George Whitefield: A Biography, with special reference to his labors in America

Mr. Parsons, in a note to his funeral sermon, says, "At one o'clock all the bells in the town were tolled for half an hour, and all the vessels in the harbor gave their proper signals of mourning. At two o'clock the bells tolled a second time. At three the bells called to attend the funeral. The Rev. Dr. Haven of Portsmouth, and the Rev. Messrs. Rodgers of Exeter, Jewet and Chandler of Rowley, Moses Parsons of Newbury, and Bass of Newburyport, were pall-bearers. Mr. Parsons and his family, with many other respectable persons, followed the corpse in mourning."

"The procession," says Mr. Smith, "was only one mile, and then the corpse was carried into the Presbyterian church, and placed at the foot of the pulpit, close to the vault; the Rev. Daniel Rodgers made a very affecting prayer, and openly declared, that, under God, he owed his conversion to that dear man of God whose precious remains now lay before them. Then he cried out, 'O my father, my father!' then stopped and wept as though his heart would break; the people weeping all through the place. Then he recovered, and finished his prayer, and sat down and wept. Then one of the deacons gave out the hymn,

"'Why do we mourn departing friends?'

some of the people weeping, some singing, and so on alternately. The Rev. Mr. Jewet preached a funeral discourse; and made an affectionate address to his brethren, to lay to heart the death of that useful man of God, begging that he and they might be upon their watchtower, and endeavor to follow his blessed example. The corpse was then put into the vault, and all concluded with a short prayer, and dismission of the people, who went weeping through the streets to their respective places of abode."

The Rev. Mr. Rodgers, from whose "Almanack Journal" we have quoted, records that the vast assembly at the funeral consisted of "four, since thought five thousand people," and adds, Oct. 7, "I preached from those words in the first Philippians, 'Having a desire to depart and be with Christ,' etc. I spoke extempore, somewhat largely, of dear Mr. Whitefield's character."

The late venerable Mr. Bartlet of Newburyport, some years ago, erected a monument to the memory of Whitefield in the church beneath which his remains are interred. The cenotaph was executed by Mr. Struthers of Philadelphia, after a design of Strickland, and the inscription which follows was written by the late Rev. Dr. Ebenezer Porter, of the Theological seminary at Andover.

THIS CENOTAPH

is ERECTED, WITH AFFECTIONATE VENERATION,

To the Memory

OF

THE REV. GEORGE WHITEFIELD,

BORN AT GLOUCESTER, ENGLAND, DECEMBER 16, 1714;

EDUCATED AT OXFORD UNIVERSITY; ORDAINED 1736

IN A MINISTRY OF THIRTY-FOUR YEARS,

HE CROSSED THE ATLANTIC THIRTEEN TIMES,

AND PREACHED MORE THAN EIGHTEEN THOUSAND SERMONS

AS A SOLDIER OF THE CROSS, HUMBLE, DEVOUT, ARDENT,

HE PUT ON THE WHOLE ARMOR OF GOD:

PREFERRING THE HONOR OF CHRIST TO HIS OWN INTEREST, REPOSE,

REPUTATION, AND LIFE

AS A CHRISTIAN ORATOR, HIS DEEP PIETY, DISINTERESTED ZEAL,

AND VIVID IMAGINATION,

GAVE UNEXAMPLED ENERGY TO HIS LOOK, UTTERANCE, AND ACTION

BOLD, FERVENT, PUNGENT, AND POPULAR IN HIS ELOQUENCE,

NO OTHER UNINSPIRED MAN EVER PREACHED TO SO LARGE ASSEMBLIES,

OR ENFORCED THE SIMPLE TRUTHS OF THE GOSPEL BY MOTIVES

SO PERSUASIVE AND AWFUL, AND WITH AN INFLUENCE SO POWERFUL,

ON THE HEARTS OF HIS HEARERS

HE DIED OF ASTHMA, SEPTEMBER 30, 1770

SUDDENLY EXCHANGING HIS LIFE OF UNPARALLELED LABORS

FOR HIS ETERNAL REST

CHAPTER XVII.
TESTIMONIES AND FACTS ILLUSTRATIVE OF WHITEFIELD'S CHARACTER

"Last evening," says a letter from Boston, October 1, 1770, to the "Pennsylvania Journal," "we were informed by a melancholy messenger from Newburyport, that yesterday morning about six o'clock, at that place, the renowned and Rev. George Whitefield, chaplain to the Right Hon. the Countess of Huntingdon, etc., was, by a sudden mandate, summoned to the bosom of his Saviour. He had been preaching in divers parts of this province since his arrival from the southward, with his usual diligence and energy; was now from a tour to the province of New Hampshire on his return to this town, but being seized with a violent fit of the asthma, was in a short space translated from the labors of this life to the enjoyment of a better.

"Of this truly pious and very extraordinary personage, little can be said but what every friend to vital Christianity who has sat under his ministry will readily attest. In his public performances throughout Europe and British America, he has, for a long course of years, astonished the world as a prodigy of eloquence and devotion. With what frequency and cheerfulness did he ascend the desk, the language of his actions being ever, 'Wist ye not that I must be about my Master's business?' With what divine pathos did he plead with, and persuade by the most engaging incitements, the impenitent sinner to the practice of piety and virtue. Filled with the spirit of grace, he spoke from the heart; and with a fervency of zeal perhaps unequalled since the apostles, ornamented the celestial annunciations of the preacher with the graceful and most enticing charms of rhetoric and oratory. From the pulpit he was unrivalled in the command of an ever-crowded and admiring auditory; nor was he less entertaining and instructive in his private conversation and deportment. Happy in a remarkable ease of address, willing to communicate, studious to edify, and formed to amuse – such, in more retired life, was he whom we lament. And while a peculiar pleasantry enlivened and rendered his company agreeable, his conversation was ever marked with the greatest objects of his pursuit – virtue and religion. It were to be wished that the good impressions of his ministry may be long retained; and that the rising generation, like their pious ancestors, may catch a spark of that ethereal flame which burnt with such lustre in the sentiments and practice of this faithful servant of the most high God."

Another contemporaneous article says, "Dr. Cooper of Brattle-street, called an enthusiast by none, won early to serious religion by his [Whitefield's] instrumentality, delivered a sermon upon his death, in which he pronounced a strong eulogy in favor of his holy and successful activity in the cause of vital and practical religion through the English dominions. Pews, aisles, and seats were so crowded, and heads and shoulders were in such close phalanx, that it looked as though a man might walk everywhere upon the upper surface of the assembly, without finding an opening for descending to the floor."

When the news of Mr. Whitefield's death reached Georgia, its inhabitants vied with each other in showing him the highest respect. All the black cloth in the stores was bought up; the pulpit and desk of the church, the branches, the organ-loft, and the pews of the governor and council were covered with black. The governor and council in deep mourning convened at the state-house, and went in procession to church, where they were received by the organ playing a funeral dirge. Two funeral sermons were there listened to by the authorities. In the Legislature high eulogiums were pronounced on the admirable preacher, and a sum of money was unanimously appropriated for removing his remains to Georgia, to be interred at his orphan-house; but the inhabitants of Newburyport strongly objected, and the design was relinquished. Forty-five years later when a new county was formed in Georgia, it received the name of Whitefield in commemoration of his worth and useful services.

In a letter from Dr. Franklin to a gentleman in Georgia, he says, "I cannot forbear expressing the pleasure it gives me to see an account of the respect paid to his memory by your assembly. I knew him intimately upwards of thirty years; his integrity, disinterestedness, and indefatigable zeal in prosecuting every good work, I have never seen equalled, I shall never see excelled."

Of course it would be expected that the sermons at Savannah would be of great interest. Such a discourse was delivered by the Rev. Mr. Ellington, who very truly said, "Whitefield's longing desires for the salvation of immortal souls would not admit of his being confined within the limits of any walls. How he has preached, with showers of stones, and many other instruments of malice and revenge about his ears, many of his surviving friends can witness. But having the salvation of sinners at heart, and a great desire to rescue them from the power of an eternal death, he resolved to spend and be spent for the service of precious and immortal souls; and spared no pains and refused no labor, so that he might administer to their real and eternal good. He died like a hero on the field of battle. Thousands in England, Scotland, and America have great reason to bless God for his ministrations."

Who shall attempt to describe the feelings of the congregations at the Tabernacle and Tottenham Court chapels, when the news of their pastor's death first reached them? All were indeed clothed in mourning. By Whitefield's own previous appointment, the Rev. John Wesley preached the funeral sermon at Tottenham Court-road chapel. The preacher bore this testimony: "In his public labors he has for many years astonished the world with his eloquence and devotion. With what divine pathos did he persuade the impenitent sinner to embrace the practice of early piety and virtue. Filled with the spirit of grace, he spoke from the heart with a fervency of zeal perhaps unequalled since the days of the apostles; and adorned the truths he delivered with the most graceful charms of rhetoric and oratory. From the pulpit he was unrivalled in the command of an ever-crowded auditory. It was the love of God shed abroad in his heart by the Holy Ghost which filled his soul with tender, disinterested love to every child of man… Mention has been already made of his unparalleled zeal, his indefatigable activity, his tender-heartedness to the afflicted, and charitableness towards the poor. But should we not likewise mention his deep gratitude to all whom God had used as instruments of good to him? of whom he did not cease to speak in the most respectful manner, even to his dying day. Should we not mention that he had a heart susceptible of the most generous and the most tender friendship? I have frequently thought that this, of all others, was the distinguishing part of his character. How few have we known of so kind a temper, of such large and flowing affections! Was it not principally by this that the hearts of others were so strongly drawn and knit to him? Can any thing but love beget love? This shone in his very countenance, and continually breathed in all his words, whether in public or private. Was it not this which, quick and penetrating as lightning, flew from heart to heart; which gave that life to his sermons, his conversation, his letters? Ye are witnesses."

The Rev. John Newton preached a funeral sermon at Olney, where he was then settled, from the highly appropriate text, "He was a burning and a shining light," John 5:35, in which he thus speaks of Whitefield: "Some ministers are burning and shining lights in a peculiar and eminent degree. Such a one, I doubt not, was the servant of God whose death we now lament. I have had some opportunities of looking over the history of the church in past ages; I am not backward to say, that I have not read or heard of any person, since the apostles' days, of whom it may be more emphatically said, 'He was a burning and a shining light,' than the late Mr. Whitefield; whether we consider the warmth of his zeal, the greatness of his ministerial talents, or the extensive usefulness with which the Lord honored him. I do not mean to praise the man, but the Lord who furnished him, and made him what he was. He was raised up to shine in a dark place. The state of religion when he first appeared in public, was very low in our established church. I speak the truth, though to some it may be an offensive truth. The doctrines of grace were seldom heard from the pulpit, and the life and power of godliness were little known. Many of the most spiritual among the dissenters, were mourning under a sense of a great spreading declension on their side. What a change has taken place throughout the land within a little more than thirty years; that is, since the time when the first set of despised ministers came to Oxford! And how much of this change has been owing to God's blessing on Mr. Whitefield's labors, is well known to many who have lived through this period, and can hardly be denied by those who are least willing to allow it… His zeal was not like wildfire, but directed by sound principles, and a sound judgment… The Lord gave him a manner of preaching which was peculiarly his own. He copied from none, and I never met with any one who could imitate him with success."

With regret we tear ourselves away from Romaine and Toplady, from Pemberton and Parsons, and from a multitude of others who bore testimonies like those we have given, but which would exceed the limits of our narrative.

Mr. Newton, after his removal to London, once breakfasting with a company of noblemen and gentlemen, was asked if he knew Mr. Whitefield. He answered in the affirmative, and remarked, that as a preacher Mr. Whitefield far exceeded every other man of his time. Mr. Newton added, "I bless God that I lived in his time: many were the winter mornings I rose at four o'clock to attend his Tabernacle discourses at five; and I have seen Moorfields as full of lanterns at these times, as I suppose the Hay market is full of flambeaux on an opera night." As a proof of the power of Mr. Whitefield's preaching, Mr. Newton said, that a military officer at Glasgow, who had heard him preach, laid a wager with another, that at a certain charity sermon, though he went with prejudice, he would be compelled to give something. The other, to make sure that he would not, laid aside all the money out of his pockets; but before he left the church, he was glad to borrow some, and lose his bet. Mr. Newton mentioned as another striking illustration of Mr. Whitefield's persuasive oratory, his collecting after one sermon £600, or about $3,000, for the inhabitants of an obscure village in Germany, that had been burned down. After this sermon, Whitefield said, "We shall sing a hymn, during which those who do not choose to give their mite on this awful occasion, may sneak off." Not one moved; he came down from the pulpit, ordered all the doors to be shut but one, at which he held the plate himself, and collected the large sum we have named. Mr. Newton farther stated what he knew to be a fact, that at the time of Whitefield's greatest persecution, when obliged to speak in the streets, in one week he received not fewer than a thousand letters from persons distressed in their consciences by the energy of his preaching.

A gentleman of title in England was one day examining some works of the distinguished sculptor, John Bacon. Among them he observed a bust of Mr. Whitefield, which led him to remark, "After all that has been said, this was truly a great man; he was the founder of a new religion." Mr. Bacon replied, "A new religion, sir?" "Yes," said the baronet; "what do you call it?" "Nothing," was the reply, "but the old religion revived with new energy, and treated as though the preacher meant what he said."

Several interesting narratives have been given of visits to the tomb of Whitefield, which show the preciousness of his memory.

In 1834, the Rev. Andrew Reed, D. D., of London, and the late Rev. James Matheson, D. D., of Durham, visited this country as a deputation to its churches from the Congregational Union of England and Wales. In describing their visit to Newburyport, Dr. Reed says, "We had a conference with the pastors here, and afterwards went to the church which is enriched with the remains of Whitefield. The elders of the church were present in the porch to receive us. We descended to the vault. There were three coffins before us. Two pastors of the church lay on either side, and the remains of Whitefield in the centre. The cover was slipt aside, and they lay beneath my eye. I had before stood in his pulpits; seen his books, his rings, and chairs; but never before had I looked on part of his very self. The skull, which is perfect, clean, and fair, I received, as is the custom, into my hand. I could say nothing; but thought and feeling were busy. On returning to the church, I proposed an exercise of worship. We collected over the grave of the eloquent, the devoted, and seraphic man, and gave expression to the sentiments that possessed us, by solemn psalmody and fervent prayer. It was not an ordinary service to any of us."

In the year 1835, a similar deputation visited this country from the Baptist Union of Great Britain and Ireland. It consisted of the late Rev. F. A. Cox, D. D., of London, and the Rev. James Hoby, D. D., then of Birmingham. They also visited the tomb of our never-to-be-forgotten evangelist. We give a few sentences from their report: "We made an excursion to Newburyport, thirty-nine miles from Boston, to see the tomb of Whitefield. On our arrival, we hastened to the depository of the precious remains of that eminent servant of God… We descended with some difficulty into the subterraneous vault, which is immediately behind the pulpit, in a small chamber like a vestry, external to the body of the church. Deep expectant emotions thrilled through our bosoms, while a kind of trap-door was opened, and we descended beneath the floor to another door, which stood perpendicularly, by which we entered, or rather crept, into the awful and silent sepulchre. There were three coffins placed in parallel lines; two of them containing the mortal part of Mr. Parsons and Mr. Prince, pastors of the church. We instinctively took our seats, the one on the one coffin, the other on the other, with the coffin of Whitefield between, over which, when the upper part of the lid was removed, to reveal the skeleton secrets of the narrow prison-house, we bent in solemn stillness and awe. We gazed on the fragments – we contemplated and handled the skull of that great preacher of righteousness – we thought of his devoted life, his blessed death, his high and happy destiny; and whispered our adorations of the grace that formed him both for earth and heaven."

The following lines were written by the departed and amiable William B. Tappan, on visiting this spot in September, 1837.

 
"And this was Whitefield! – this, the dust now blending
With kindred dust, that wrapt his soul of fire —
Which, from the mantle freed, is still ascending
Through regions of far glory, holier, higher.
 
 
Oh, as I gaze here with a solemn joy
And awful reverence, in which shares Decay,
Who, this fair frame reluctant to destroy,
Yields it not yet to doom which all obey —
How follows thought his flight, at Love's command,
From hemisphere in sin, to hemisphere,
Warning uncounted multitudes with tears —
Preaching the risen Christ on sea and land —
And now those angel journeyings above!
Souls, his companions, saved by such unwearied love!"
 

In December, 1845, one of the London daily papers, "The Sun," contained a somewhat extended account of Whitefield in New England, and especially his death, funeral, and tomb, from which we borrow mementos that in both hemispheres may be interesting "for generations to come."

"I was spending Sunday at Old Ipswich, in the latter part of last September, when by accident I fell in with an old inhabitant of the town who had heard Whitefield preach there. He was a sort of patriarch of the place, and as he sat on one of the stones which surrounded the ancient orthodox meeting-house, his grey locks streaming from beneath his queerly shaped hat, and attired in his primly cut old-fashioned coat, he appeared no bad representative of the departed Puritans who, in former days, had soberly and decently obeyed the call of the Sabbath bell, and worshipped in the same temple whose steeple now casts its shadow athwart the green sward beneath… As the bell of Old Ipswich church swung out that bright Sabbath morning, it was a pretty sight to see the village people coming from different points to the decaying old church, which was situated, as most country churches in New England are, on a hill-top. While I was enjoying the scene, the old man to whom I have alluded, and who was sitting on a stone, accosted me, and asked me if I was not a stranger 'in these parts.' On my informing him that I was, he pointed out to me the 'lions' of the neighborhood, and wound up by asking, 'I suppose, sir, you've heard of Whitefield?'

"'Of Whitefield? to be sure I have.'

"'Well, I've seen Whitefield, George Whitefield stood on this very stone,' (dropping his stick feebly from his shaking hands,) 'and I heard him preach here.'

"'And do you remember any thing about him?' I asked.

"'Well, I guess I do. I was but a bit of a boy then; but here he stood on this stone, looking like a flying angel, and we call this Whitefield's pulpit to this day… There was folks here from all parts to hear him; so he was obliged to preach outside, for the church wasn't half big enough for 'em, and no two ways about it. I've heard many parsons sin' that time, but none on 'em could come nigh him, any how they could fix it.'

"'Do you remember any thing of his sermons?' I inquired.

"'Oh, I was too young to notice aught, sir, but the preacher hisself and the crowds of people, but I know he had a very sweet voice; and as I said, when he spread his arms out, with a little Bible in his hand, he looked like a flying angel. There never were so many people, afore nor since, in Old Ipswich. I suppose, sir, you'll be going to see his bones? He was buried at Newburyport, and you can see 'em if you like.'

"I made up my mind that I would see them, if possible. On the following day, I went over to Newburyport by railroad, and proceeded first to the house in which Whitefield died. It was at the time the residence of the Rev. Jonathan Parsons, the first regular pastor of the Presbyterian Society in the town. It is a plain unpretending structure, possessing no other claims to attention than its being the spot where the last scene of Whitefield's career was enacted. I knocked, and asked of a lady who answered my summons, if I might be allowed to see the room in which Mr. Whitefield died. She very courteously showed me up a flight of stairs into a chamber, which, she said, Mr. Whitefield used to sleep in. 'Here is the place he died in,' said the lady, as she showed me a little entry just outside the door of the chamber, directly over the entrance to the house. 'He lay the night before he died,' said the lady, 'in that bed-chamber; and when he was struck with death, he ran out to this entry window for breath, and died while sitting in a chair opposite to it.'

"The Federal-street church, where Whitefield was buried, was but a short distance from the house in which he died, and on my way to it I called on the sexton… He preceded me through the aisle of the church, and opening a little narrow door by the side of the pulpit, we passed into a dim gloomy room behind it, and from thence descending four or five steps, found ourselves in a brick vault which lay directly under the pulpit. It was two or three minutes before my eyes got accustomed to the gloom; but soon objects became discernible, and I saw three old coffins, two of them serving as supporters to the third, which lay across them… The sexton trimmed his lamp, then lifted the lid of an old coffin, and holding the flame close to it, said, 'Here, look in, … THAT'S THE MAN.'

"Yes, there lay the man, or at least, all that remains of the once mighty preacher. A strange awe came over me at his words, 'That's the man.' I took the skull in my hands, and examined it carefully. The forehead was rather narrow than broad, and by no means high. I soon put it back again to the coffin."

Among the more prominent traits in the character of Whitefield, we may designate his indifference to his own honor and ease, of which his narrative contains almost innumerable illustrations. In the preparation of the deed of trust for his intended college, he entirely omitted his own name, that the proposed trustees might accept the office without suffering contempt for being connected with him. It was not pretence which led him often to say, "Let the name of George Whitefield perish, if God be glorified." On the same principle of almost self-annihilation he acted in reference to the accumulation of money. He secured nothing for himself. It does not seem that what he left to his friends by his will was or could be paid; what had been left him as legacies had been nearly all expended, and would have been entirely, had he lived to return to his beloved Bethesda. By his will he placed the institution in the hands of Lady Huntingdon, who sent out ministers and other persons to conduct it. But soon after this, the buildings were burnt down. After the fire, came the Revolutionary war, which tended to unsettle the tenure of property, and at the time of its close, the whole plans, alike of the orphan-house and the college, were nearly unknown. The authorities of Savannah, in accordance with the high regard which they still entertained for Whitefield's memory, secured whatever they could of the wreck, the proceeds of which they invested in a school for the young, which yet flourishes.

Perhaps no man was ever more thoroughly fond of labor. From a memorandum in which Mr. Whitefield recorded the times and places of his ministerial labors, it appears that from the period of his ordination to that of his death, which was thirty-four years, he preached upwards of eighteen thousand sermons. It would be difficult to imagine how many thousand miles he travelled. When he ascertained that his physical powers began to fail, putting himself on what he called "short allowance," he preached only once on every week-day, and three times on the Sabbath. In view of his various journeyings in the slow and inconvenient modes of travelling then in use, his thirteen voyages across the Atlantic, and all that he accomplished, it appears that few men ever performed so much labor within the same period.

Nearly every one who has attempted a description of Whitefield has said much of his extraordinary voice. It is known that Garrick was heard to say that he would give a hundred guineas if he could say "Oh!" as Whitefield did. The late Rev. Dr. Haweis, speaking of his "wonderful voice," and of its sweetness and variety of tone, said he believed on a serene evening it might be distinctly heard for nearly a mile. Others have given similar evidence.

The late Sir George Beaumont, no mean authority on such a subject, thus familiarly speaks: "Oh yes; I heard that young gentleman this morning allude to 'roaring Whitefield,' and was amused at his mistake. It is a common one. Whitefield did not roar. I have been his auditor more than once, and was delighted with him. Whitefield's voice could be heard at an immense distance; but that was owing to its fulness, roundness, and clearness. It was a perfectly sound voice. It is an odd description, but I can hit upon no better; there was neither crack nor flaw. To describe him as a bellowing, roaring field preacher, is to describe a mountebank, not Whitefield. He had powers of pathos of the highest order. The tender, soft, persuasive tones of his voice were melodious in the extreme. And when he desired to win, or persuade, or plead, or soothe, the gush of feeling which his voice conveyed at once surprised and overpowered you."

Speaking on the authority of his tutor, the Rev. Cornelius Winter, the late excellent Mr. Jay says that Whitefield's voice was incomparable: not only distinct and loud, but abounding with every kind of inflection, and perfectly under his power; so that he could render every thing he expressed, however common or insignificant in itself, striking and affecting.

This distinguished man had a peculiar talent for making the narration of facts tell in the pulpit. Nothing occurred among even his own family connections, but he would make it contribute to the edification of his auditors. One Lord's day morning, with his usual fervor he exhorted his hearers to give up the use of means for the spiritual good of their relatives and friends only with their lives. He told them he had a brother, for whose spiritual welfare he had very long used every possible means. He had warned him, and prayed for him, but all apparently to no purpose, till a few weeks previous; when that brother, to his astonishment and joy, came to his house, and with many tears declared that he had come up from the country to testify to him the great change which divine grace had wrought in his heart, and to acknowledge with gratitude his obligation to the man by whom God had wrought. Mr. Whitefield added, that he had that morning received information, that on his brother's return to Gloucestershire, where he resided, he dropped down dead as he was getting out of a stagecoach. "Let us pray always," said he, "for ourselves, and for those who are dear to us, and never faint."

This habit of making every occurrence bear on his ministry, Mr. Winter, who knew him more intimately, and has told us more of his private life and conduct than any other man, tells us was "perfectly in character with Mr. Whitefield. He turned every thing into gold; he improved every thing for good. Passing occurrences determined the matter of his sermons, and, in some degree, the manner of his address. Thus, if he had read on astronomy in the course of the week, you would be sure to discover it. He knew how to convert the centripetal motion of the planets to the disposition of the Christian towards Christ; and the fatal attraction of the world was very properly represented by a reference to the centrifugal. If he attended any extraordinary trial, he would avail himself of the formality of the judge in pronouncing sentence. It would only be by hearing him, and by beholding his attitude and tears, that a person could well conceive the effect; for it was impossible but that solemnity must surround him who, under God, became the means of making all solemn."