William Nevins, part 5: Mrs. Mary Lloyd Nevins (1801-1834)
During the last two years of his life, when unable to preach because of his health, William Nevins wrote a number of articles for publication. Most of them were published in the New York Observer and others in a religious periodical. Today’s article is entitled “Mrs. M. L. Nevins.” It was written both as a tribute to his wife and as a testimony to the empowering grace of God as a Christian believer comes to the last trial of life.
The following notice was inserted in the secular newspapers of Baltimore, of November 12 [1834].
“Died, on Saturday, November 8, after a short illness, Mrs. Mary Lloyd, wife of the Rev. W. Nevins, aged 33 years. Though she fell a victim to the dreadful pestilence [cholera], yet she suffered no pain, and felt no terror, but with sweet submission to the divine will—with perfect confidence in the merits of her Redeemer, and in humble hope of eternal life through his atonement, she gently breathed her spirit out to God, and left her body to sleep in Jesus until the morning of the resurrection."
Picture included in Practical Thoughts, the posthumous 1836 collection of William Nevins’ essays. Under the picture these words from Nevins are printed: “True, it separates, but it unites also. It takes us I know from many we love, but it takes us to as many as we love.”
For the secular newspaper that sufficed. But as one object of your publication is to record the doings of divine grace, a more extended account of what that grace did for the subject of this notice, especially in her last brief illness, cannot be out of place.
Mrs. Nevins was the daughter of the late Philip Barton Key, Esq. and was born in Georgetown, D.C. the 27th of August, A. D. 1801. For several years it was her privilege to enjoy the public ministry, and to receive the pastoral attentions of the Rev. Charles P. McIlvaine, then rector of an Episcopal church in that place, and now bishop of Ohio. For her soul he felt the tenderest concern. His prayers, his vigilance, and his efforts for its salvation were unremitted and untiring. Nor did he labor in vain. By the blessing of God on his faithfulness, it is believed she became, in 1821, a subject of divine grace, and gave up the world for Christ. In one of her last conversations she spoke of this beloved man in terms of such affection as can be felt alone towards those who have been the instruments, in the hand of God, of winning souls to Christ. She felt that under God she owed everything to him.
Charles McIlvaine, photograph by Matthew Brady. Library of Congress.
In November, 1822, she became the wife of the Rev. William Nevins, and moved to Baltimore, the scene of his ministry, where she continued to reside until her death. Of her devotedness as a wife, a daughter, a sister, a mother, a friend, the writer of this could speak in terms of unmeasured eulogy; but it is enough that her record is engraven on many hearts. Her attachment to the cause of Christ was intelligent, sincere, and uniform.
Up to the evening of the 7th of November, she was deemed scarcely worthy of notice, in the possession of perfect health. It has been said of the cholera that it begins where other diseases end—with death. Almost literally true was this in her case. In a few hours after she was attacked, it became evident to those around her, and to herself, that the mortal blow had been struck. She needed no one to tell her of it; she felt within herself that life was fast ebbing away, and said of the weariness upon her, that it must be the weariness of death. When a friend, who stood by her, expressed her sorrow that she should take such a view of her case, she said,
“Remember who hath said all things shall work together for our good. I submit to his will, and desire that he may do with me as seemeth to him good; though it is very painful to be separated from my dear husband and my sweet children. But I commit them all into the hands of the Savior. It will be a short separation, and then we shall meet to part no more."
Being asked if she felt afraid to die, she replied,
“No: I had always expected that the prospect of death would almost frighten me out of existence; but now it has no terrors. I rely on Jesus, and feel I shall be happy when I die. It is better to depart and be with him, where I shall be completely freed from sin."
To the friend already referred to, she said, “M. , our friendship here will soon be over. We have had many sweet and pleasant hours together; now I am going from you to my precious Jesus. Precious Jesus! Whom have I in heaven but thee?"
Seeing her friend agitated and weeping, she said,
“You must not do so. I am happy, very happy; and you must all pray that my eyes may be fixed on the glories of crucified love to the last."
Once, with a sweet expression of countenance, she said, “How much is implied in those words: The peace of God which passeth all understanding!" She was asked if she relied on Jesus. She answered, “Entirely." Often she was questioned as to his presence with her, and her replies were uniformly satisfactory. On one occasion, appearing to be engaged in deep thought, she was asked what she was thinking of. She said, “Mercy." Jesus and mercy—those are what the dying should think of. Much on her lips, and more in her thoughts was that name—name above every name—Jesus! “O, Lord Jesus, place underneath me thy everlasting arms! Jesus, receive my spirit! O, Lord Jesus, receive me on the other side of Jordan!" were among her prayers to him. Nor did her heart spend its emotions in prayer alone; it was attuned to praise. She said, “I want a hymn sung." What hymn? it was asked. “The hymn about crossing over Jordan," she said; and it was sung; and soon after she crossed the stream—the narrow stream of death. Nor did Jesus wait for her on Canaan's bright side of the stream, but he came over to earth's dark shore of it, and himself took her across. That stream must be narrow, it was so soon passed; and all was so calm, there could not have been a ripple on its surface. O death, where was thy sting? O grave! A feeble, fearful female, with only a few hours to arm herself for the conflict, and to take leave of her babes, met thee, and was more than victor through Him who gave her the victory!
Is that a death-bed where a Christian lies?
Yes; but not his— ’tis death, itself, there dies.
Notes: It is possible that the hymn she requested was “There is a land of pure delight," found in the 1827 Episcopal hymnbook. No picture of Mary is known to exist.
