we desired of him.” (1 Jn. 5:14, 15.)

Whatever part of the truth of God that I have learned or bought through the fire, I hold dear to me; but what is learned in theory is of little value. Amen. 

W. Asker