William B. Morton — whose ancestry included a mixture of Scotch and Huguenot family ties — was, in the words of Read, “the best Christian elder we have ever known.” After sketching his life, Vaughan speaks of his final hours with concluding thoughts.
Shortly before he breathed his last, he asked if he was dying. He was answered, and immediately was asked if he was afraid to die. He replied in his usual calm tone, “No, no; I am not afraid to die! I know in whom I have believed.” At another time, almost overcome with pain and weakness, he sighed wearily, “Oh! I wish it was all over, and I was safe in heaven with Jesus and Margaret,” (the wife.) He soon after sank into sleep and waked into the other life. Verily the chamber where the good man meets his fate is privileged beyond the common walks of this strange human scene.
The death of Mr. Morton awakened one universal sentiment of grief in his own community, and wherever he was known. The bereavement was felt to be a general loss to every family, as well as to the church of God.
His funeral service was held in his own beloved house of worship, crowded by the assembled neighborhood and others from a distance. His body was borne by the hands of friends indiscriminately selected from every rank in the social scale — from the ranks of the church, and from the ranks of the world outside — a fitting arrangement for an elder of the house of God, whose whole official career had shown undiscriminating fidelity to every class over which he had been called to exercise his noble office.
From this narrative, the secret of Mr. Morton’s remarkable efficiency and success as an elder may be discovered. It was due to the combination of good sense and unaffected kindliness and simplicity of manners; to his wonderfully rounded sympathetic nature; to his strong faith in all the revelations of the Bible; to his prayerful spirit; to his intense eagerness for the salvation of souls; to this boldness and tact in approaching men with direct but wisely managed personal appeals; to the unsullied integrity of his whole character as a man and a Christian; to his social disposition, and the energy with which he denied himself and sought to turn every occasion and circumstance to account. His happy piety, so ardent and so cheerful, so readily accommodating his address to the young and the irreligious, yet so easily and naturally turning to the most earnest appeals on the subject of religion, added wonderfully to his influence. The transition from his merry and contagious laughter, to a voice full of kindness and earnest solicitude for the spiritual well-being of a young mind, was so simple, so natural, so obviously the fruit of unaffected and heart-felt feeling, that it seemed to flank all the usual feelings of awkwardness and reluctance which spring up under a personal appeal on religion less wisely managed and less happily combined with something positively attractive. Many a young and many an irreligious mind of mature age has found itself drawn into a free conversation with Mr. Morton, with hardly a remembrance of former reluctance and difficulty in speaking on the subject of personal religion. Many a one who has shrunk from the idea of personal piety as involving so much of gloom and unpleasant experience, has had the whole conception of the subject reversed by contact with Mr. Morton’s cheerful and happy representation of it in his own character, and learned to desire eagerly to be such a Christian as he was. Truly “the joy of the Lord was his strength,” not only to bear his own trials, and to do his own work, but to influence others of every class, especially the young and sanguine. If all the elders of the Presbyterian system were even approximately like him, there would be no assignable limits to its progress. If they were all like him, no investment with official functions would carry more of usefulness to the church, or more of personal blessedness to the officer himself. He would be thrice blessed; a blessing to the Church, a blessing to the world, and a blessing to his own soul. Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright; for his path is as the shining light, which shineth light more and more until the day is full; and his end is peace.
Morton’s 19th century example as a ruling elder, and his witness for Christ endures, is worth taking notice of in the 21st century. How we ought to emulate the godly who have gone before! Although Read’s entire sketch is not (yet) available to read online at Log College Press, perhaps this extract will serve to encourage saints, and inspire other ruling elders, to follow a faithful man who pointed others to Christ.
