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Written by D.J. Thompson   


The Lord has been pleased to release from service this great soldier of the cross. When only seventeen years of age, the Master called him into the service, and for sixty years through storm and snow, through prosperity and adversity, through good report and through evil, he fearlessly and persistently declared the one way of salvation to sinners.

Being blessed with a powerful frame, and a giant intellect, he seemed a fitting vessel for the "treasure" and with all his strength of body and mind, the GRACE OF HULMILITY was so abundantly bestowed, that he was ever ready to declare that the "excellency was of God."

We who are called to mourn his loss, should stop and reflect that our Lord has been especially good to his people of this nine-tenth century in giving us a G. M. Thompson.

His connection with the ADVOCATE since its revival after the war, has been close and intimate; he has been a constant contributor to its columns: and today we may trace his writings to the first article, and the same things are spoken throughout.

His intimacy with, and love for, the founder of this paper is worthy of notice, and our attention is called to the striking parallel presented in the lives and death of these two great men.

CRAWFORDSVILLE, INDIANA, MARCH 23, 1888. DEAR SISTER CLARK: With an aching heart I now attempt to tell you of my terrible bereavement. On the ninth of this month my dear husband left me for his better home above. He had gone to his regular meeting at Goshen Church, or rather started. The roads were almost impassable for conveyances, so he started on horseback in company with a dear brother, and when about, half-way to the church his horse stepped into a deep hole in the mud and pitched him off over his head. He got up, said he was not much hurt, got on his horse and went to the brother's house, stayed all night and went on to the church on Saturday morning, seemingly, the brethren said, as well as usual. That night he staid with a brother about a mile from the church; so then he was about nine miles from home. On Saturday night about mid-night; he was taken very sick with his old disease that has troubled him for years, (Bright's disease). A physician and my­self wore sent for early Sunday morning. Oh, how tedious that ride was, it seemed I would never get there. We had to let down fences and go through fields to avoid impassable places. I have never seen such terrible roads. But after four tedious hours we got there, and to my great joy the doctor had relieved him, and he was comparatively easy. But alas! it was only of short du­ration. Those terrible paroxysms would return so often that he had but little respite from his sufferings. On Thursday morning he wanted to sit up, and did for nearly an hour, and eat a little; but as soon as he was in bed he was taken with a terrible and convulsive shaking that shook the house, It was not a chill, for he was hot with fever. He tried to talk, but was so convulsed we could not understand much he said. At length he said, “Turn me, turn me.” Someone said he wanted to be turned over. When with what seemed to be his last supreme effort, he spoke out: "No, no, turn me to the cross of Christ,"

These were his last words. His great heart continued to heave till next day, (Friday,) at noon, when all was over and he at rest, while I am left here to mourn, Tell me, my dear friends, (for you, too, have suffered the same sorrow) tell me how can any one bear such things and live? I fear I feel unthankful for the blessings I have left, for my dear children have taken me home here to live with them, and are more than kind to me. I shall stay here probably till I too pass away. After my dear husband was laid in his coffin his features that had been so convulsed and swollen with suffering, all relaxed and he looked as though in a sweet sleep, and to me he looked like some grand old prophet or king. How many, many times in my lonely hours I have waited for his steps that I knew from all others, steps I shall never, never hear again. I have never in my life witnessed such love and devotion as the dear brethren and sisters showed him. The house was filled day and night with loving hearts and hands ever ready to do everything, and anything they could do for his comfort. Even the little children that he loved so well, all wanted to come and see him, and cried as though their little hearts would break. For almost fifty-seven years we have joyed and sorrowed together. But now the end of all has come to him here. Of all his trials and troubles few can ever know. In cold and heat, rain and snow, he has gone, and never tried to shirk the responsibility he felt was laid upon him. I have often heard him say his dear brethren and sisters were dearer than his own  life to him; and it almost seemed that he offered up his life in that last dreadful ride to Goshen, the church where he wished to be buried, and there we laid him to rest   beside a fellow soldier, Elder Daty. The doctors (we called in three) all thought the fall and fatiguing ride was the means of hastening his end. But I think his father wanted him to come to Him; and I think I can say of my dear one that he was as nearly free from jealousy as any one I ever knew.  He always said: "If  any preacher can tell things better than I can, I am glad of it  and if others preachers are loved better than I, that shall be right too, it is very possible they deserve it." You may think strange that I should write you all this; but my heart aches so I want to tell someone of my sorrows; and I remember so well how he loved your husband, and how faithfully they fought for their Masters’ cause, through all those dreadful wars on those false doctrines But they have laid their armor by, and are deaf to idle praise or blame. They have both, I believe, heard the welcome plaudit: "well done good and faithful servant, enter into the joys of thy Lord." The books that my husband has in press has been so delayed from time to time, that it has been a great worry to us. Many have sent for them and are uneasy because the books do not come. But I think they will shortly come now, and I shall take the utmost care that all shall get their books as soon as I get them. I shall have them sent here to this place and my son will see that all books will be sent punctually. Will you please tell the brethren through the Advocate how sorry we have been because of the delay. All letters or orders now should be ad­dressed to Mrs. G. M Thompson, Crawfordsville, Montgomery County, Indiana. Please send me the dear ADVOCATE at least for the balance of the year--we both loved to read it so well, This imperfect letter is not for the press of course. But if Bro. Wiltshire or Bro. Waters could write something from the things that I have written, and the notice that a dear friend that had known him for years, put in our home paper, you would confer a great favor on a sorrowing woman. I should much love to hear from you.

Yours in love, D. J. THOMPSON.

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