Chapter VI: Deacon William Leperd

Chapter VI.
Deacon William Lepard AS our church recognises no distinction of clergy and laity, it is not meet that its history should consist entirely of the lives and labours of its pastors. It owes, under God, very much to those faithful men who have discharged the office of deacon in its midst. Most of these accomplish the labours of their sacred office with quiet unobtrusiveness, and pass away without any record of their lives being given to the world, nor are they, on this account, any the less honoured and accepted of the great Head of the Church. Occasionally, however, from remarkable circumstances or singular gifts a deacon becomes almost as prominent as the pastor, and his life is quite a landmark in the history of the church. Such was the case with William Lepard, who was a member of the church for 84 years, and died in our fellowship at the age of 99. His membership ran through the pastorates of Stinton and Gill, and into the first 27 years of that of Mr. Rippon. As the descendants of this eminent old disciple are still honourably connected with the Baptist body, and as the memoir written by Dr. Rippon will aid our readers in forming some idea of the doctor himself, and of the manners of the church in those times, we print it almost entire, only intimating that the memoir is the closing portion of a funeral sermon preached before the Carter Lane congregation from 2 Cor. xii, 9, and that this fact accounts for some allusions which are not of general interest, but which it would have been difficult to omit. We are glad to give on the next page a likeness of the reverend old man from a finely executed engraving in our possession: our copy falls short of the original, but hits off the likeness well.

SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF MR. WILLIAM LEPARD, BY DR. RIPPON.

Mr. William Lepard was descended of ancestors whose history had neither been emblazoned by arms, nor crested with coronets; but, though unknown to heraldry and in the courts of princes, individuals of his family were well known in the courts of the Lord's house—in thy courts, O Jerusalem!—from which a voice is heard this day, saying to all his honoured descendants, "Praise ye the Lord!" His mother had the honour of being a member of the church when it was under the pastorate of Mr. Benjamin Keach. Dr. Gill has been heard to say, that she was an eminently pious woman.

Mr. Lepard's grandmother also was a member of the same church: and as, at her dissolution, she had to review a life of ninety years, it is conceivable that she might have been one of the first members of this church, when it was formed in 1652.

WILLIAM LEPARD. Our deceased friend was born September 18, 1700, and perfectly remembered the great storm, in November, 1703, which was so proverbially desolating. And he had reason to do so. His father, who was in the building line, could not but know that the decayed house in which he lived must be in danger by that tremendous wind; and in the evening he said to his wife, "Let us take the child out of bed, and carry him over to Ezekiel Seward's (a quaker who lived almost opposite), for the house will be down before the morning." And according to his apprehensions so it was. In the night the chimney fell, and bore down part of the roof, which brought away the flooring, and so threw out the front; and the first sight they had, when daylight came, was the inside of their house, and the bricks and mortar lying in the street. This distinguishing providence he used to mention very circumstantially, and when he was not long since repeating it, he added, with much significance, in the words of Job's messengers, "And I only am escaped to tell thee."

Before he could well read, he was taught a number of hymns and psalms suited to the capacities of children. These were interesting to him all his days, even in latest life. For them he was indebted, not to his mother only, but to his grandmother, who was no doubt of the same opinion as her pastor, Mr. Keach, who, in the preface to his book, of sacred hymns, says, "Since singing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs is God's ordinance, 'tis [evidently] the duty of parents and heads of families to instruct their children therein, as well as to teach them to read; for, by learning sacred hymns, they may be taken up before their parents are aware with the matter therein contained."

Besides the advantages he received at home, his mother availed herself of other opportunities for his knowing the ways of the Lord more perfectly. She sent him to be instructed with other children at the old meeting-house, on the spot where the Rev. John Townsend's, at Rotherhithe, now stands. So great was the number of young persons who attended there every Saturday afternoon, that two ministers at the same time met them, and taught them the Assembly's Catechism. At about fourteen years of age, one day coming from school, he went to play with the other lads under the scaffold on which his father was at work. He had but just come from under it when it fell, and his father with it, who was killed on the spot, or at least did not speak afterwards. His mother, now left a widow, felt her loss. He has informed us with pleasure that she was "a widow indeed." She kept a shop, and so did Mrs. Stinton, the pastor's wife; but, notwithstanding she was a widow, she had a widow's mite for the poor, especially for poor Christians. This circumstance our deceased friend has sometimes mentioned with a grateful exultation. But though the father was removed, the son was left, and much was he the solace of his mother. Three or four days after his father's death a respectable bricklayer applied to the bereaved woman, and offered to teach her son his trade if she thought he would like it, and make him free of the city. The offer was accepted. "But," said the mother, who was not indifferent where her son went to hear the word, nor whether he was a churchman or dissenter, "you must, sir, let my son go to meeting with me." He agreed to it, and was as good as his word.

She experimentally knew the value of the means of grace, and longed that they might be gracious and saving means to her son. Though he bad felt some serious concern at about ten years of age, religion had yet made no lasting impression on his mind. But when somewhat more than two years of his apprenticeship had expired, as he was grinding a broad chisel, which they call a brick-axe, with his back against a wall, and his feet on the frame in which the stone turned, the stone caught his apron, entangled the axe, drew him after it and cut his clothes and the flesh of his thigh in an awful manner, to the very bone, so that his life was in great danger. In this condition he was taken home to his mother's, and confined to his bed, which he and others feared would be his death-bed. While his body was in this imminent danger, it pleased the God of all grace to lead him into a serious consideration of the dangerous condition of his soul. His mother and the pious women who came to comfort her embraced this opportunity to converse faithfully and affectionately with him, respecting his malady as a sinner, and the remedy so gloriously exhibited in the gospel. His concern was increased, and he felt more on account of his soul than of his body. And after many tears had been shed over him and many prayers offered for him, he was helped to begin fervently to pray for himself. He wrestled with God "for the life of his soul," and praying breath was not spent in vain. The Lord sent him relief from a passage of Scripture exactly suited to his case, which I have read to you as our text—"My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness." He did not now more sensibly feel the weakness of his body than he did the depravity of his soul, but he cherished a hope that the Lord would save the one from death, and the other from sin and everlasting misery. As this text "dwelt on his mind" and "sometimes filled him with joy," he mentioned it to his mother and to several of the godly people who came to see him, and he "felt increasing satisfaction," I use his own words, "in thinking of the work of Christ, the influence of the Holy Spirit, and salvation from sin and punishment."

Some time after his recovery, his mother said to him, "Son, I would have you go to our minister, and talk with him:" he complied, it seems, in the simplicity of his heart, not intending what followed. When he had told his case, Mr. Stinton encouraged him to go before the church, and relate the same to them. This he did,—was soon after baptised with three other persons, and then received into full communion by laying on of the hands of the pastor, according to the practice of the church at that time. He joined this church in the year 1717, perhaps in the spring of that year. Mr. Stinton died February 11, 1718, having first been a teacher in the church, and then pastor for thirteen or fourteen years.

After Mr. Lepard's apprenticeship had expired, and he was arriving at an age when one should wish young persons to make their arrangements for life, his master, who had formed a great respect for him, contemplating a retirement from business, came and asked him if he knew of any person that would stand in his place. But when he found that the benevolent man intended the situation for himself, tears of joy and thankfulness (for he was always affectionate and grateful) rolled down his cheeks; and in mentioning this circumstance to me, he said, "Well they might, for it was a trade, as business then was, worth hundreds a year." This auspicious providence became the happy means of bringing up his family in comfort and credit.

Mr. William Anderson, one of our deacons, having been sent into the work of the ministry by this church, Mr. Lepard was appointed in his room. Our church minutes of May 2, 1743, say that he was unanimously chosen at that meeting. Twenty-four days after the choice, viz.

"Thursday, May 26," Dr. Grill writes, "was appointed for the ordination of him; on which day the church met, and he was ordained into his office." Of that choice which was made by the church, and of this ordination which was the act of the pastor, I have never heard that they repented. For though in earlier days, the cares of a family and the multiplicity of business "in city, town, or country," as he sometimes expressed it, precluded him from serving the church according to the affectionate desires of his heart,—he entered on his office by instituting, in a respectful manner, an inquiry into the circumstances of his pastor and of the church, which terminated in the advantage of the whole, and he was assisted afterwards, under his involuntary omissions, by the wise efforts of his wife, a member of the church, and one of the best of women. It was his honour and the happiness of the whole church, that Mrs. Lepard had talent, and made time to assist her husband in his office. Not by name, but in her conduct, she was, until her death, a deaconess, as Phœbe is called. Not many years after the death of Mrs. Lepard, the sight of the widowed husband began to fail, and he relinquished business in favour of his second son, in whose family he lived many years at Rotherhithe, a little below Globe Stairs. This was his residence when I came to town in 1772. And here it was that I freely conversed with him respecting the affairs of this church, and received his counsels. He had now passed the first stage of Christianity, which they call comfort; and the second, which has been denominated conflict; and was at this time arrived at the third, the stage of contemplation. In this situation of leisure, as he could not see to read, when the weather would permit, he spent seven or eight hours a day in his garden, about a quarter of a mile from his dwelling: he was there sometimes at five o'clock in the morning, and frequently enjoyed on this spot days of unspeakable bliss. In this peaceful retreat also, I have met and happily conversed with him. His vacant hours at home were well employed in the duties of seriousness and cheerfulness. Religion always appeared in a pleasing garb as dressed by him. Here the daughter-in-law found the care of bringing up a family alleviated by his counsels, by his countenance, and his conduct. When children were childish, he used to say to his daughter, "Let us remember we were children once—they will make brave men and women by-and-by." His grandchildren surrounding his feet would listen and learn from him the hymns and little poems which he had been taught when a child. But while he was thus pleasingly communicative and naturally disposed to make all around him happy, he did not think himself too old to learn, and therefore engaged his daughter-in-law and her children to read to him the word of God, and the writings of the late Dr. Gill, to whose works he was partial in a very high degree. The younger branches of the family recollect how fond he was of the epistles of John, which they read over to him "many and many a time." With a heart so much assimilated to that of the aged and holy apostle, it is no wonder that these epistles were dear to him. He breathed love and gratitude.

It is worthy, I think, of peculiar observation, that neither the distance of his habitation, nor the dimness of his sight, hindered him from being with us in the house of God. With his staff in one hand, and the other behind his back, he walked from below Rotherhithe church to London Bridge of a Lord's-day, erect as in his youth, with a countenance always in his favour; multitudes saying as he passed, "What a fine old man!" This practice he continued till he was in the ninetieth year of his age, when it will not seem strange that he felt increasing weakness, and perceived that the walk to meeting was rather more than he could take with pleasure. This opened the way to change of residence, nearer this place of worship, by the tender care of his eldest son, who placed him under the wing of a respectable aged matron in Blackman Street, in the Borough.

It was about this time, I think, that his children and grandchildren, in looking at the term of ninety years, naturally concluded that the time drew near, when the aged saint must die; and believing that the first class of duties we owe belongs to God, and the second to our parents, they determined to have a family meeting for the purpose of expressing their most dutiful affection to him before his death. The day was fixed, and the Grove-house at Camberwell was the place appointed for the meeting. The day arrived. His children and descendants were all in health, and they were all present, those who used the distant seas not excepted—they were thirty-nine in number. I was the only person present, not a relative, and made the fortieth. The sight I shall never forget. What an assemblage! I saw the great-grand-children, beauteous vernal buds. The grandchildren were full blown roses. The children had passed into summer, not having entirely lost the beauties of spring; but the countenance and conduct, the cheerfulness and piety of their aged father, on that day, exhibited a man—a holy man—

"Crowned with perpetual harvest."

Sitting by his side, when the table was covered, I said to him, Sir, it falls on you to ask a blessing. He rose like a patriarch, at the head of his family, and in these words, taken as they flowed from his lips, he addressed the Supreme Majesty:

"Ever-living and ever-loving God! thou hast been pleased to bless thine unworthy dust with this family:—O Lord, bless them! He would give them all into thine hands. Bless them in their bodies, and bless them in their souls; and may great grace be upon them all! We now beg thy blessing upon what is before us, that it may be refreshing to us, and that we may glorify thee, the Father of all our mercies, for Jesus' sake." Every voice said, Amen.

Dinner and the services of the table being over, one present waved his hand, at which the whole company were on their feet, and humbly representing the rest, he said, "We look at our venerable father and thank him for his care of us in youth, his advice to us in riper years, and his affectionate concern for us to this hour. May his last days be his best days!"

Many years antecedent to this, there is sufficient reason to believe that this honoured man had been advancing in purity and in bliss, nor was his career less holy and happy afterwards. He classed not with the chilling and disheartening circle of aged professors, compared by Mr. Toplady to decayed mile stones, which have lost their inscription, and answer no end in the world but that of mortifying the traveller, who looks to read how far he has to go to reach his journey's end, but looks in vain. No man more cheerfully said than Mr. Lepard, from time to time, "By the grace of God, I am what I am." But we ourselves subjoin, that the grace of God which was bestowed upon him was not in vain. A decayed mile stone! No; though almost ninety years of age when he came to reside in this neighbourhood, he appeared in general as lively in his soul as any young Christian in the church. Our Lord's-day morning prayer-meetings, at half-past nine o'clock, will witness this. How constant was his attendance! He was often present one of the first. At these beneficial services, his very countenance did good to younger Christians, and to persons more advanced. At one time, as he entered, I heard him say, "Peace be to you, my brethren, in the name of the Lord." At another time he breathed this language, "My feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem!" He mostly came among us with cheerfulness, and always with solemnity. How animating has it been to the church and the congregation, to see the son lead the father, whose eyes were dim by reason of age, through the aisle to the pew, and to see the venerable man take his seat! How have our hearts moved and melted while witnessing his devotion in the house of the Lord, and especially at the Lord's table! But his piety, conspicuous abroad, was also eminent at home. There he uttered not the language of murmuring and suspicion. The voice of fretfulness, peevishness, and the other attendant frailties and crimes of old age, were far from his tents. He was condescending to the young, affectionate to his children, attentive to his friends, courteous to all, and a most rigid observer of the truth in all his intercourse with the world and the church. Though, I think, he was somewhat too backward in the performance of public prayer, he was a pattern in private prayer. Morning, noon, and night, he constantly attempted to draw near to God, and when, through age, he could not retire for the performance of this holy duty, those who were around him withdrew and left him alone. Of late years, it was pretty much his custom to use his voice distinctly in this service; and it is well known that he was mighty in prayer through the power of the Holy Ghost. He finished his day with prayer, and entered on the next with praise. To all this I must yet add, that during the last eight or nine years of his life, from ninety years of age and upwards, his days were happier than they were long, being eminently unclouded and blissful. The intervals of prayer he continually filled up with praise. Two, three, or four hymns a day, unless he was ill, which was seldom the case, were cheerfully sung by him; and sometimes he was singing almost all the day. Three of his favourite hymns and psalms, which he sung much oftener than the rest, were these:—the twenty-third psalm by Dr. Watts, beginning with, "The Lord my shepherd is, I shall be well supplied." And that hymn in which is this remarkable verse—

"Hail, great Immanuel, all divine: In thee thy Father's glories shine!

Thou brightest, sweetest, fairest one, That eyes have seen, or angels known!" And this also—

"Come, Holy Spirit, heavenly dove, With all thy quickening powers;" &c.

"What has been hitherto related concerning our deceased friend, is pretty generally known in most of our little circles, and has been sometimes repeated in our parlours; it cannot therefore possibly be considered in the light of posthumous commendation, lavished with a prodigal hand over the ashes of the dead, to which the public voice would have denied its sanction while he was living; but all my friends, and every member of the church, will estimate this report, made in honour of the grace of God, as an eulogy of sober praise to which our deceased friend and father had a legitimate claim; for his life had indeed been a living testimony. He has also left a dying testimony, which I shall now state if you will indulge me with your patience.

You will be glad to hear that his powers of memory were good till the last day but one of his life. About a fortnight before he died, I called, and saw him happy. He had just finished singing one of his hymns as I came to the door. A few days after, as I am informed, he felt a pain in his back for about five minutes, which it seems was all the pain he endured. Debility came on; his case was perfectly understood; medical assistance was administered with equal kindness and skill by a respectable member of his family, who prudently gave an intimation to the other affectionate relatives that nine or ten days would terminate the complaint, which was a dissolution of the blood. The eighth day of the ten arrived; and then Saturday, the ninth of the ten. In the morning of it, his eldest son and daughter, attending his bed side, witnessed the happiness of the good man, whose language, now often repeated, was, "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits." "Thou hast dealt bountifully with me." He then distinctly and at length recounted the Lord's dealings with him in providence, and his kindness as the God of grace. He afterwards spake with much energy of the love of God, who passed by fallen angels, and before all worlds elected a certain number of men to salvation out of every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people; "Yea," said he, "and chose them to himself, and for himself, gave them to his Son to redeem, and by his Holy Spirit makes them meet for the inheritance of the saints in light," adding, "I hope you are no strangers to these things, on which your dear minister is so often speaking to you." He expatiated on the love of Christ, as enduring the cross and despising the shame, before he sat down at his Father's right hand. After remaining a few minutes composed and still, he broke out in one of the most sublime and beautiful prayers. He prayed for himself, that the enemy might be as still as a stone, while he passed over Jordan; he prayed for his sons; for his daughter, then by his bedside; for each of his grandchildren, and their children, that they might be a generation to serve the Lord. In the afternoon he spoke in adoring strains of the covenant of grace, and expressed his joy in prospect of the latter-day glory, and of Christ as presenting the church to his Father without spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing. At intervals he sung Hallelujah; and indeed his room seemed to be the antechamber of glory. This Saturday evening I had the pleasure to visit him again. I found him somewhat exhausted by much exertion in conversing with his children one after another, in the different parts of the day; but his recollection was perfect, and with detail he continued to relate, for about half-an-hour, some of the kind providences of God towards him in early life, which he had several times mentioned to me when he was in full health, and now, as circumstantially as ever. "I have been talking to my son William," said he, "who has known my life from the fifteenth year of his age till now." But I dismiss the whole of his conversation, except one thing. Who could have borne to hear the love and gratitude of this ancient and apostolic man, when with his dying lips he thanked his son for all his kindness to him, saying, "Son, you have been a Joseph to me."

I turn from the subject a moment, and request that I may become an angel of entreaty to ail the young people in this assembly, especially to those who have praying and godly parents. I beseech you, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that as opportunity may offer, you will each of you, with duty, affection, and gratitude, aspire to be a Joseph to your aged parents.

It was about seven o'clock in the evening, when I proposed the following questions to him: his answers were pencilled by a person at his bedside, as they came from his lips:

Q. Are you in pain, sir?

A. I am not, sir, blessed be God. This is a comfort, sir, a very great one.

Q. Do you know, sir, what day it will be to-morrow?

A. Yes, Lord's-day; the Lord crown the day with his blessing!—What, sir, are there any people then to join you to-morrow, to join the church?

Q. No, sir, not to-morrow; but you joined it once, sir?

A. Yes, and a charming day it was, blessed be God. He has given me a name and a place in his house, better than that of sons and daughters: and that was a charming day, sir, when he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for thee, my strength is made perfect in weakness." And it was so. It was so.

Q. Do any of the truths and promises which comforted you formerly, support you now, sir?

A. Yes, the first words are good now; he does strengthen me, he does support me. I cannot wait upon him now as I could then: I cannot do as I would. I wish for more light, and more life, and more love: though I have lost my sight, I can look back and see the way by which he has brought me, and I can look forward too, sir. Oh, that's comfortable!

Q. I am afraid, sir, I tire you?

A. Oh no, sir, I am not tired, if you are not; I am willing to speak, if you are willing to hear.

Q. If you should, within a few hours, sir, meet Dr. Gill in glory?

A. Ay, and my mother, and grandmother, and multitudes of precious souls besides, and the precious Jesus.

After giving him a little time I proposed one question more.

Q. Have you, sir, any fear of death?

A. No fear of death; I am not afraid at all; I know the Lord to be my strength, my portion, and my God. "The Lord is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him." This text he repeated, and then said, He will not forsake me now, he has given me his word he will not; I have his gospel for it. So far was he from being exercised with the fear of death, that in the forenoon of this very day, the last day of his reason, and the last but one of his life, he had been most pleasantly singing several verses, of which these are some of the lines—

"The grave is a refining pot," &c. And when he came to this part of them, "The flesh shall lose its dross, And like the sun shall rise," he lifted up his hands with every expression of joy; and finding that he could not sing all the verses through as distinctly as he had done before, speaking of the aged servant in the house, he said, "she can help me out." Here was vigour at ninety-nine years of age! Here was bliss on the very shores of death. How gracious was God to this his servant! Was not this departing in peace, having seen God's salvation? My heart and voice said, "let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his." With this desire, assured that God would safely convey him over the river, I pressed his dying hand to my lips, and he as affectionately kissed mine in return. "The Lord be with you," said he; I replied, "and with your spirit!" and so we parted on Saturday evening about nine of the clock. And this I believe was the last regular conversation that he held with any person, and a wish being expressed that he might be kept still all the night, nothing particular transpired after that time.

I called to see him between the morning and afternoon services of the Lord's-day, and perceived that he was fast going the way of all the earth. His eldest son, a deacon of this church, spent the afternoon of the day with him waiting to see his last; and he frequently heard him say,—Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah; and as far as he could interpret, he thought his dying father was saying or singing in death, "Glory, honour, praise, and power, Be unto the Lamb for ever, Jesus Christ is our Redeemer!

Hallelujah!" Which was the last word he attempted to articulate; and thus he sweetly fell asleep in Jesus, just as we were going out of meeting in the afternoon, Lord's-day, January 20, 1799, in the 99th year of his age, having been a member of this church about eighty-two years.