FUNERAL SERMON ON MR. WALKER.

New Zealand Times, Volume XXX, Issue 4448, 22 June 1875, Page 2

FUNERAL SERMON ON MR. WALKER.

On Sunday evening last the services at the Primitive Methodist Church, Sydney-street, partook of a mournful character, having been especially arranged in memorial of Mr. W. Walker, or, as he was better known in the Church, Father Walker, in whose recent death the communion has lost one of its most faithful and zealous adherents. After the usual musical and devotional services,The Rev. Mr. Ward, pastor of the Church, preached an able and appropriate sermon from Psalm xo., 10-12, in which he revertedjto the many changes, religious, political, and social, which had occurred during the life that had recently terminated under such happy circumstances. More than twelve years prior to the present century—the time of Father Walker's birth —Sydney had been formed as a penal settlement, but for five years no other colonies* had been planted in our southern world, where millions now dwelt in the highest state of civilisation, and proud cities had their foundation, savages had their homes. He had seen four monarchs on the British throne, for kings do not live for ever, and he had seen every State in Europe shaken to its centre. What changes, too, in the political world, if there were but time to enumerate them. He had been born three years before John Wesley’s death, and Methodism was then in its infancy, numbering a few thousand adherents at most; now it numbered millions. At the time of his birth, missionary societies, which were now the pride of the Church, were only just being formed, and since that time had risen up many a great shining light in the Church such as Binney, McSheen, Taylor, and lately Moody and Sankey. At the conclusion of his discourse, the rev. gentleman referred to deceased in the following terms :—When I arrived in Wellington with my family, seven and a half years ago, foremost amongst a host of friends who welcomed us was an old man whose face was radiant with Christian joy, and this was Father Walker. As he leaned upon his welltried staff, and as we entered the minister’s house, he commenced to sing “Praise God from whom all blessings flow.” A number united heartily with him, and the welcome given endeared us to our new friends, and especially to the old man who led their song of praise. On the following Sunday momidg the word of the Lord flowed freely, and at the close of the service Father Walker went down the aisle shouting, “ This is the bread of life.” A further acquaintance with him increased my attachment to this aged pilgrim, and excited my admiration of his consistent joy. About fourteen or fifteen years ago, as far as I can ascertain, under the ministry of the Kev. Joshua Smith, Father Walker united himself to our Church in Wellington, after spending many years in the Wesleyan Communion in England. Ho place was so precious to him as the House of God, and no exercise was so delightful as Christian worship. Our social gatherings for prayer and praise were enriched with the fervor of his responses, and the appropriateness of his prayers. Strangers, rich and poor, admired the grace of God in him, and were stirred up to seek a higher life by his conversation. He was naturally a strong man, but about five years ago a painful disease laid him low, and threatened to end his days; but surgical operations, which were borne with exemplary patience, added several years to his life, though they were years of labor and sorrow. His affliction for many months prevented him from attending the public sanctuary, but did not prevent the mingling of his . worship with ours. And as we paid our Monday visits, and told him of the Sabbath services, his cheeks were often wetted with tears of joy, and with tremulous voice ho gave the glory. The Bible was his book, and very familiar was he with its sacred pages, yet other books illustrative of Christ and salvation occupied his mind, and refreshed his spirit. Ten months ago his wife sickened and died. She was naturally of a nervous and fearful disposition, but her end was remarkably happy. When dropsy was gradually approaching the heart, she wished to be changed from the sofa to the bed where her husband was lying, saying as she did so, “ I will die with him.” The old gentleman stretched out his arm across the pillow, on which she laid her head and died. So peacefully did she close her eyes on earthly things, to open them in heaven. Not so was Father Walker’s death. For about a fortnight he suffered much ; and what he endured for several days and nights, when he could take no nourishment and could not get one half-hour’s respite from pain so as to sleep, cannot be told. But all through his affliction he clung to Christ with an unfaltering grasp. And. when we could understand nothing else we heard him say, “Come quickly! 0, how long ! how long I I want to go !” Then when he did not seem to see or to hear or know any

one, he cried, ” Pray, O pray.” Prayer was “ his watchword at the gates of death ”; and words of triumph were half articulated when nothing else could be understood. After waiting and watching for several days the time of his departure came. Mortification announced its near approach ; and midnight on the night of June 9th, with no sigh of sorrow, the spirit went to God who gave it, leaving the worn and broken body to be decently composed and laid in its last resting-place. He had lived long, for he died in the eighty-third year of his age. Most of his children have gone before him. May those that remain meet him in heaven. On a wet wintry day, June 12th, his remains were brought into this church, where his voice had been so often heard, and while appropriate verses were sung and portions of Scripture read, all felt that a ripe sheaf had been gathered into the garner. We saw his coffin lowered to its resting-place—earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust—and years will pass before our departed friend will be forgotten ; for the memory of the just is blessed.