Morning Star

For the Morning Star.

Not long since, I cast my eyes upon the original manuscript written by my natural brother, Eld. Thomas M. Jackson, who died about six years ago in the state of Vermont. The last interview which I enjoyed with him on earth, took place in Sandwich, N. H. at which place he was then preaching. While there, I spent with him the last sabbath and heard him for the last time, point the sinner to Christ, while the gospel in a quickening pathos, was poured forth upon his listening congregation. Monday morning I was to leave him: but such were my apprehensions that this was my last visit, that struggling nature forbade the idea. I tarried with him till Tuesday morning: but did not sufficiently overcome the tide of feeling to say I must go till afternoon. Previous to taking my leave, he invited me into his study and took from his desk the manuscript which I have named, and said: "Here brother Daniel you may take this, and after I am gone into another world, you may select, if you think proper, some small portions for the Morning Star." I took it into my hand, looking upon its emaciated author with feelings better imagined than expressed. His health was then fast declining. He accompanied me almost a mile gave me the last farewell, we parted: all was silent as death, until nature made another effort and burst forth in profuse floods of weeping. That small portion of his memoir which I now select, and which I shall put down in his own language, commences as follows.

"At, or near the age of eight years, a pious aunt of mine, by promising me a toy, engaged me to read through the New Testament. Anxious to obtain my reward, I commenced my study, and soon found something very interesting to my mind. Not having much correct knowledge of Jesus Christ as a Saviour of the world, I read of him as a mighty hero who was much celebrated for his miraculous powers. Finding him so kind to the miserable and distressed part of the human family as to unstop the ears of the deaf, to restore the blind to sight, to give feet to the lame, health to the sick, and even life to the dead, together with so numerous a train of benevolent deeds to all classes of men, my affections for him were raised almost to enthusiasm. As I progressed towards the latter part of the first book, St. Matthew presented me a picture of his awful and ignominious death. Here my tender passions were greatly excited. Seeing the blessed Jesus weeping and mourning in the garden, and while praying, sweating as it were great drops of blood, while at the same time viewing one of his little family turning traitor, and heading a banditti with swords and staves to betray his lovely master! seeing, (as I thought,) the most innocent person that ever spake, arraigned before Pilate as a criminal, or as a lamb led to the slaughter, and Pilate, though conscious that his character was pure, deliver him up, into the hands of blood thirsty priests! Oh, thought I, had I been amongst them with sufficient authority, how readily would I have rescued the harmless convict, and swayed amongst those malignant pharisees the sceptre of righteousness. I wondered how Pontius Pilate, a man so anxious to do justice as he appeared to be, could, (after seeing Jesus before him in so defenceless a manner,) deliver him into the hands of a clamorous gang, who desired no greater pleasure than to see him agonizing with excruciating pains. At length St. Matthew led me up where I saw my hero die. Here my heart swelled with grief, until I saw him coming in the greatness of his strength from the bar of death and from Joseph's new tomb. Upon opening the second book, I found, as I thought; the history of another Jesus born soon after the former, and who conducted much in the same manner. But after reading several chapters I came to a belief that it was the same Jesus of whom St. Matthew treated. How I came by this belief I do not remember: I concluded however that as the Jews had once crucified him, thereby to put an end to his doing good on the earth, he by his own power burst the bands of death and lived another life, that he might, notwithstanding the enmity of the Jews, accomplish the great object of his mission. Upon reading that Judas betrayed him, I thought it was the second time he had done so. When I saw Jesus before Pilate I also concluded he was arraigned to receive another unjust decision. When I saw him groaning on the cross, I thought the Jews, not being satisfied with once crucifying him, had maliciously done it again! In this manner I read through the four evangelists: and my conclusion was, that our Lord had lived four lives, suffered four crucifixions, experienced four resurrections, and four ascensions." By this time I had forgotten the reward which was annexed to my study, for my whole heart and soul were employed in weeping about my Jesus (as I called him,) and detesting the crimes which Herod and Pontius Pilate, with the Gentiles and the people of Israel had perpetrated.

Oh have I not, since I have come to the years of understanding, often crucified to myself this blessed Jesus, and almost put him to an open shame? Have I not with my atrocious sins wounded him times almost without number? and am I sufficiently alarmed? I fear not. Yet upon once reading as I thought of his being crucified only four times my soul was all on fire. Soon after this, my pious aunt died of consumption, which, (together with many other circumstances connected with her sickness,) made a lasting impression upon my mind. When I was not far from nine years old there was a wonderful revival in Eaton, N. H. my native place, under the preaching of Elder John Colby. By this time, I had in some measure worn off my impressions, and undertook to raise a defence against the influence of the excitement. When questioned by pious people concerning the state of my soul, I would swell out a reply that I was as well off as those who made so much ado about it. If I could get advantage in any shape of the young professors, I considered it as acting the manly part. Following this course, I, in a short time, became quite a smart persecutor. A.D. 1811, at the eleventh year of my age, I fell sick of the typhus fever. Not coming to a proper crisis, the fever relapsed. The first course being two weeks, the latter two months and a half. I was during my sickness frequently deprived of my senses, my friends despaired of my life. It pleased God, for some wise purpose, to raise me up again to health. When about fourteen years of age I grew more careless; none could serve satan better; the devil always had enough for me to do on Lord's day instead of going to church. One sabbath day I spent in learning a war song. Just as I had it completed news arrived that the deacon of the church was dead. He died of the spotted fever. I was now alarmed, conscience awoke with vigor and strength. I threw my song I know not where, for I have not remembered it since. Oh Death, Judgment and Eternity! I have soon got to meet them all, and not prepared to meet one of them. The death of this good man caused my wicked heart to tremble. I knew I was not prepared as he was, to meet the king of terrors.

Daniel Jackson.

South Parsonsfield, July 14, 1835.