BURY IT WITH ME by Lucia M. Swan

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · June 17, 1880

FromThe Review and Herald, Vol. 55, No. 25

“BURY IT WITH ME.”

By Lucia M. Swan

BY LUCIA M. SWAN.

Enter with me a spacious apartment where everything that wealth can buy or affection suggest is displayed. Amid this array of splendor lies a manly form, and upon his high, noble brow the death-damp is gathering. Around him stand his friends, assembled to bid the last, long farewell to him who has been their pride and joy. The unwilling victim is struggling hard to free himself from the grasp of his unseen enemy; but as he finds that the struggle is vain, from the depths of his overburdened heart comes the wild request, “Gather up my influence, and bury it with me!” Had he asked anything that money could buy, how quickly would it have been granted by that indulgent father; but alas! it is beyond the power of friends to grant this request; for notwithstanding all his dying agonies, that lamented influence will continue to work long after its author is still in death. Could he have realized when he dropped that seed of infidelity into some youthful heart, or when he led that companion into temptation, that of this seed so carelessly sown, he must one day eat the bitter fruit, he need not thus wildly repent a misspent life. But it is now too late; life is fast ebbing away, and his life-record must forever remain unchanged.

Nor does the full extent of influence end here. After the sower has gone to the silent home of the dead, the seed that he has sown will take root and grow, and after-generations may eat of its fruit. Take, for example, the great reformer. In the midst of that night of total darkness, he shone forth as a guiding star, to lead the victims of papal superstition to the marvelous light of the gospel. And that dim light, which arose in obscurity, has increased and brightened, until thousands have blessed the name and memory of Martin Luther. But there was another whose influence was no less felt. This was Louisa of Savoy, mother of Francis the First, king of France. The faint glimmerings of the Reformation were stealing their way to many a royal heart, and

among those who were receiving the precious truth was her daughter Margaret. It needed only the favor of Louisa to make the Reformation a success in France, and for awhile this was granted. But soon, worldly policy making it expedient for her to oppose it, she brought all her queenly powers to bear against it. She introduced the Inquisition, and at her command Christian blood flowed freely; and thousands remained in darkness who might, but for her influence, have been rejoicing in the truth. Never, until she hears her sentence at the bar of God, can she fully realize the fearful extent of her influence.

We do not occupy the responsible position of king of France, nor is it our mission to reform the world. No; but in our quiet, humble sphere, we may secure proportionally great results. The small drops of rain are just as useful in their place as the mighty river, nor are they any more to be disregarded because that sphere is humble. Our influence, however small, may be the prolific instrument to scatter pestilence, darkness, and distress, all around our pathway, or the means of bringing to life new beauty and happiness. We may, by a gentle word or look, lighten an overburdened heart, or dry a falling tear. We may smooth life's rugged pathway for weary, bleeding feet, and point some trembling heart to the rest “over there.” Or by a harsh, unfriendly word, we may inflict a new wound on a heart already torn and bleeding. Could we but know how many aching hearts, even around our path in life, are longing for sympathy and love, could we but realize how many seemingly careless ones are wishing for some kind hand to point them Heavenward, could we but see how many may perish for the “want of a word” which we might have spoken, how carefully would we walk life's devious paths, with what watchfulness would we guard our words and actions, lest, when called to leave this life, we should wildly pray, but pray in vain, “Gather up my influence, and bury it with me!”