George Whitefield Biography His Death

I have stood in the field of Exeter where Whitefield preached his very last sermon in New England in 1770 and it solemnized me as I stood there thinking of that dear man addressed that crowd of 4,000 in the open air that day and I want to read us before we go to a time of prayer an excerpt from my two-volume definitive biography on Whitefield regarding the last hours Whitefield spent on this earth. First I want to read from a record by Dr. John Gillies. Mr. Richard Smith who attended Whitefield from England to America the last time was his constant companion in all his journeyings while there until the time of his decease and here's an excerpt of Whitefield's comments as he was getting ready to ascend the pulpit friends.

A Mr. Clarkson senior observing Whitefield to be more uneasy than usual approached him and said to him sir you are more fit to go to bed than to preach to which Mr. Whitefield answered true sir but turning aside he clasped his hands together and looking upset Lord Jesus I am weary in thy work but not of thy work if I have not finished my course let me go and speak for thee once more in the fields seal thy truth and come home and die his last sermon was from second Corinthians chapter 13 and verse 5 examine yourselves whether ye be in the faith prove your own selves know ye not your own selves how that Jesus Christ is in you except ye be repubates he dined at Captain Gilman's after dinner and Whitefield and Mr. Parsons rode to Newburyport. I traced that route where the two dear men rode on horseback to the end that still stands the manse that Whitefield died in. It's three doors down from the Old South Presbyterian Church in Newburyport Massachusetts and I want to read you what took place that evening the last evening of George Whitefield's life as he died from an attack of asthma or combined heart attack on top of that friends and I want to read that from the direct record of his aide Richard Smith from his diary who was with him at the moment that Whitefield died.

Here now are Richard Smith's words and then Mr. Whitefield retired upstairs he said that he would sit and read till I came to him which I did as soon as possible and found him reading in the Bible with Dr. Watt Psalms lying open before him he asked me for some water gruel and took about half his usual quantity and kneeling down by the bedside closed the evening with prayer after a little conversation he went to rest and slept till two in the morning when he awoke me and asked for a little cider of which he drank about a wine glass full I asked him how he felt for he seemed to pant for breath he told me his asthma was coming on him again and he must have two or three days rest two or three days ride and without preaching would set him up again soon afterwards he asked me to put the window up a little higher although was up half all night for said he I cannot breathe but hope I shall be better by and by a good pulpit sweat today may give me relief I shall be better after preaching I said to him I wish he would not preach so often he replied I had rather wear out than rust out I then told him I was afraid he took cold and preaching yesterday he said he believed he had and then sat up in the bed and prayed that God would be pleased to bless his preaching where he had been and also bless his preaching that day that more souls might be brought to Christ and prayed for direction whether he should winter at Boston or hasten to the southward prayed for a blessing on his Bethesda College and his dear family there for the tabernacle and chapel congregations and all connections on the other side of the water and then laid himself down to sleep again this was nine three o'clock at a quarter past four he waked and said my asthma my asthma is coming on I wish I had not given out word to preach at Haverhill on Monday I don't think I shall be able but I shall see what today will bring forth if I'm no better tomorrow I will take two or three days ride he then desired me to warm him a little gruel and in breaking the firewood I waked Mr. Parsons that's Jonathan Parsons friend the pastor that Whitfield was staying with I waked Mr. Parsons who thinking I knocked for him rose and came in he went to Whitfield's bedside and asked him how he felt himself he answered I am almost suffocated I can scarce breathe my asthma quite chokes me I was then not a little surprised to hear how quick and with what difficulty he drew his breath he got out of bed and went to the open window for air this was exactly at five o'clock I went to him and for about the space of five minutes saw no danger only that he had a great difficulty in breathing as I had often seen before soon afterwards he turned himself on me and said I am dying I said I hope not sir he ran to the other window panting for breath but could get no relief it was agreed I should go for Dr. Sawyer and on my coming back I saw death on his face and he again said I am dying his eyes were fixed his under lip drawn inward every time he drew breath he went towards the window and we offered him some warm wine with lavender drops which he refused I persuaded him to sit down in the chair and have his cloak on he consented by a sign but could not speak I then offered him the glass of warm wine he took half of it but it seemed as if it would stop his breath entirely in a little time he brought up a considerable quantity of phlegm and wind I then began to have some small hopes Mr. Parsons said he thought Whitfield breathed more freely than he did and would recover I said no sir he is certainly dying I was continually employed in taking the phlegm out of his mouth with a handkerchief and bathing his temples with drops rubbing his wrists and so on to give him a relief if possible but all in vain his hands and feet were as cold as clay when the doctor came in and saw him in the chair leaning upon my breast he felt his pulse and said he is a dead man Mr. Parsons said I do not believe it you must do something doctor he said I cannot he is now near his last breath and indeed so it was for he fetched out but one grasp stretched out his feet and breathed no more this was exactly at six o'clock we continued rubbing his legs hands and feet with warm cloths and bathed him with spirits for some time but all in vain I then put him into a warm bed the doctor standing by and often raised him upright continued rubbing him and putting spirits to his nose for an hour till all hopes were gone the people came in crowds to see him I begged the doctor to shut the door well friends this is an excerpt from the death of Whitfield from my chapter on George Whitfield's life and may it stir us to do great things for God like Whitfield did may it stir us to be surrendered vehicles to God so God can do great things through us let us take this time now to pray