Memories of the Proclamation of the First and Second Angels’ Messages
By Matilda Stone-Powell
I was born in the year in which “the stars fell,” so I think I truly belong to “this generation.” It was during the year 1838 that William Miller delivered some lectures on the prophecies concerning the end of the world, in some of the towns of northern Vermont, in one of which my father was pastor of the Baptist church, and he became an early convert to the doctrines presented by Mr. Miller. I have a vivid remembrance of the fear that filled my young mind at the thought that the world was to be burned up, and as often as I beheld my small world one sheet of flame in the visions of the night, so often I awoke to find it but a dream. During the years following 1840 Mr. Miller again lectured in some of the towns of Vermont to crowded houses and deeply interested people. And there were others, too, who came our way—J. V. Himes, Josiah Litch, J. R. Gates, R. S. Hutchinson of Montreal, and many others whom I need not name, though I would mention Deacon Butler, of Waterbury, Vt., and his daughters—“sweet singers in Israel.” The singing of those days would remind one of the time “when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy.” A deep solemnity rested on the assemblies, and many who “came to scoff remained to pray.” The deep movings of the Spirit of God rested in great measure on some of those prayer-meetings, and one was led to exclaim, “How dreadful is this place! this is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.” But time passed on, set times passed by, and still the vision tarried, and hearts grew weary with waiting. During this later time the cry of the second angel was heard saying, “Babylon is fallen, is fallen,” and there was a great cry, “Come out of her, my people;” and I seem to hear even now the stirring refrain of the old song:—
“From the distant courts of Shinar
The shrill trumpet loudly roar.
Babylon is fallen, is fallen, is fallen;
Babylon is fallen to rise no more.” But the “tenth day of the seventh month,” October, 1844, drew near. New light was shining; faith and hope grew brighter, and the believers were expecting that soon they should see the King in his beauty. How vividly I remember, after all this lapse of years, the meeting I attended on that October night. It was a scene of prayer and confession, and in this night hour a few went down to the water, and the solemn rite of baptism was performed. People lingered till the passing of the midnight hour, and while some scoffed and said, “Where is the promise of his coming?” the disappointed ones in sadness returned to their homes, seeking consolation from the Source that never had failed them. I well remember our dreary home coming of the following day; it was cold, misty, and comfortless, and it then seemed to my young heart that earth had some sorrows that heaven could not heal. “When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child,” and in these lines I have related some childish memories of a great experience through which I was privileged to pass. MRS. MATILDA STONE-POWELL.