Our
beloved Bishop Meade is dead! His spirit returned to the God who gave, redeemed,
and sanctified it, this morning about seven o'clock. The Church in Virginia
mourns in sackcloth for her great earthly head. We knew that he must die, but
this morning, when we had assembled for early prayers, it was announced to us
from the pulpit, a thrill of anguish pervaded the congregation, which was
evident from the death-like stillness. A hymn was read, but who could then
sing? A subdued effort was at last made, and the services proceeded. Like
bereaved children we mingled our prayers and tears, and on receiving the
benediction, we went silently out, as in the pressure of some great public
calamity, and some bitter, heartfelt sorrow. Thus, just one week after the
solemn public services in which he had been engaged, it pleased Almighty God to
remove him from his work on earth to his rest in heaven. During his last
illness, though often suffering intensely, he never forgot his interest in
public affairs. The blessed Bible was first read to him, each morning, and then
the news of the day. He had an eye for every thing; every movement of
Government, every march of the troops, the aspect of Europe, and the Northern
States, every thing civil and military, and all that belonged to God's Church
upon earth — dying as he had lived, true to Virginia, true to the South, true
to the Church, and true to the Lord his God.
SOURCE: Judith W.
McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 101-2
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