TOUCHING
INCIDENTS
AND
REMARKABLE
ANSWERS
TO PRAYER,
AS RELATED BY
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John B. Gough |
D. L. Moody, |
|
Bishop Bowman, LL.D |
A. B. Earle, D.D. |
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Mrs. Mary Grant Cramer |
Charles G. Finney, |
|
James H. Potts, D.D. |
S. A. Keene, D.D. |
|
Mathew Hale Smith |
S. I. Prime, D.D. |
|
John Wesley, |
C. H. Spurgeon, D.D. |
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T. De Witt Talmage, D.D. |
Mrs. Maggie Van Cott, |
|
George Muller, |
B. Fay Mills, |
|
Bishop Simpson, D.D. |
Edward Payson, D.D. |
|
William Carvosso |
George Fox |
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John Knox |
Mark Guy Pearce |
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Martin Luther |
H. L. Hastings |
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And Many Others. |
|
By S. B. SHAW.
Grand Rapids, Mich.:
S.B. SHAW, PUBLISHER,1188 S. Division St.
COPYRIGHTED
BY THE AUTHOR
1893
It is needless to say much by way of preface to this book. It will speak for itself. From the writer’s stand-point, none but those "given over to hardness of heart” can read these “ Touching Incidents” without having their souls wondrously stirred within them; and none but the willfully unbelieving can say, in view of the " Remarkable Answers to Prayer " herein recorded, that God does not hear and regard the cries of his faithful children.
But let it be remembered, that “prayer rises far above a mere form of good words. These, of themselves, are nothing, and may be much worse than nothing. The soul of the reader or utterer must be in them to give them life and power. God hears not my words, He hears me. I rise to Him upon the wings of prayer. I might recite good words forever, but unless my spirit is in them, they are nothing." Yea, nothing but idle words, and mockery before God. The prayer of faith is always prompted by the Holy Spirit, and always receives an answer from the living Father whose Spirit moved its utterance in harmony with His own blessed will.
In these pages no place is given to anything that did not appear to be reliable, as well as calculated to do good. Some of the accounts narrated have come within our personal knowledge. Others have been written or furnished expressly for this work. Still others have been selected from the works of well-known authors, or gleaned from the large number of periodicals which came regularly to our office in connection with the periodical that was under our control. Nor has the supply of material by any means been exhausted. We have felt, rather, as did Paul, when, after referring to many of the mighty works wrought through faith in olden times, he said: “And what shall I say more? for the time would fail to tell me of Gedeon, and of Barak, and of Samson, and of Jephthae; of David also, and Samuel, and of the prophets; who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions,” etc.
We pray that through the perusal of these pages, precious souls may be led to the cross and the Savior, and God’s children encouraged to trust Him in every hour of need.
Your brother, true to God and man,
S. B. SHAW.
True prayer is the language of an earnest soul breathing after God, and a knowledge of his will. The praying spirit is a search for the presence of God, and a continued craving for a conscious blessing from Him. " Give ear to my prayer, O God, and hide not thyself from my supplication." “O Lord God of my salvation, I have cried clay and night before thee let my prayer come before thee; incline thine ear unto my cry; for my soul is full of troubles." “Hear me when I call, O God of my righteousness; thou hast enlarged me when I was in distress; have mercy upon me, and hear my prayer.” These are the cries of a dependent, trusting, and enriched heart. They show the natural disposition of troubled man to fly to God for succor and relief.
Man has always prayed. He cannot help it. He is made so. His prayers may not always be prompted by the right motive, nor couched in acceptable phraseology, nor offered in the proper spirit. "Ye ask and receive not because ye ask amiss.” But man will pray. He must pray. The very nature of his earthly life demands prayer. He may rebel against his environments, scoff at the necessity for supplication, for years neglect his duty, yet sooner or later, secretly or openly, he will call upon a higher power for that aid which earthly help can not render.
There is no substitute for prayer. Praise is excellent, and good works are noble, but prayer is indispensable. “Ask and ye shall receive," has its counterpart in, Ask not and ye shall receive not. The prayerless life is a barren life. Jesus said: “Men ought always to pray.” He set a glorious example ” Sit ye here while I go and pray yonder.” His human life was the grandest life ever lived, yet It was a life of conscious dependence upon God, and constant supplication for His aid and blessing.
Prayer is successful when offered in faith and with obedience. No man can expect God to bless him while conscious of willful and unrepented sin. “He that turneth away his ear from hearing the law, even his prayer shall be abomination.” “If I regard (cherish) iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me.” Man knows that his heart must be emptied of Satan, if it is to be filled with God. Just in proportion as his life is straight and pure, will his trust take hold upon the Infinite. “The effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.” Mark you, “a righteous man.” An unrighteous man may pray much and avail little.
Whatever tends to encourage the praying habit, should be itself encouraged. That a carefully selected list of incidents and statements, showing the beauty, power and success of prayer, will in itself encourage further devotion, we most candidly believe. Such a list is to be found in the following pages. Every incident may not be in complete harmony with the exact facts. Scientific accuracy is impossible, in gleaning so large a fund of matter from so many and varied sources. Yet the collection as a whole is both creditable and credible. It shows diligence and painstaking care on the part of the author, and illustrates unmistakably the efficacy and utility of true prayer. Let the book be widely read, and let us hope that every reader may receive an abundant blessing while he peruses these attractive pages.
JAMES H. POTTS.
Editorial Rooms of the
“Michigan Christian Advocate,” Detroit, Mich.
THE CHILD-HEROINE OF NEW BRUNSWICK.
THE INFLUENCE OF A MOTHER’S PRAYERS.
A MAN WHO LACKED MORAL COURAGE.
THE WIDOW’S WOOD AND FLOUR--THE UNBELIEVING ONES MADE SPEECHLESS.
“THEY WHO TRUST THE LORD SHALL
NOT WANT.”
ANNIE AND VANIE’S FIRST REAL PRAYER.
PREVAILING PRAYER FOR A REVIVAL,
“AND DYING IS BUT GOING HOME.”
“I’LL NEVER STEAL AGAIN - IF FATHER KILLS ME FOR IT.”
CHARLIE COULSON, THE CHRISTIAN DRUMMER BOY
GOD’S CARE FOR THE WIDOW AND ORPHANS.
A WOULD-BE MURDERER’S ARM PARALYZED.
“DOES THIS RAILROAD LEAD TO HEAVEN?”
EXPERIENCE OF A MINISTER’S WIFE ON THE FRONTIER.
SUPERHUMAN CONTROL OF THE LOCOMOTIVE IN ANSWER TO PRAYER.
A WIDOW’S WONDERFUL DELIVERANCE
THE CONVERSION OF HUDSON TAYLOR.
JOHN BYERS’ PREVAILING PRAYER.
REMARKABLE HEALING OF MRS.
SUSAN E. MILLER.
REVIVALS VS. FAIRS-WONDERS OF PRAYER.
AN ARMY MIRACULOUSLY DELIVERED.
THE QUAKER WHO REFUSED TO FIGHT.
A MOB QUIETED IN ANSWER TO PRAYER.
HOW THE PRAYER OF FAITH REACHED A FAMILY.
“THEY ARE NOT STRANGERS, MAMMA.”
A CANCER HEALED, AND A WITHERED ARM RESTORED.
WAITING FOR THE ANGELIC CONVOY.
HOW A LITTLE GIRL UTILIZED THE TELEPHONE.
THE WONDERFUL CURE OF MRS. SHERMAN.
LITTLE JENNIE’S SICKNESS AND DEATH
A MOTHER’S FAITH - THE LIFE OF
BEATE PAULUS.
DYING WORDS OF MISS MARY WILLARD.
A CYCLONE OF POWER AND GLORY IN ANSWER TO PRAYER.
A MANIFESTATION OF PARENTAL LOVE.
A GREAT REVIVAL IN ANSWER TO PREVAILING PRAYER.
A SHIP’S CREW SAVED IN ANSWER TO PRAYER.
REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE OF C. H. SPURGEON.
HE BLESSES GOD FOR THE FAITH OF HIS GIRL.
“THE GREATEST REVIVAL OF THE CHRISTIAN ERA.”
“SAVED FROM THE FLAMES AND WAVES, AND SHALL BE FROM SINS.”
HOW THREE SUNDAY-SCHOOL CHILDREN MET THEIR FATE.
THE DYING CHILD’S PRAYER FOR HER DRUNKEN FATHER.
A PREVAILING PRAYER OF MRS. VAN COTT
A GREAT REVIVAL IN A SINGLE NIGHT.
WILLIAM CLOWES, THE SPIRITUAL MOUNTAINEER.
HOW CARVOSSO PREVAILED WITH GOD FOR HIS CHILDREN
NEW ENGLAND SAVED IN ANSWER TO PRAYER.
THE SAILOR AND THE PICTURE OF CHRIST.
GEORGE MULLER, OF BRISTOL, ENGLAND.
JOHN WESLEY HEALED IN ANSWER TO PRAYER.
PRAYER ANSWERED FOR A DEBT OF NINETY DOLLARS.
CORN THE FROST COULD NOT KILL.
INSTANCES OF THE POWER OF PRAYER
EDWARDPAYSON, A MAN WHO PRAYED WITHOUT CEASING.
REVELATIONS FROM GOD IN DREAMS.
THE WONDERFUL RESULTS OF A LITTLE PRAYING BAND.
TRIUMPHANT DEATH OF THREE CHILDREN.
MISS CARRIE WEBB’S STORY OF HER RESTORATION TO HEALTH BY PRAYER.
REMARKABLE PRAYER OF MISSIONARY COX AND HIS BROTHER, FOR THEIR BROTHER.
PERSECUTORS PUT TO SILENCE, AND CONVERTED.
JOHN KNOX’S PREVAILING PRAYER FOR SCOTLAND.
THE SECRET OF JAMES CAUGHEY’S WONDERFUL SUCCESS.
“LET THEM ABIDE TILL THE MORROW.”
“BEHOLD, I SEND YOU FORTH AS SHEEP AMONG WOLVES.”
THE SECRET OF JOHN SMITH’S SUCCESS.
HOW WILLIAM TENNENT DEFEATED THE POWERS OF DARKNESS.
IN INDIA -- IN ANSWER TO PRAYER.
THE LORD’S WAY OF SENDING HELP
PRAYER ANSWERED FOR ONE HUNDRED MISSIONARIES AND MONEY TO SUPPORT THEM
“I DON’T LOVE YOU NOW, MOTHER.”
A BLACKSMITH PREVAILED WITH GOD FOR A REVIVAL.
RESULT OF REV. JOHN S. INSKIP’S PRAYER.
THE WINDS CONTROLLED IN ANSWER TO JOHN WESLEY’S PRAYER.
THE CLOUDS STAYED IN ANSWER TO PRAYER.
RESULTS OF A LIFE OF PREVAILING PRAYER.
DR.CHAS.CULLIS – “THE MAN THAT BELIEVED GOD”
TOUCHING INCIDENTS
AND
REMARKABLE
ANSWERS TO PRAYER,
We have read a touching incident about three little children, who, last autumn, late in the season, wandered alone in a dreary region of New Brunswick. The sun had already sunk in the west, and the gloom of evening was spreading itself over the surrounding country.
The night came on fast; and feeling sure that they could not get home before daybreak, the eldest (a girl of only six years) quietly placed the two little ones in a sheltered nook on the sea-beach; and fearing the cold, chilly night for the younger children, Mary stripped off most of her own clothes to keep them warm.
She then started off to gather dry sea-weed, and whatever else she could find, to cover them with. Having tenderly in this way wrought for some time to make them a nest, she at last fell down exhausted with the cold, and half bare to the cold inclement night.
That evening the loving father and tender mother sat up wondering at their children’s long absence; the hours dragged slowly past with anxious watching, and silent listening for the well-known little pattering feet. In vain the fond parents’ eyes pierced through the darkness. At length they roused the neighbors with their anxious inquiries after their lost ones. All that night was passed in searching and in tears, till early in the morning, lying fast asleep, and same- - -what numbed with cold, were found little Johnny and Lizzie. But, oh I a touching spectacle lay near them; their young savior was stiff, cold and dead on the sea-weed which the poor little child-heroine had not strength to drag into the nook, where those she so deeply loved, and died to save, were sleeping. Thus this little New Brunswick girl died in her successful and self-sacrificing endeavor to save her brother and sister.
Does not this recall the love of the Lord Jesus Christ to you who read? Mary went to the full extent of human love in dying for her little brother and sister. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Yet the Lord Jesus laid down his life for his enemies; for “scarcely for a righteous man will one die; yet peradventure for a good man some would even dare to die; but God commendeth His love toward us,” etc. He makes no mistakes. Yet how many listen to this story with more emotion and interest than they do to the story of the cross, where the love of Jesus, the Son of God, is told in letters of blood! - Dawn of the Morning.
More than thirty years ago, one lovely Sabbath morning, about eight young men, students in a law school, were walking along the banks of a stream that flows into the Potomac river, not far from the city of Washington. They were going to a grove, in a retired place, to spend the hours of that holy day in playing cards. Each of them had a flask of wine in his pocket. They were the sons of praying mothers. As they were walking along amusing each other with idle jests, the bell of a church in a little village not two miles off began to ring. It sounded in the ears of those thoughtless young men as plainly as though it were only on the other side of the little stream along which they were walking.
Presently one of their number, whose name was George, stopped, and said to the friend nearest him that he would go no farther, but would return to the village and go to church His friend called out to their companions, who were a little ahead of them ‘ Boys! Boys! Come back here; George is getting religious; we must help him. Come on, and let us baptize him by immersion in the water.” In a moment they formed a circle around him. They told him that the only way he could save himself from having a cold bath was by going with them. In a calm, quiet, but earnest way, he said:
“I know very well that you have power enough to put me in the water, and hold me there till I am drowned; and, if you choose, you can do so, and I will make no resistance; but listen to what I have to say, and then do as you think best.
“You all know that I am two hundred miles away from home; but you do not know that my mother is a helpless, bed-ridden invalid. I never remember seeing her out of bed. I am her youngest child. My father could not afford to pay for my schooling; but our teacher is a warm friend of my father, and offered to take me without any charge. He was very anxious for me to come; but mother would not consent. The struggle almost cost her what little life was left to her. At length, after many prayers on the subject, she yielded and said I might go. The preparations for my leaving home were soon made. My mother never said a word to me on the subject till the morning when I was about to leave. After I had eaten my breakfast she sent for me, and asked me if every-thing was ready. I told her all was ready, and I was only waiting for the stage. At her request I kneeled beside her bed. With her loving hand upon my head, she prayed for her youngest child. Many and many a night I have dreamed that whole scene over. It is the happiest recollection of my life. I believe, till the day of my death, I shall be able to repeat every word of that prayer. Then she spoke to me thus:
“My precious boy, you do not know, you never can know, the agony of a mother’s heart, in parting, for the last time, from her youngest child. When you leave home, you will have looked, for the last time, this side of the grave, on the face of her who loves you as no other mortal does or can. Your father cannot afford the expense of your making us visits during the two years that your studies will occupy. I cannot possibly live as long as that. The sand in the hourglass of my life has nearly run out. In the far off strange place to which you are going, there will be no loving mother to give counsel in time of trouble. Seek counsel and help from God. Every Sabbath morning, from ten to eleven o’clock, I will spend the hour in prayer for you. Wherever you may be during this sacred hour, when you hear the church bells ringing, let your thoughts come back to this chamber, where your dying mother will be agonizing in prayer for you. But I heart he stage coming. Kiss me-farewell!”
Boys, I never expect to see my mother again on earth. But by God’s help, I mean to meet her in heaven.”
As George stopped speaking the tears were streaming down his cheeks. He looked at his companions. Their eyes were filled with tears.
In a moment the ring which they had formed about him was opened. He passed out and went to church. He had stood up for the right against great odds.
They admired him for doing what they had not the courage to do. They all followed him to church. On their way there, each of them quietly threw away his cards and his wine-flask Never again did these young men play cards on the Sabbath
From that day they all became changed men. Six of them died
Christians, and are now in heaven. George is an able Christian lawyer in Iowa;
and his friend, who wrote this account, has been for many years an earnest,
active member of the church. Here were eight men converted by the prayers of
that good Christian woman. And, if we only knew all the results of their
examples and their labors, we should have a good illustration of a mother’s
prayers -- Bible Models
Mrs. Mattie Campbell relates the happy death of her sister, a soul-sleeper, which occurred last May. It seems that her views were changed just before she entered heaven.
In Sabbath-school this afternoon a message came: “Emma is dying. Come quickly if you want to see her alive.” My dear sister. We had played together, and more than all, we dreamed dreams of the fairy future, wherein we saw everything but care and temptation crowning the golden pathway for our jubilant feet. She was plump amid rosy, full of laughter and frolic, which life’s stern realities had not subdued. Strong and well I had seen her, but five days before. Yet, ah! In such an hour as ye think not the Son of Man cometh. On our way the sad face of our family physician confirmed the truth. ‘She may linger until sundown,’ he said; and all the way I prayed, and felt it would be answered ‘Lord, dear Lord, only let me have one word to know how it is with her soul.’ Mother met me at the door. This was a heavy grief. ‘Ask how it is with her soul,’ said she. I entered the room filled with weeping friends. I pressed the damp, damp, cold brow. She knew me, and spoke in the old sweet way. Soon I commenced slow and low the hymn we used to sing together: ‘Jesus, lover of my soul,’ while I anxiously watched to catch a mark of grace upon her fast changing features. A happy, peaceful smile broke over her face. I bent down and she spoke: ‘God was always good to us, sister. He has not given me one harsh word since I came down to my bed.’ How the praise rushed to my lips. ‘He giveth and upbraideth not.’ Glory be to His name!
“Divinely assured that she was dying, she spoke of a long, sweet sleep, the sleep of the soul and body, until the general resurrection-for this was her belief. She called for one and another of her friends and neighbors, and exhorted them in burning words to meet her in heaven, charging them to bring their families for whom they were also responsible. “With mind clear and composed, she then lay, waiting to pass into an unconscious slumber, only to awaken at the last trump. ‘Hark,’ said she, listening intently ‘I hear music; don’t you hear it? And mother, I see a door.’ ‘Is it open?’ asked her mother. And we held our breath as she answered. ‘Yes, it is open.’ ‘ Do you see inside?’ Hex face grew radiant as she answered: ‘ Yes, I see inside. It is a beautiful place. It is heaven. I see forms clothed in white, many, yes, a multitude of beautiful beings, their hands upraised, while they are waving something in their hands.’
And then in wonder and astonishment ‘Why, there’s Pa!’ Then she very intelligently gave orders for her burial. Good-bye’s were said, and in childlike pleading tones she called ‘Come, dear Lord, I am ready; come now, and take my breath, it hurts me so.’ An effort on her part to close the dear eyes and mouth, a few more agonizing moments, and the open door received her gentle spirit. We led the bereaved mother from the room, all that was left of my happy childhood days.” - Earnest Christian.
A few years ago I went to close a meeting, and said: “Are there any here who would like to have me remember them in prayer? I would like to have them rise!“ And there was a man rose, and when I saw him stand up, my heart leaped in me with joy. I had been anxious for him a long time. I went to him as soon as the meeting was over, and took him by the hand, and said: “You are coming out for God, are you not?” He said: “ I want to, and have made up my mind to be a Christian; only there is one thing standing in my way.” “What is that?” I asked. “Well,” he replied, “I lack moral courage.” Naming a friend of his, he added: “ If he had been here tonight I should not have risen; I am afraid when he hears I have risen for prayer he will begin to laugh at me, and I won’t have moral courage to stand up for Christ.” I said: “If Christ is what he is rep-resented in the Bible, he is worth standing up for; and if heaven is what we are told it is in the Bible, it is worth living for.” “I lack moral courage,” he answered; and the man was trembling from head to foot. I thought he was just at the very threshold of heaven, and that one step more was going to take him in, and that he world take the step that night. I talked and prayed with him, and the Spirit seemed to be striving mightily with him; but he did not get the light. Night after night he came, and the Spirit strove with him; but just one thing kept him back - he lacked moral courage. At last the Spirit of God -- which had striven so mightily with him, seemed to leave him, and there were no more strivings, he left off coming to church, was off among his old companions, and would not meet me in the street; he was ashamed to do so. About six months afterward I got a message from him, and found him on what he thought was his dying bed, he wanted to know if there was hope for him at the eleventh hour. I tried to tell that there was hope for any man that would accept Christ. I prayed for him, and day after day I visited him.
Contrary to all expectations, he began to recover; and when he was convalescent, finding him one day sitting in front of his house, I sat by his side, and said: “You will soon be well enough to come up to the church, and when you are, you will come up; and you are just going to confess Christ boldly, are you not?” “Well,” says he, “I promised God when I was on what I thought to be my dying bed I would serve Him, and I made up my mind to be a Christian; but I am not going to be one just now. Next spring I am going over to Lake Michigan, and I am going to buy a farm and settle down, and then I am going to be a Christian.” I said, “How dare you talk that way! How do you know that you are going to live till next spring? Have you a lease of your life?“ “I was never better than I am now; I am a little weak, but I will soon have my strength. I have a fresh lease of my life, and will be well for a good many years yet,” he answered. I said: “It seems to me you are tempting God;” and I pleaded with him to come out boldly. “No,” he said; “the fact is I have not the courage to face my old companions, and I cannot serve God in Chicago.” I said “If God has not grace enough to keep you in Chicago, He has not in Michigan.” I urged him then and there to surrender his soul and body to the Lord Jesus; but the more I urged him the more irritated he got, till at last he said “Well, you need not trouble yourself any more about my soul; I will attend to that. If I am lost it will be my own fault. I will take the risk.”
I left him, and in about a week I got a message from his wife. Going to the house, I met her at the door weeping. I said: “What is the trouble?” “Oh, sir! I have just had a council of physicians here, and they have all given my husband up to die; they say he cannot live.” I said: “Does he want to see me?” She replied: “No.” “Why did you send?“ “Why,” she said, “I cannot bear to see him die in this terrible state of mind.” “What is his state of mind?” “Why, he says that his damnation is sealed, and he will be in hell in a little while.”
I went into the room, but he turned his head away. I said:
“How is it with you?” Not a word; he was as silent as death. I spoke the second
time, hut he made no response. I looked him in the face, and called him by
name, and said “Will you not tell me how it is with you?” he turned, and fixed
that awful, deathly look upon me, and, pointing to the stove, he said: “My
heart is as hard as the iron in that stove; it is too late, my damnation is
sealed, and I shall be in hell in a little while.” I said: “Don’t talk so; you can be saved now if you will.” He replied: “Don’t mock me I know better.” I
talked with him, and quoted promise after promise, but he said not one was for
him. “Christ has come knocking at time
door of my heart many a time, and the last time he came I promised to let Him
in; and when I got well I turned away again, and now I have to perish without
Him. ”I talked, but I saw I was doing no good, and so I threw myself on my
knees. He said: “You can pray for my wife
and children, you need not pray for me; it is a waste of your time, it is too
late. ”I tried to pray, but it seemed as if what he said was true - it seemed
as if the heavens were brass over me. I
rose and took his hand, amid it seemed to me as if I were bidding farewell to a
friend that I never was to see again in time or eternity. He lingered till the
sun went down. His wife told me that his end was terrible. All that he was
heard to say were these fearful words:
“The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and I am not saved. ”There he
lay, and every little while he would take up the awful lamentation: “The harvest is past, the summer is ended,
and I am not saved.” And just as the
sun was sinking behind those western prairies he was going into the arms of
death. As he was expiring, his wife noticed that his lips were quivering, he
was trying to say something, and she reached over her ear, and all she could
hear was “ The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and I am not saved;“ and
the angels bore him to the judgment. He lived a Christless life, he died a
Christless death, we wrapped him in a Christless shroud, nailed him in a
Christhess coffin, and bore him to a Christless grave. Oh, how dark! Oh, how
sad! I may be speaking to some one today, and the harvest may be passing with
you, the summer may be ending. Oh, be wise now, and accept the Lord Jesus
Christ l May God’s blessing rest upon us all, and may we meet in glory, is the
prayer of my heart! - D.L. Moody.
A striking incident was communicated to the New York Press a few years ago, by a deeply humble minister. One of the leading members of his church was greatly distressed in his last sickness, on reviewing his mode of living and reflecting upon his family and the comparatively small sum he had given to the Lord’s cause. In every way the pastor endeavored to comfort him. He spoke of his having given cheerfully, and as much as others did. He reminded him that the best of us are unprofitable servants, and must look to the, mercy of God in Christ as our only hope. The troubled man found no peace or comfort, but grew more and more uneasy, distressed and agonized as his end drew near. At last, taking the hand of his pastor, he said:
“Brother, I am going to the Judge unprepared to meet because you have been unfaithful to me. For years I lived, and taught my family to live largely for this world, have denied ourselves nothing, but spent thousands on comforts. When I gave hundreds to Christ and church it should have been thousands. My business energy and time and money have been mostly devoted to self--pleasing and gratification, and how can I meet my Judge and an account of my stewardship? I am beyond recovery. Do what you can to save other professors who are in the cur-rent of worldly self-indulgence and extravagance, which is sweeping them to destruction. - Matlock.
The following instance is known to The Christian as true, and to a remarkable degree indicates how thoroughly God knows our minutest needs, and how effectively He makes those who ever reproach His name ashamed of their unbelief.
“A friend and relative of the one who was “a widow indeed,” one who trusted in God, and continued in supplications and prayers day and night, was once brought unto circumstances of peculiar straightness and trial. She had two daughters, who exerted themselves with their needles to earn a livelihood; and at that time they were so busily engaged in trying to finish some work that had long been on their hands, they had neglected to make provision for their ordinary wants, until they found themselves one winter’s day in the midst of a New England snow-storm, with food and fuel almost exhausted, at a distance from neighbors, and without any means of procuring needful sustenance.
“The daughters began to be alarmed, and were full of anxiety at the dismal prospect; but the good old mother said: ‘Don’t worry, girls, the Lord will provide; we have enough for today, and tomorrow may be pleasant;’ and in this hope the girls settled down again to their labor.
“Another morning came, and with it no sunshine, but wind and snow in abundance. The storm still raged, but no one came near the house, and all was dark and dismal without.
Noon came, and the last morsel of food was eaten, the wood was almost gone, and there was no token of any relief for their necessities. The girls became much distressed, and talked anxiously of their condition, but the good mother said: ‘Don’t worry, the Lord will provide.’
“But they had heard that story the day before, and they knew not the strong foundation upon which that mother’s trust was builded, and could not share the confidence she felt.
If we get anything today the Lord will have to bring it Himself, for nobody can get here if he tries,’ said one of the daughters, impatiently; but the mother said: ‘Don’t worry.’ And so they sat down again to their sewing, the daughters to muse upon their necessitous condition, and the mother to roll her burden on the Everlasting Arms.
“Now mark the way in which time Lord came to their rescue, and just at this moment of extremity, put it into the heart of one of His children to go and carry relief. Human nature at such a time would never have ventured out in such a storm, but waited for a pleasant day. But Divine Wisdom and power made him carry just what was needed, in the face of adverse circumstances, and just at the time it was needed.
“Mr. M. sat at his fireside, about a mile away, surrounded by every bounty and comfort needed to cheer his heart, with his only daughter sitting by his side.
“For a long time not a word had been spoken, and he had seemed lost in silent meditation, till at length he said: “Mary, I want you to go and order the cattle yoked, and then get me a bag. I must go and carry some wood and flour to Sister C.’
“‘Why, father, it is impossible for you to go. There is no track, and it is all of a mile up there. You would almost perish.’
“The old man sat in silence a few moments, and said: “I must go.’ She knew her father too well to suppose that words would detain him, and so complied with his wishes. While she held the bag for him, she felt perhaps a little uneasiness to see the flour so liberally disposed of, and said: ‘I wish you would remember that I want to give a poor woman some flour if it ever clears off.’ The old man under-stood the intimation, and said: ‘Mary, give all you feel it ditty to, and when the Lord says stop, I will do so.’
“Soon all things were ready, and the patient oxen took their way to the widow’s home, wallowing through the drifted snow, and dragging the sled with its load of wood and flour. About 4 o’clock in the afternoon, the mother had arisen from her work to fix the fire, and looking out of the window, she saw the oxen at the door, and she knew that the Lord had heard her cry.
She said not a word-----why should she? She was not surprised - but, presently, a heavy step at the threshold caused the daughters to look up with astonishment, as Mr. M. strode unceremoniously into the room, saying ‘The Lord told me, Sister C., that you wanted some wood and flour.’
“He told you the truth,” said the widow, “and I will praise Him forever.”
“What think you now, girls?”‘ she continued, as she turned in solemn joy to her unbelieving daughters.
They were speechless; not a word escaped their lips but they pondered that new revelation of the providential mercy of the Lord, until it made upon their minds an impression never to be effaced.
“ From that hour they learned to trust in Him who cares for
His needy in the hour of distress, and who, from His boundless stores, supplies
the wants of those who trust in Him. “ - Answers to Prayer.
Mrs. Mary Grant Cramer, whose husband is a member of the Cincinnati Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church, who was for many years U. S. Minister to Denmark, and afterwards to Switzerland, and has also filled the chair of Systematic Theology in Boston University, has related for us, by letter, several accounts of answers to prayer, among which are the following;
“When Dr. George E. Shipman and wife, of Chicago, came to see us in Copenhagen, I was much impressed with the striking and interesting incidents Mrs. S. told us, in connection with their faith-work in the Foundlings’ Home. For instance, when they had put all they had in the Home, and there was a payment of six hundred dollars to be made, and it could no longer be postponed, for the man to whom it was glue said: ‘Business is business, and I must have my money, and I will send my son for it in the morning;’ they betook themselves to prayer, hoping the postman would bring them a letter containing the required amount; but he did not. Soon after he passed, a man rang the bell, and left an envelope containing a check for six hundred dollars, as a present from the mayor of the city, who was not a religious man; but his wife, who was then in Europe, was interested in the Home, and he sent the money on her account. Directly after it came they handed the check for the amount to the man who was expected to call for it. In a similar way, Dr. Shipman on another occasion received four hundred dollars a little while before it was needed, and often got smaller sums in answer to prayer.
“Mrs. Shipman told me of Mrs. Pithey, an invalid saint she knew in Chicago, who was supported by voluntary gifts in answer to prayer. This made the closing years of her life a marvelous proof of God’s care for His helpless children who trust Him.
“I might add another incident: Recently a saintly woman, who has consecrated all she has to the Lord, and who lives by faith, giving her services gratuitously to His 1cause, felt that after the fatiguing labors of the summer, a change would be beneficial to her; she kept this to herself. Soon after a lady sent for her to call upon her, her object being to inform Miss M. that she felt impressed that she ought to go away from home for awhile, and gave her fifty dollars. One day a co-worker of this good sister, told me that she asked a token of the Lord in money, and the same day she found it in an envelope in the table, directed to her, from one who had never before made her a present, and who at first intended this sum for some one else.
"I am acquainted with a minister in New York city, who gave up his church and a salary of five thousand a year, to establish a church where he could reach the masses, he met with much opposition, but has met also with great success in his work. He said that on various occasions he felt it his duty to give all he had away, and before he could reach his home it would be replaced fourfold. His wife was greatly opposed to his giving up a certainty for what she thought an uncertainty, especially as they had five children; but he told me that since they depend upon the Lord for their support, his wife has less solicitude about how they will be provided for, than she had when his salary was five thousand dollars a year.
“Truly they who trust the Lord shall not want.”
Two sisters, one about five years of age, the other next older, were accustomed to go each Saturday morning, some distance from home, to get chips and shavings from a cooper shop.
One morning, with basket well filled, they were returning home; when the elder one was taken suddenly sick with cramps or cholera. She was in great pain, and unable to proceed, much less to bear the basket home. She sat down on the basket, and the younger one held her from falling.
The street was a lonely one, occupied by workshops, factories, etc. Everyone was busy within; not a person was seen on the street.
The little girls were at a loss what to do. Too timid to go into any workshop, they sat a while, as silent and quiet as the distressing pains would allow.
Soon the elder girl said: “You know, Annie, that a good while ago mother told us that if we ever got into trouble, we should pray, and God would help us. Now you help me to get down upon my knees, and hold me up, and we will pray.”
There, on the sidewalk, did these two little children ask God to send some one to help them home.
The simple and brief prayer being ended, the sick girl was again helped up, and sat on the basket, waiting the answer to their prayers. Presently Annie saw, far down the street on the opposite side, a man come out from a factory, look around him, up and down the street, and go back into the factory.
“O sister, he has gone in again, “ said Annie. “Well,” said Vanie, “perhaps he is not the one God is going to send. If he is, he will come back again.
“There he comes again,” said Annie. He walks this way. He seems looking for something. He walks slow, and without his hat. He puts his hand to his head, as if he did not know what to do. O sister, he has gone in again; what shall we do?
“That may not be the one whom God will send to help us,” said Vanie. “If he is, he will come out again.”
“Oh yes, there he is; this time with his hat on, " said Annie. “He comes this way; he walks slowly, looking around on every side. He does not see us; perhaps the trees hide us. Now he sees us, and is coming quickly. "
A brawny German in broken accents, asks “O children, what is the matter?"
“O sir," said Annie, "sister here is so sick she cannot walk, and we cannot get home.”
“Where do you live, my dear?"
“At the end of this street; you can see the house from here.”
“Never mind, “ said the man, “I takes you home.”
So the strong man gathered the sick child in his arms, and with her head pillowed upon his shoulder, carried her to the place pointed out by the younger girl. Annie ran round the house to tell her mother that there was a man at the front door wishing to see her. The astonished mother, with a mixture of surprise and joy, took charge of the precious burden, and the child was laid upon a bed.
After thanking the man, she expected him to withdraw, but instead, he stood turning his hat in his hands, as one who wishes to say something, but knows loot how to begin.
The mother, observing this, repeated her thanks, and finally said: “Would you like me to pay you for bringing my child home?”
“O no,” said he with tears, “God pays me! God pays me! I would like to tell you something, but I speak English so poorly that I fear you will not understand.”
The mother assured him that she was used to the German, and could understand him very well.
“I am the proprietor of an ink factory, “ said he. “My men work by the piece. I have to keep separate accounts with each. I pay them every Saturday. At twelve o’clock they will be at my desk, for their money. This week I have had many hindrances, and was behind with my books. I was working hard at them with the sweat on my face, in my great anxiety to be ready in time. Suddenly I could not see the figures; the words in the book all ran together, and I had a plain impression on my mind that some one in the street wished to see me. I went out, looked up and down the street, but seeing no one, went back to my desk, and wrote a little. Presently the darkness was greater than before, and the impression stronger than before, that some one in the street needed me.
“Again I went out, looked up and down the street, walked a little way, puzzled to know what it meant. Was my hard work, and were the cares of business driving me out of my wits? Unable to solve the mystery, I turned again into my shop and to my desk.
“This time my fingers refused to grasp the pen. I found myself unable to write a word, or make a figure; but the impression was stronger than ever on my mind, that some one needed my hell). A voice seemed to say: “Why don’t you go out as I tell you? There is need of your help.”
This time I took my hat on going out, resolved to stay till I found out whether I was losing my senses, or there was a duty for me to do. I walked some distance without seeing any one, and was more and more puzzled, till I came opposite the children, and found that there was indeed need of my help. I cannot understand it, madam."
As the noble German was about leaving the house, the younger girl had the courage to say: “O mother, we prayed.”
Thus the mystery was solved, and with tear-stained cheeks, a heaving breast, and a humble, grateful heart, the kind man went back to his accounts.
I have enjoyed many a happy hour in conversation with Annie in her own house since she has a home of her own.
The last I knew of Annie and Vanie, they were living in the same city, earnest Christian women. Their children were growing up around them, who, I hope, will have like confidence in mother, and faith in God. JEIGH ARRH
Annie was the wife of James A. Clayton, of San Jose, California. I have enjoyed their hospitality, and esteem both very highly.
JAMES ROGERS,
Of Alabama Conference, M. E. Church.
“She-was-a-good-wife-to-me. A good wife, God bless her!” The words were spoken in trembling accents over a coffin-lid. The woman asleep there had borne the heat and burden of life’s long day, and no one had ever heard her murmur, her hand was quick to reach out a helping grasp to those who fell by the wayside; and her feet were swift on errands of mercy; the heart of her husband had trusted in her; he had left her to long hours of solitude, while he amused himself in scenes in which she had no part. When boon companions deserted him, when fickle affect selfishly departed, when pleasure palled, he went home and found her waiting for him.
“Come from your long, long roving,
On life’s sea so bleak and rough;
Come to me tender and loving,
And I shall be blessed enough.”
That had been her love-song – always on her lips or in her heart. Children had been born to them. She had reared them almost alone – they were gone! Her hand had led them to the uttermost edge of the morning that had no noon. The she had comforted hom, sent him out strong and whole-hearted, while she stayed at home and – cried. What can a woman do but cry – and trust? Well, she is at rest now. But she could not die until he had promised to “bear up;” not to fret but to remember how happy they had been. They? Yes, it is even so. For she was blest in giving and he in receiving. It was an equal partnership after all! “She – was – a – good – wife – to – me.” O man! Man! Why not have told her so, when her ears were not dulled by death? Why wait to say these words over a coffin wherein lies a wasted, weary, gray-haired woman, whose eyes have so long held that pathetic story of loss and suffering and patient yearning which so many women’s eyes reveal – to those who read. Why not have made the wilderness in her heart blossom like the rose with the prodigality of your love? Now you would give worlds – were they yours to give – to see the tears of joy your words would have once caused, bejeweling the closed windows of her soul. It is too late.
“We have careful thoughts for the stranger,
And smiles for the sometimes guest;
But oft for our own, the bitter tone,
Though we love our own the best.” – Sel.
We knew a preacher, still living, who was appointed to the charge of a church in Springfield, Ill. The church seemed very much depressed. It's life was at a low ebb. It was in the midst of the harvest, in the hot weather, when things seemed most depressed. The pastor, a holy man of God, announced on Sabbath evening to a small congregation of a score or two of persons, “There will be a prayer-meeting in this church to-morrow morning at sunrise for the revival of the work of God and for the conversion of sinners.” The people wondered at the notice, and went home. The pastor went up into his study, which was in the parsonage by the side of the church, and gave that night to prayer. Just as the East began to lighten up a little with the coming day he had the assurance that his prayer was answered, and casts himself down on a sofa for a little rest. Presently he awoke suddenly to see the sun shining on the wall over his head. He sprang up and hooked out of the window to see how late it was, when he saw the sun just rising above the horizon. Looking down into the yard by the church, he was overjoyed to see the church crowded with people, and the yard foul, and teams crowding into the street for a long distance. God had heard his prayer, and had sent out his Spirit into the community, and there had been no sleeping in Springfield that night. People in the country who knew nothing of the appointment got up in the night, hitched up their teams, and drove into town and to the church to find out what the matter was. A good man had taken hold of God. The prayer-meeting began, and was closed that night at eleven o’clock. Several souls were converted. A gracious work broke out, and the community was greatly blessed. The foregoing we certify to on the highest authority, having it from the lips of the man himself, whom every body knowing him believes as soon as any thing outside of the Bible. We greatly need earnest, persevering, believing prayer. One night of such prayer kept by all the Church would startle the nation. We sorely need a mighty baptism of power. We have all the other elements of success. We lack no machinery. We have truth, and the experience of its saving power and the appliances. What we now need is the outpouring of the Spirit upon us as a people. We must rekindle our fires. We must make our churches centers of saving power. One hour a day spent by the church in earnest prayer for the revival of God’s work would make the coming year the most memorable in the history of the church. If you do not feel burdened, ask for the spirit of prayer, and that shall be given you. Forsake your sins and leave yourself with Cod, and give yourself to prayer, and all over the land God will hear and answer, and pour out his Spirit, and bestow his power, and make this year a revival year. – Bishop C.H. Fowler
Wending her way every Sabbath to a school in the west end of London, might have been seen a young girl, named Mary Jane Howes. Attached in no common degree to both her teachers and fellow scholars, nothing but sickness ever kept her away from school. Naturally of an obedient and kind disposition, she was never known to tell a lie; but with all this natural amiability, the great change which alone fits the soul for an entrance into the kingdom of heaven had never taken place in that young heart. She had often been touched, ‘awakened by the Holy Spirit to feel her need of this great salvation, but had neglected to seek it with all her heart. Her last sickness was brought on by what appeared at first to be only a slight cold. As other symptoms followed, her mother took her to a doctor who pronounced her case to be dangerous, advising that she should keep her bed. She became rapidly worse, and being alarmed, her parents sent for one of the agents of the Mission, Mr. Garland. By her bedside he prayed for her with great fervor, and early on the following morning repeated his visit. At night she had become so much worse that they had sent for him, for they feared she was dying. No one had told her of her danger, and Mr. Garland requested all except her mother to leave the room.
He then asked her if she thought her end was near, and if she felt prepared to meet her God. When the awful danger of her case dawned upon her, she exclaimed: “No, I am not prepared to meet my God; but I am not dying. I hope soon to recover, and be a help to my dear mother." Mr. Garland then told her that to all appearance, she would be in the world of spirits before many hours had passed, and urged her to seek the mercy of God through Jesus Christ our Lord. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “I am not fit to die; l am not converted; I can’t die!"
Seeing her great distress, her visitor kept pointing her to Jesus, praying with her most earnestly, the expression all the time deepening of her awful danger, repeating to her the gracious invitation: “ Him that cometh unto Me, I will in no wise cast out." He left her for a little while. When he departed sloe looked at him with a look of agony and despair, and exclaimed: “O Mr. Garland my soul! My poor soul! I am unprepared for death and judgment.”
Despair seemed to have settled on her soul, and was depicted on her countenance. It was heart-rending to hear her groans, and see her tears. After a while she asked those present to sing the hymn beginning:
“Rescue the perishing, care for the dying,
Snatch them in pity from sin and the grave
Weep over the erring one, hilt up the fallen,
Tell them of Jesus the mighty to save.”
When they had sung the whole through she said:
“O sing it again!" While they were singing the second verse:
“Though they were slighting Him still He is waiting,
Waiting the penitent child to receive;
Plead with them earnestly; plead with thee, gently,
He will forgive if they only believe,”
despair yielded to faith, and with a joyful smile she exclaimed: “ Jesus loves me; I can believe; I am saved l saved through the blood of the Lamb! My burden is all gone, my sins are all forgiven. I can die now. Jesus is mine, I am his. Hallelujah!’
She now desired all present to join in singing:
"Safe in the arms of Jesus,
Safe on His gentle breast;
There by His love o’ershaded,
Sweetly my soul shall rest.
Hark, ‘tis the voice of angels,
Borne in a song to me,
Over the fields of glory
Over the jasper sea.”
Each of her family, father, mother and two brothers were called, and with tears and earnest entreaties she plead with them to meet her in heaven. Being now quite exhausted she laid down for a few minutes, and appeared to be in a calm sleep, when suddenly starting up she said; "Sing another hymn, for I feel so happy I must sing.” A friend commenced singing: “Jesus of Nazareth passeth by.”
"No! No! Not that " she exclaimed, "Jesus is not passing by; he is here in my room - in my soul. Sing: "Ring the bells of heaven, O there is joy today.” And on she talked, breathing forth words of rapturous joy and thanksgiving. After a while her mother said: "Are you not tired, my dear Mary?"
“Oh no!" she replied. "I am crossing the river, but the water is not deep. I can feel the bottom, and like David, I can walk through the valley of the shadow of death. It is the way home to my Father’s house above.”
A little while after, she said to her mother: “Hark, mother! Hark! They’re singing. Oh l such singing! I see angels. They all have long white robes, and golden crowns on their heads. Dear mother, this must be the valley of death. It seems dark and long, but I do not fear. Jesus is holding my hand, and I see a light at the other end, and the angels with outstretched arms to receive me, and I shall have a harp, a golden harp and, oh! Won’t I strike it loud when I reach the other side!
The enemy was suffered to tempt and distress her for a little while, and when he was overcome, with a sweet smile she cried out: "He is gone now; I only see Jesus"
Her sight now began to fail, but she was conscious to the last. “Can you see me, Mary?" said her mother.
“No,” she replied, " I cannot see you, but I do see Jesus. I am nearly home now. All sing:
Who, who are these beside the chilly wave,
Just on the borders of the silent grave,
Shouting Jesus’ power to save,
Washed in the blood of the Lamb?’”
She joined in the singing, and when it was all over said:
“Mother, one more kiss.” Shortly after she exclaimed:
“Jesus! Jesus! My – precious --Jesus." Her last words, and in a few
moments another soul had joined the innumerable company around the throne. - Selected by Sarah A.
Cooke.
A friend of mine, seeking for objects of charity, got into the room of a tenement house. It was vacant. He saw a ladder pushed through the coiling. Thinking that perhaps some poor creature had crept up there, he climbed the ladder, drew himself up through the hole, and found himself under the rafters. There was no light but that which came through a bull’s-eye in the place of a tile. Soon he saw a heap of chips and shavings, and on top a boy about ten years old.
“Boy, what are you doing there?”
“Please don’t tell anybody--- please, sir.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Don’t tell anybody, sir; I’m hiding." "What are you hiding from?"
"Don’t tell anybody, if you please, sir.”
"Where’s your mother?”
“Mother is dead"
"Where’s your father?”
“Hush don’t tell him don‘t tell him! but look here!”
He turned himself on his face, and through the rags of his jacket and shirt, my friend saw the boy’s flesh was bruised, and the skin broken.
“Why, my boy, who beat you like that?”
“Father did, sir.”
"What did your father beat you like that for?"
"Father got drunk, sir, and beat me ‘cos I wouldn’t steal."
“Did you ever steal?”
“Yes, sir. I was a street thief once."
“And why don’t you steal anymore?”
“Please, sir, I went to the mission school, and they told me there of God, and of heaven, and of Jesus; and they taught me, ‘Thou shalt not steal; and I’ll never steal again, if father kills me for it. But, please, sir, don’t tell him."
"My boy, you must not stay here; you will die. Now, you wait patiently here for a little time; I’m going away to see a lady. We will get a better place for you than this.” Thank you, sir; but please, sir, would you like to hear me sing a little hymn?
Bruised, battered, forlorn, friendless, motherless, hiding away from an infuriated father, he had a little hymn to sing.
“Yes, I will hear you sing your little hymn.”
He raised himself on his elbow and then sang:
“Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
Look upon a little child;
Suffer me to come to Thee.
Fain would I to Thee be brought,
Gracious Lord, forbid it not;
In the kingdom of thy grace
Give a little child a place.”
“That’s the little hymn, sir. Good-bye."
The gentleman went away, came back again in less than two hours, and climbed the ladder. There were the chips, and there was the little boy with one hand by his side, and the other tucked in his bosom, underneath the little ragged shirt dead. -- John B. Cough.
Two or three times in my life God in His mercy touched my heart, and twice before my conversion I was under deep conviction.
During the American war, I was surgeon in the United States army, and after the battle of Gettysburg there were many hundred wounded soldiers in my hospital, amongst whom were twenty-eight who had been wounded so severely that they required my service at once. Some whose legs had to be amputated, some their arms, and others both their arm and leg. One of the latter was a boy who had been but three months in the service, and being too young for a soldier. He enlisted as a drummer. When my assistant surgeon and one of my stewards wished to administer chloroform, previous to the amputation, he turned his head aside and positively refused to receive it. When the steward told him that it was the doctor’s orders, he said: “Send the doctor to me.”
When I came to his bedside, I said: “Young man, why do you refuse chloroform? When I found you on the battlefield you were so far gone that I thought it hardly worth while to pick you up; but when you opened those large blue eyes I thought you had a mother somewhere who might, at that moment, be thinking of her boy. I did not want you to die on the field, so ordered you to be brought here; but you have now lost so much blood that you are too weak to endure an operation without chloroform, therefore you had better let me give you some." He laid his hand on mine, and looking me in the face, said: "Doctor, one Sunday afternoon, in the Sabbath-school, when I was nine and a half years old, I gave my heart to Christ. I learned to trust Him then; I have been trusting him ever since, and I can trust Him now. He is my strength and my stimulant. He will support me while you amputate my arm and leg.” I then asked him if he would allow me to give him a little brandy. Again he looked me in the face saying: " Doctor, when I was about five years old my mother knelt by my side, with her arm around my neck, and said: ‘ Charlie, I am now praying to Jesus that you may never know the taste of strong drink your papa died a drunkard, and went down to a drunkard’s grave, and I promised God, if it were His will that you should grow up, that you should warn young men against the bitter cup.’ I am now seventeen years old, but I have never tasted anything stronger than tea and coffee, and as I am, in all probability, about to go into the presence of my God, would you send me there with brandy on my stomach?”
The look that boy gave me I shall never forget. At that time I hated Jesus, but I respected that boy’s loyalty to his Savior; and when I saw how he loved and trusted Him to the last, there was something that touched my heart, and I did for that boy what I had never done for any other soldier
I asked him if he wanted to see his chaplain. "Oh! Yes, sir,” was the answer.
When Chaplain R. came, he at once knew the boy from having often met him at the tent prayer-meetings, and taking his hand said: “Well, Charlie, I am sorry to see you in this sad condition.” "Oh, I am all right, sir," he answered. “The doctor offered me chloroform, but I declined it; then he wished to give me brandy, which I also declined; and now, if my Savior calls me, I can go to Him in my right mind." "You may not die, Charlie," said the chaplain but if the Lord should call you away, is there anything I can do for you after you are gone? " "Chaplain, please put your hand under my pillow and take my little Bible; in it you will find my mother’s address; please send it to her, and write a letter, and tell her that since the day I left home I have never let a day pass without reading a portion of God’s word, and daily praying that God would bless my dear mother; no matter whether on the march, on the battle-field, or in the hospital.” “Is there anything else I can do for you, my lad?” asked the chaplain. “ Yes; please write a letter to the superintendent of the Sands-street Sunday-school, Brooklyn, N.Y., and tell him that the kind words, many prayers, and good advice he gave me I have never forgotten; they have followed me through all the dangers of battle; and now, in my dying hour, I ask my dear Savior to bless my dear old superintendent. That is all."
Turning towards me he said: “Now, doctor, I ant ready; and I promise you that I will not even groan while you take off my arm and leg, if you will not offer me chloroform.” I promised, but I had not the courage to take the knife in my hand to perform the operation without first going into the next room and taking a little stimulant myself to perform my duty.
While cutting through the flesh, Charlie Coulson never groaned; but when I took the saw to separate the bone, the lad took the corner of his pillow in his mouth, and all that I could hear him utter was: “O Jesus, blessed Jesus! Stand by me now.” He kept his promise, and never groaned.
That night I could not sleep, for whichever way I turned I saw those soft blue eyes, and when I closed mine the words, "Blessed Jesus, stand by me now,” kept ringing in my ears. Between twelve and one o’clock I left my bed and visited the hospital; a thing I had never done before unless specially called, but such was my desire to see that boy. Upon my arrival there I was informed by the night steward that sixteen of the hopeless cases had dies, and been carried down to the dead-house. "How is Charlie Coulson, is he among the dead?” “I asked. “No, sir," answered the steward, “he is sleeping as sweetly as a babe.” When I came up to the bed which he lay, one of the nurses informed me that, about nine o clock, two member of the Y.M.C.A. came through the hospital to read and sing a hymn. They were accompanied by Chaplain R., who knelt by Charlie Coulson’s bed, and offered up a fervent and soul-stirring prayer; after which they sang, while still upon their knees, the sweetest of all hymns, "Jesus, lover of my soul,: in which Charlie joined. I could not understand how that boy, who had undergone such excruciating pain, could sing.
Five days after I had amputated that dear boy’s arm and leg, he sent for me, and it was from him on that day I heard the first gospel sermon. “Doctor,” he said, “my time has come; I do not expect to see another sun rise; but thank God, I am ready to go; and before I die I desire to thank you with all my heart for your kindness to me. Doctor, you are a Jew, you do not believe in Jesus; will you please stand here and see me die, trusting my Savior to the last moment of my life?” I tried to stay, but I could not; for I had not the courage to stand by and see a Christian boy die rejoicing in the love of a Jesus whom I had been taught to hate, so I hurriedly left the room. About twenty minutes later a steward, who found me sitting in my private office covering my face with my hand, said: ”Doctor, Charlie Coulson wishes to see you.” “I have just seen him," I answered, “and I cannot see him again." "But, doctor, he says he must see you once more before hoe dies.” I now made up my mind to see him, say an endearing word, and let him die; but I was determined that no word of his should influence me in the least so far as his Jesus was concerned. When I entered the hospital I saw he was sinking fast, so I sat down by his bed. Asking me to take his hand, he said, " Doctor, I hove you because you are a Jew; the best friend I have found in this world was a Jew.” I asked him who that was. He answered: “Jesus Christ, to whom I want to introduce you before I die; and will you promise me, doctor, that what I am about to say to you, you will never forget?” I promised; and he said: “Five days ago, while you amputated my arm and leg, I prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ to convert your soul.”
These words went deep into my heart. I could not understand how, when I was causing him the most intense pain, he could forget all about himself and think of nothing but his Savior and my unconverted soul. All I could say to him was: “Well, my dear boy, you will soon be all right.” With these words I left him, and twelve minutes later he fell asleep, "safe in the arms of Jesus."
Hundreds of soldiers died in ray hospital during the war; but I only followed one to the grave, and that one was Charlie Coulson, the drummer boy; and I rode three miles to see him buried. I had him dressed in a new uniform, and placed in an officer’s coffin, with a United States flag over it.
That boy’s dying words made a deep impression upon me. I was rich at that time so far as money is concerned, but I would have given every penny I possessed if I could have felt towards Christ as Charlie did; but that feeling cannot be bought with money. Alas! I soon forgot all about my Christian soldier’s little sermon, but I could not forget the boy himself. I now know that at that time I was under deep conviction of sin; but I fought against Christ with all the hatred of an orthodox Jew for nearly ten years, until, finally, the dear boy’s prayer was answered, and God converted my soul.
About eighteen months after my conversion, I attended a prayer-meeting one evening in time city of Brooklyn. It was one of those meetings when Christians testify to the loving kindness of their Savior. After several of them had spoken, an elderly lady arose and said "Dear friends, this may be the last time that it is my privilege to testify for Christ. My family physician told me yesterday that my right lung is nearly gone, and my left bong is very much affected; so at the best I have boot a short time to be with you but what is left of it belongs to Jesus. Oh! it is a great joy to know that I shall meet my boy with Jesus in heaven.
My son was not only a soldier for this country, but also a soldier for Christ. He was wounded at the battle of Gettysburg, and fell into the hands of a Jewish doctor, who amputated his arm and leg, but he lived five days after the operation. The chaplain of the regiment wrote me a letter, and sent me my boy’s Bible. In that letter I was informed that my Charlie in his dying hour sent for that Jewish doctor, and said to him "Doctor, before I die I wish to tell you that five days ago, while you amputated my arm and leg, I prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ to convert your soul.
When I heard this body’s testimony, I could sit still no longer. I left my seat, crossed the room and taking her hand, said “God bless you, my dear sister; your boy’s prayer has been heard and answered. I am the Jewish doctor for whom your Charlie prayed, and his Savior is now my Savior.” -- Dr. M.L.R.
At one of our children’s meetings last summer, I invited the conductor of the train running to Cincinnati (who was a Christian man) to talk to the children. After speaking of his work among the prisoners of the Cincinnati jail, he proceeded to relate an instance from his own life, proving God’s willingness to supply temporal needs in answer to the prayer of faith. When he was a very young boy, his mother was left a widow, with six children dependent upon her for the supply of their temporal wants.
It was a cold winter’s day when all their provisions were exhausted; and as there was no human source to which to look, they took their needs to the dear heavenly Father, who promises to hear the cry of the widow and fatherless. They had perfect confidence that He would hear and answer prayer.
After eating their last morsel, they all went to bed and slept as sweetly as though they had an abundance at hand. In the morning the mother, with great cheerfulness, went about her work, setting the table, and making arrangements for breakfast, when there came a rap. She went to the door, and found a perfect stranger, who said the Lord had sent him to supply their present wants, and he came in, bringing provisions enough to last them a long time.
The stranger said he was awakened at midnight, and something
told him of the situation of this poor family. Not withstanding he lived
several miles distant, he and his good wife arose, prepared their charities,
and the husband set out, finding the place in time for their breakfast. How
blessed to have parents teach by precept and example such beautiful lessons of
trust! --Lily Blake
Blakeney Howe.
A prominent minister in Canada relates the following remarkable instance of God’s miraculous care over His people: “I am frequently impressed by the Spirit, to perform actions, at the time unaccountable to myself. These impressions are so vivid that I dare not disobey them.
“Some time ago, on a stormy night, I was suddenly impressed
to go to the distant house of an aged couple, and there to pray. So imperative
was the call, that I harnessed the horse and drove to the spot, fastened the
horse to the shed, and entered the house unperceived by a door, which had been
left open. There, kneeling down, I poured out my petitions to God, in an
audible voice, for the divine protection over the inmates; after which I
departed and returned home. Months after,
I was visiting one of the principle prisons in Canada, and moving amongst the
prisoners, was accosted by one of them, who claimed to know me. I had no recollection of the convict, and
was fairly startled when the latter said: “Do you remember going to such a
house one night, and offering prayer for the inmates?” I told him I did, and asked how he came to
know anything about it. He said: “I had gone to that house to steal a sum of
money, known to be in the possession of the old man. When you drove into the yard, I though you were he, and intended
to kill you while you were hitching your horses. I saw when you spoke to the horse that you were a stranger. I followed you into the house, and heard
your prayer. You prayed God to protect
the old people from violence of any kind and especially from murder; and if
there was any hand uplifted to strike them, that it ought be paralyzed.” Then
time prisoner pointed to his right arm, which hung lifeless by his side,
saying: Do you see that arm? It was paralyzed on the spot, and I have never
moved it since. Of course I left the place without doing any harm, but am here
now, for other offenses." -- Reported by Lily Blake Blakeney Howe.
The grasp of the mind of childhood upon the great truths of religion is frequently felt most perceptibly when the little sufferers are near their end. When a boy we heard the narration of a three or four-year old daughter of good parents living in the Southern country. She sickened, and medical skill proved unavailing to restore her. The tiny creature suspected the truth herself, and asked her father if the doctor had not said she must die. Being answered affirmatively, she was silent for a moment, and then said: “Papa, the grave is dark; oh, it is so dark! Won’t you go down with me into it?“ The stricken parent explained the impossibility, whereupon she said: “Papa, let mamma go with me, then.” All who stood around the little creature were in tears, and she began in her own simple way to pray to God. Before expiring her face brightened, as she said: “Pa, the grave is not dark now. I know that you and mamma can’t go with me, but Jesus will go with me into the grave.”
“I went once,” says Rev. C.H. Fowler, D.D., “ to see a dying girl whom the world had roughly treated. She never had a father, she never knew her mother. Her home had been the poor-house, her couch a hospital-cot; and yet, as she had staggered in her weakness there, she had picked up a little of the alphabet, enough to spell out the New Testament, and she had touched the hem of the Master’s garment, and had learned the new song. And I never trembled in the presence of such majesty as I did in the majesty of her presence as she came near the crossing. ‘Oh, sir!’ she said, ‘God sends his angels. I have read in his word " Are they not ministering spirits, sent forth to minister to them who shall be heirs of salvation? " And when I am lying in my cot, they stand about me on this floor; and when the heavy darkness comes, and this poor side aches so severely, he comes, for he says: “Lo, I am with you,” and he slips his soft hand under my aching side, and I sleep, I rest.’
The instances of heavenly ministries at the bedside of dying children are not rare. “Good-bye, papa; good-bye, mamma,” said a sweet eight-year-old, dying in Baltimore “the angels have come to carry me to heaven! “ And, sure enough, in a few moments, the heavenly convoy were bearing his freed spirit upwards to the skies.
A contributor to the National Era, who was an eye witness to the scene, narrates how a little girl -- a lovely and intelligent child-who had lost her mother too early to fix the loved features in remembrance, began to fade away early. As she reclined on the lap of the friend who took a mother’s care of her, she would throw her wasted arm around her neck, and say: "Now tell me about mamma." And when the oft-told story had been repeated, she would ask, softly: "Take me into the parlor I want to see my mamma." The request was never refused, and the affectionate sick child would lie for hours gazing on her mother’s portrait. But the hour came at last, and weeping neighbors assembled to see the little child die. "Do you know me darling?" sobbed close to the ear the voice that was dearest but it awoke no answer. All at once a brightness, as if flashed from the throne, beamed upon the colorless face. The eyelids opened, and the lips parted; the little hands were waved upwards, as, in the last impulsive effort, she looked piercingly into the far above. " Ah John " she cried, with surprise and transport in her tone-and passed with that breath to her mother’s bosom. Said a distinguished divine, who witnessed the scene " If I had never believed in the ministration of departed ones before, I could not doubt it now."
Bearing upon the same point is the story which history brings of the little son of Maria Antoinette, nine years of age, who was fastened in a cell, and his food thrust through a hole in the upper part of the door. Brought out after a year’s confinement, during which period that door never once opened, he was brought out to die. “O,” said he, “the music, the music, how fine” “Where?” “Why, up there, up there!”
And again he repeated the exclamation: “O, the music, how
fine I wish my sister could hear it”
“Music? Where?” again asked his attendants. “Up there, up there” said
the dying dauphin. “O, how fine I hear my mother’s voice among
them.” And, with these words, he went
to join her, whom at that time he did not know to be dead! " -- J.H. Potts, in the
Golden Dawn.
In traveling we often meet with persons of different nationalities and languages; we also meet with incidents of various character, some sorrowful, and others joyful and instinctive. One of the latter character I witnessed recently while traveling upon the cars. The train was going west, and the time was evening. At a station a little girl about eight years old came aboard, carrying a little budget under her arm. She came into the car and deliberately took a seat. She then commenced an eager scrutiny of faces, but all were strange to her. She appeared weary, and placing her budget or a pillow, she prepared to try and secure a little sleep. Soon the conductor came along collecting tickets and fare. Observing him, she asked him if she might lie there. The gentlemanly conductor replied that she might, and then kindly asked for her ticket. She informed him that she had none, when the following conversation ensued. Said the conductor:
“Where are you going?”
“l am going to heaven," she answered.
“Who pays your fare?” he asked again.
She then said: “Mister, does this railroad lead to heaven, and does Jesus travel on it?”
"I think not," he answered. "Why did you think so?"
“Why, sir, before my ma died she used to sing to me of a heavenly railroad, and you looked so nice and kind that I thought this was the road. My ma used to sing of Jesus on the heavenly railroad, and that He paid the fare for everybody, and that the train stopped at every station to take people on board; but my ma don’t sing to me any mere. Nobody sings to me now; and I thought I’d take the cars and go to ma. Mister, do you sing to your little girl about the railroad that goes to heaven? You have a little girl haven’t you?”
He replied, weeping: "No, my little dear, I have no little girl now. I had one once, but she died some time ago, and went to heaven.” “Did she go over this railroad, and are you going to see her now? “ she asked.
By this time every person in the coach was upon their feet, and most of them were weeping. An attempt to describe what I witnessed is almost futile. Some said: " God bless the little girl." Hearing some person say that she was an angel, the little girl earnestly replied: "Yes, my ma used to say that I would be an angel some time.
Addressing herself once more to the conductor, she asked him: "Do you love Jesus? I do; and if you love him, he will let you ride to heaven on His railroad. I am going there, and I wish you would go with me. I know Jesus will let me into heaven when I get there, and he will let you in too, and everybody that will ride on his railroad -- yes, all these people. Wouldn’t you like to see heaven, and Jesus, and your little girl?”
These words, so pathetically and innocently uttered, brought a great gush of tears from all eyes, hut most profusely from those of the conductor. Some who were traveling on the heavenly railroad shouted aloud for joy.
She now asked the conductor: "Mister, may I lie here until we get to heaven?
"Yes, dear, yes," he answered. "Will you wake me up then, So that I may see my ma, and your little girl, and Jesus?" she asked, "for I do so much want to see them all. "The answer came in broken accents, but in words very tenderly spoken: "Yes, dear angel, yes. God bless you." "Amen" was sobbed by more than a score of voices. Turning her eyes again upon the conductor, she interrogated him again: "What shall I tell your little girl when I see her? Shall I tell her that I saw her pa on Jesus’ railroad? Shall I?”
This brought a fresh flood of tears from all present, and the conductor knelt by her side, and, embracing her, wept the reply he could not utter. At this juncture the brakeman called out “H-------” The conductor arose and requested him to attend to his (the conductor’s) duty at the station, for he was engaged. That was a precious place. I thank God that I was a witness to this scene, but I was sorry that at this point I was obliged to leave the train.
We learn from this incident that out of the mouths of even babes God hath ordained strength, and that we ought to be willing to represent the cause of our blessed Jesus even in a railroad coach.
Rev. Dosh I wish to relieve my heart by writing to you, and saying that that angel visit on the cars was a blessing to me, although I did not realize it in its fullness until some hours after. But blessed be the Redeemer, I know now that I am His, and He is mine. I no longer wonder why Christians are happy. Oh, my joy, my joy! The instrument of my salvation has gone to God. I had purposed adopting her in the place of my little daughter, who is now in heaven. With this intention I took her to C----b and on my return trip I took her back to S----n, where she left the cars. In consultation with my wife in regard to adopting her, she replied " Yes, certainly, and immediately too, for there is a Divine providence in this. Oh," said she, “I never could refuse to take under my charge the instrument of my husband’s salvation.”
I made inquiry for the child at S----n, and learned that in
three days after her return she died suddenly, without any apparent disease,
and her happy soul had gone to dwell with her ma, my little girl, and the
angels in heaven I was sorry to hear of her death, but my sorrow is turned to
joy when I think my angel-daughter received intelligence from earth concerning
her pa, and that he is on the heavenly railway. Oh sir, methinks I see her near
the Redeemer. I think I hear her sing “I’m safe at home, and pa and ma are
coming;" and I find myself sending back the reply: "Yes, my darling,
we are coming, and will soon be there." Oh, my dear sir, I am glad that I
ever formed your acquaintance may the blessing of the great God rest upon you.
Please write to me, and be assured, I would he most happy to meet you again. --
Rev. J.M. Dosh, in
Christian Expositor.
You ask me “How did you come into these new notions of giving?”
Well, it was this way A year ago this winter our house took fire. It was in the middle of the night, and we were all asleep. The flames were first discovered by a poor neighbor, who at once gave the alarm, and then burst in the door. The house was full of smoke, and the fire had already attacked the staircase which led to the rooms in which we were still sleeping. It seems almost a miracle that we were got out alive. We were dazed and suffocated, and it was only the heroic courage and strength of our neighbor that brought us down the blazing stairway into the open air. But it nearly cost him his life. Indeed, we thought the man, gasping there for breath, would die on the spot. Intent on protecting us, he had exposed himself so that he was terribly burned about the arms and chest. lie had, too, drawn into his lungs the almost furnace-like air. As he stumbled out of the door with the last child in his arms, he fell down, utterly spent. I shall never forget the anguish of that hour. He had saved us, but himself seemed dying -- dying for our sakes. All thought of our misfortune at once left us. The best physicians were summoned, and we bore him tenderly to his own house. When the immediate danger had been averted, it became plain that it would take careful nursing of many months to bring him back to his ordinary health, if, indeed, he had not become disabled for life.
And now it was our turn. He was a laborer, and his family were wholly dependent on his daily earnings. It did not take us long to decide upon our course. In fact, there was no debate or counseling about it. The immediate and common thought of each of us, down to the youngest child, was, that we should at once take the whole care of this family upon ourselves. They were now allied to us by a tie stronger than any bond of kindred, and we did not for a moment hesitate what to do.
I had a business that gave us a comfortable support, though we had followed the custom of our acquaintances generally, of living in a liberal way, quite up to the extent of our means. But we did not stay to ask whether we could afford it or not. We just settled it at once that this should be done first, and then we would somehow contrive to live on what remained.
We arranged that the women of our family should relieve the heart-broken wife of the poor man from all household cares, that she might devote herself wholly to him. They were very tenderly attached, and no one could care for him as she could.
"It was just like Jo," she said, as she patiently sat by his bedside; “he never thinks of himself.” But a happy smile flitted across her wan face, as she added, “ I wouldn’t have him different.”
My oldest daughter soon secured a class in music, and the next one found a place in a kindergarten. It was a great, delight to me, and a stimulus to my own efforts, to see how intent the younger children were, each one of them, to earn or save something for the great purpose which had now come into our hearts. It sometimes brought the tears to see especially how Charlie, the last one saved, took wholly upon himself to look after one of the children of our brave friend, a boy about a year younger than himself, he could enjoy nothing, neither garment, schoolbook nor plaything, until he had seen to it that his little mate was fitted out as he himself was. And often this was done at a real sacrifice by the little fellow.
Indeed, this was the way with us all. It did not occur to us to ask whether we could do what we had undertaken without feeling it. We wanted to feel it. We could not take upon ourselves any of the bodily anguish of this poor suffering man; suffering for our sakes. But it was a genuine satisfaction to be doing something for him, at some cost to ourselves, some real self-denial, that should be as constant as was the pain he was enduring. We somehow felt that it was the only way we could emphasize to our own hearts our great obligation, and show to him our gratitude; the only way in which we could in some small measure - it seemed very small to us sometimes-suffer with him in his great sufferings for us. I do not say that there was no conflict in doing this.
After the excitement of the first few days was passed, it was often necessary to reinforce our variable impulses by calling up to our minds a sense of duty. The close quarters into which we had moved were inconvenient. Our former tastes and luxurious indulgences now and then stoutly asserted themselves. They had grown into headstrong habits, and it sometimes cost a real conflict to put them down.
There was one untidy and expensive habit, which, it seems to me, I never could have broken off, had it not been for this new power that had come into my life. Upon a little calculation I found that it cost me more than a hundred dollars a year. This might be saved. It was a defiling and unwholesome thing, and I could not but feel a loss of self-respect every time I gave way to its use. But I had no idea it had gained such a mastery over me; and when the intense craving for my daily indulgence came on, the battle would certainly have gone against me had I not been wont to say to myself: “It is for his sake -- for his sake!” That one word gave me the victory, and it was a real deliverance.
There was another stout fight I had to make.
One day a business friend of mine drove up with his well-matched span, and took me to see the new house he was building. I was glad to look it over, for I had planned that, some day, I would build such a house for myself. The rooms were spacious and many. The outlook from the bay windows was delightful. No modern convenience or appliance for comfort had been omitted. It was not strange that for a time my former desire for such a mansion-like residence came upon me with almost overpowering strength. It was a moment of weakness. The spirit of self-indulgence came back to its old home, and before I was aware, the chafing and impatience of my heart at the new expenses laid on me grew into a tumult; but it was only for a moment. As I walked away, and began to come to myself, and to see what I was really thinking about, what do you suppose I did?
Oh, what indignation! What clearing of myself! Yea, what revenge! To make sure that I had utterly rid myself of meanness of this contemptible thought, I immediately went with my wife and bargained for a neat cottage in the next block, arranging easy terms which I could meet in the year to come; and then directed that the deed should be given to my brave, suffering deliverer, the first day he should be able to walk out. I felt as if I had grievously wronged him, and that nothing short of this would satisfy the demands of the case.
As our friend began to he able to walk, we found that there was something weighing upon his mind. It soon came out that he was the superintendent of a little Mission School which he had gathered in a neglected part of the town. Somehow it had come to him that in his absence it had sadly run down. You may be sure the whole teaching-force of our family was turned into that school the very next Sunday. I am ashamed to say that it was new business to us; but for his sake we were there, and we threw our whole souls into it.
And it was a great satisfaction to see how like medicine it was to the poor man, to hear our weekly report of the growing interest and numbers. And when in the winter there came a blessed revival, his joy knew no bounds. It was noticeable that from that time on, he showed a marked improvement. There was a natural, but unlooked for result from the self-denials and solicitudes of this year. We were drawn, not only to this man, who was making a brave fight for life in at the next door-for we were continually running in and out- but we were also drawn to each other as we had never been before. A new tenderness and patience came into our lives. Somehow the common service and sacrifice upon which all our hearts were set, softened us and brought us together in a sympathy and oneness of feeling which was altogether new; and thus it proved to be the happiest period of our domestic life.
It is a year now since that terrible night. Our neighbor, to our great joy, has so far recovered that he has moved to the new house, and will soon be back again to his accustomed work.
Yesterday, as I looked over the footings of my inventory found, to my surprise, that after all, it had been one of my most successful years. Indeed, I had scarcely ever had so large a balance in hand. This was altogether unexpected. There had been no marked successes, or special interpositions.
But I could see, on looking back, that my own business habits had been toned up by the necessities which faced us; that needless expenses had been cut off; that my business men had steadily improved, and that I had been somehow kept from mistakes and bad adventures, and misplaced credits. Indeed, we have a settled and sweet consciousness that the hand of a good Providence had been constantly with us.
Last evening, as it was the anniversary of the fire, we gave
up the accustomed hour of family worship to a review of the experiences. It was
a delightful and precious season. We felt with humble gratitude, that we had
come up to a higher plane of life, and no one of us desires to go back to the
old way of self-indulgence. There had been quietly growing in our hearts for
some months, the thought: If for this man’s sake, why not even more for
Christ’s sake?
When we had read at our morning worship such passages as the 53rd of Isaiah, or the closing scenes of our Lord’s life in the Gospels, and many expressions in the Epistles, the sufferings, sometimes the intense anguish in at the next door of which we were often the witness, and which were almost never out of our thoughts seemed to make very real to us our Lord’s sacrifice and sufferings for us. We were also much moved by the beautiful patience of our neighbor, and by his joy in what he had done. He seemed to feel, with all his lowliness, a sense of having somehow gained an ownership in us, and in a quiet way, he rejoiced over us as if we were the trophies of a great victory. We were, indeed, as “brands plucked from the burning;” and this often led us to turn to the Lord Jesus, with much yearning and tenderness of soul. And there would sometimes appear to us, with the vividness of a new revelation, the words: “Ye are bought with a great price;” “Ye are not your own.” And so, at the close of our review, there came out, in a formal covenant, the purpose which had thus been quietly growing in all our hearts, that we would never, any more, live unto ourselves; that we would keep right on doing for our Lord, just what we bad been doing for this man. It seemed easy and natural, and the most reasonable thing in the world, that for the next year, and for all the years, we would make Christ’s business our business; that we would take to our hearts the things that were nearest to His heart; that henceforth His Church, His poor, His little ones, and the salvation of the world, for which His soul is still in travail, should be the chief care of our lives.
Our daughters have wrought and hung on the walls of our rooms a motto. It is only a faint reflection of that which is deeply, and we believe, permanently graven on our hearts:
FOR HIS SAKE-FOR HIS SAKE!
And so I have answered your question: How did you come into
these new notions of giving? -- S.J. Humphrey.
I remember a day during one winter that stands out like a boulder in my life. The weather was unusually cold, our salary had not been regularly paid, and it did not meet on needs when it was. My husband was away traveling from one district to another much of the time. Our boys were well, but my little Ruth was ailing, and at best none of us were decently clothed. I patched and repatched, with spirits sinking to their lowest ebb. The water gave out in the well, and the wind blew through the cracks in the floor.
The people in the parish were kind, and generous, too, but the settlement was new, and each family was struggling for itself. Little by little, at the time I needed it most, my faith began to waver. Early in life I was taught to take God at His word, and I thought my lesson was well learned. I had lived upon the promises in dark times, until I knew, as David did, “who was my Fortress and Deliverer.” Now a daily prayer for forgiveness was all that I could offer. My husband’s overcoat was hardly thick enough for October, and he was often obliged to ride miles to attend some meeting or funeral. Many times our breakfast was Indian cake, and a cup of tea without sugar. Christmas was coming; the children always expected their presents. I remember the ice was thick and smooth, and the boys were each craving a pair of skates. Ruth, in some unaccountable way, had taken a fancy that the dolls I had made were no longer suitable; she wanted -a nice large one, and insisted in praying for it. I knew it was impossible; but, oh! How I wanted to give each child its present. It seemed as if God had deserted us, but I did not tell my husband all this. He worked so earnestly and heartily, I supposed him to be as hopeful as ever. I kept the sitting-room cheerful with an open fire, and tried to serve our scanty meals as invitingly as I could.
The morning before Christmas, James was called to see a sick man. I put up a piece of bread for his lunch -- it was the best I could do -- wrapped my plaid shawl around his neck, and then tried to whisper a promise, as I often had, but the words died away upon my lips. I let him go without it. That was a dark, hopeless day. I coaxed the children to bed early, for I could not bear their talk. When Ruth went, I listened to her prayer; she asked for the last time most explicitly for her doll, and for skates for her brothers. Her bright face looked so lovely when she whispered tome: “You know I think they’ll be here early tomorrow morning, mamma,” that I thought I could move heaven and earth to save her from disappointment. I sat down alone, and gave way to the most bitter tears.
Before long James returned, chilled and exhausted. He drew off his boots; the thin stockings slipped off with them, and his feet were red with cold. “I wouldn’t treat a dog that way; let alone a faithful servant,” I said. Then, as I glanced up and saw the hard lines in his face and the look of despair, it flashed across me, James had let go, too. I brought him a cup of tea, feeling sick and dizzy at the very thought. He took my hand, and we sat for an hour without a word. I wanted to die and meet God, and tell Him his promise wasn’t true; my soul was so full of rebellious despair.
There came a sound of bells, a quick stop, and a loud knock at the door. James sprang up to open it. There stood Deacon White. “A box came for you by express just before dark. I brought it around as soon as I could get away. Reckoned it might be for Christmas; at any rate, they shall have it tonight. Here is a turkey my wife asked me to fetch along, and these other things I believe belong to you. There was a basket of potatoes and a bag of flour. Talking all the time, he hurried in the box, and then with a hearty good-night rode away. Still, without speaking, James found a chisel and opened the box. He drew out first a thick red blanket, and we saw that beneath was full of clothing. It seemed at that moment as if Christ fastened upon me a look of reproach. James sat down and covered his face with his hands. “I can’t touch them,” he exclaimed; “I haven’t been true, just when God was trying me to see if I could hold out. Do you think I could not see how you were suffering? And I had no word of comfort to offer. I know now how to preach the awfulness of turning away from God.” “James,” I said, clinging to him, “don’t take it to heart like this; I am to blame, I ought to have helped you. We will ask Him together to forgive us.” “Wait a moment dear, I cannot talk now;” then he went into another room. I knelt down, and my heart broke; in an instant all the dark-ness, all the stubbornness rolled away. Jesus came again and stood before me, but now with the loving word: “Daughter!” Sweet promises of tenderness and joy flooded my soul. I was so lost in praise and gratitude that I forgot everything else. I don’t know how long it was before James came back, but I knew he too had found peace. “Now, my dear wife,” said he, “let us thank God together;” and then he poured out words of praise; Bible words, for nothing else could express our thanksgiving. It was eleven o’clock, the fire was low, and there was the great box, and nothing touched but the warm blanket we needed. We piled on some fresh logs, lighted two candles, and began to examine our treasures. We drew out an overcoat; I made James try it on; just the right size, and I danced around him; for all my light heartedness had returned. Then there was a cloak, and he insisted in seeing me in it. My spirits always infected him, and we both laughed like foolish children. There was a warm suit of clothes also, and three pair of woolen hose. There was a dress for me, and yards of flannel, a pair of arctic overshoes for each of us, and in mine was a slip of paper. I have it now, and mean to hand it down to my children. It was Jacob’s blessing to Asher: “Thy shoes shall be iron and brass, and as thy days so shall thy strength be.” In the gloves, evidently for James, the same dear hand had written: “I, the Lord thy God, will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee: Fear not, I will help thee.” It was a wonderful box, and packed with thoughtful care. There was a suit of clothes for each of the boys, and a little red gown for Ruth. There were mittens, scarfs, and hoods; down in the center, a box; we opened it, and there was a great wax doll.
I burst into tears again; James wept with me for joy. It was too much; and then we both exclaimed again, for close behind it came two pair of skates. There were books for us to read; some of them I had wished to see; stories for the children to read, aprons and underclothing, knots of ribbon, a gay little tidy; a lovely photograph, needles, buttons, and thread; actually a muff, and an envelope containing a ten-dollar gold piece. At last we cried over everything we took up. It was past midnight, and we were faint and exhausted even with happiness. I made a cup of tea, cut a fresh loaf of bread, and James boiled some eggs. We drew up the table before the fire; how we enjoyed our supper! And then we sat talking over our life, and how sure a help God always proved. You should have seen the children the next morning; the boys raised a shout at the sight of their skates. Ruth caught up her doll, and hugged it tightly without a word; then she went into her room and knelt by her bed. When she came back she whispered to me: “I knew it would be here, mamma, but I wanted to thank God just the same, you know.” “Look here, wife, see the difference.” We went to the window, and there were the boys out of the house already, and skating on the crust with all their might. My husband and I both tried to return thanks to the church in the East that sent us the box, and have tried to return thanks unto God every day since.
Hard times have come again and again, but we have trusted in
Him; dreading nothing so much as a doubt of His protecting care. Over and over
again we have proved that, “They that seek the Lord shall not want any good
thing.” -- Christian Witness.
The following instance is given in the experience of a correspondent of The Christian, which occurred in the latter part of November 1864, while traveling with her aged father and two small girls
“We started from New Hampshire on Thursday morning, expecting to have ample time to get through to Indiana be-fore Saturday night; but, after we crossed the St. Lawrence River, the next day, I think, there was a smash-up on a freight train which hindered our train about two hours. I began to feel anxious, as I knew our limited means would not permit us to stop long on the way. After the cars had started again I inquired of the conductor what time we should get to Toledo, fearing we should not reach there in time for the down train. He said it would be impossible to gain the time:
Soon they changed conductors, and I made a similar inquiry, getting about the same answer. Still I hoped, till we reached the Detroit River. Here I found that, though they had put on all the steam they dared to, they were almost an hour be-hind time, so I should have to stay over till Sunday night.
“After getting seated in the cars on the other side, I ventured to ask the conductor if we should get to Toledo in time for the down train. He readily said: ‘No, madam; impossible! If we put on all the steam we dare to, we shall be more than half an hour behind time. If we were on some trains, we might hope they would wait; but on his, never! He is the most exact conductor you ever saw. He was never known to wait a second, say nothing about a minute, beyond the time.’ I then inquired if we could not stay at the depot. Me said: ‘No; you would all freeze to death, for the fire is out till Sunday evening.’
“A gentleman sitting in front of us said he would show us a good hotel near by, as he was acquainted there. I thanked him, but sunk back on my seat. Covering my eyes with my hand, and raising my heart to God, I said: ‘O God, if thou art my Father, and I am thy child, put it into the heart of that conductor to wait till we get there.’
“Soon I became calm, and fell asleep, not realizing that God would answer my poor prayer; but, when we reached Toledo, to the astonishment of us all, there stood the conductor, wanting to know the reason why he had to wait; when our conductor told him there was a lady with her crippled father and two little daughters, who were going down on that train.
Soon as all were out of the car, both conductors
came with their lanterns, and gave their aid in helping my father to the other
train, where they had reserved seats by keeping the door locked. All was hurry
and confusion to me, as had my eye on father, fearing he might fall, it being
very slippery, when the baggage master said: “Your checks, madam!” I handed
them to him, and rushed into the car; but, before I got seated, the car
started, and I had no checks for my baggage.
Again my heart cried out: “O Thou that hearest prayer, take care of my
baggage!” believing He could do that as well as make the conductor wait. In a
few moments the conductor came to me with a face radiant with smiles, saying:
“Madam, I waited a whole half hour for you; a thing I never did before since I
was a conductor, so much as to wait one minute after my time.” He said: “I know
it was your father that I was waiting for, because there was nothing else on
the train for which I could have waited.” I exclaimed, in a half-suppressed
tone, “Praise the Lord!” I could not help it; it gushed out. Then he said: “At
the very moment all were on board, and I was ready to start, such a feeling
came over me as I had never had in my life before. I could not start. Something
kept saying to me, you must wait; for there is something pending on that train
you must wait for. I waited, and here you are, all safe.” Again my heart said,
Praise the Lord! And he started to leave me, when I said: “But there is one
thing.” “What is it?” was his quick
reply. “I gave the baggage-master my checks, and have none in return.” “What
were the numbers?” I told him. “I have
them,” he said, handing them to me; “but your baggage will not be there till
Monday morning. We had no time to put it on, we had waited so long.“ --
Selected.
She arose suddenly in the meeting, and spoke as follows:
“Married to a drunkard! Yes, I was married to a drunkard. -- Look at me! I am talking to the girls.”
We all turned and looked at her. She was a wan woman, with dark, sad eyes, and white hair, placed smoothly over a brow that denoted intellect.
“When I married a drunkard, I reached the acme of misery,” she continued. “I was young, and oh, so happy! I married the man I loved, and who professed to love me. He was a drunkard, and I knew it knew it, but did not understand it. There is not a young girl in this building that does understand it, unless she has a drunkard in her family; then, perhaps, she knows how deeply the iron enters the soul of a woman, when she loves, and is allied to a drunkard; whether father, husband, brother or son. Girls, believe me, when I tell you, that to marry a drunkard, to love a drunkard, is the crown of all misery. I have gone through the deep waters, and know. I have gained that fearful knowledge at the expense of happiness, sanity, almost life itself.
Do you wonder my hair is white? It turned white in a night, ‘bleached by sorrow,’ as Marie Antoinette said of her hair. I am not forty years old, yet the snows of seventy rest upon my head; and upon my heart-ah! I cannot begin to count the winters resting there,” she said, with unutterable pathos in her voice.
“My husband was a professional man. His calling took him from home frequently at night, and when he returned, he returned drunk. Gradually he gave way to temptation in the day, until he was rarely sober. I had two lovely little girls and a boy.” Here her voice faltered, and we sat in deep silence listening to her story. “My husband had been drinking deeply. I had not seen him for two days. He had kept away from his home. One night I was seated beside my sick boy; the two little girls were in bed in the next room, while beyond was another room, into which I heard my husband go, as he entered the house. The room communicated with the one in which my little girls were sleeping. I do not know why, but a feeling of terror took possession of me, and I felt that my little girls were in danger. I arose and went to the room. The door was locked. I knocked on it frantically, but no answer came. I seemed to be endowed with superhuman strength, and, throwing myself with all my force against the door, the lock gave way and the door flew open. Oh, the sight! The terrible sight! “ She wailed out in a voice that haunts me now; and she covered her face with her hands, and when she removed them it was whiter and sadder than ever.
“Delirium tremens! You have never seen it, girls; God grant that you never may. My husband stood beside the bed, his eyes glaring with insanity, and in his hand a large knife. "Take them away!" he screamed. "The horrible things, they are crawling all over me. Take them away, I say!" and he flourished the knife in the air. Regardless of danger, I rushed up to the bed, and my heart seemed suddenly to cease beating. There lay my children, covered with their life-blood, slain by their own father! For a moment I could not utter a sound. I was literally dumb in the presence of this terrible sorrow. I scarcely heeded the maniac at my side -- the man who had wrought me all this woe. Then I uttered a loud scream, and my wailings filled the air. The servants heard me and hastened to the room, and when my husband saw them, he suddenly drew the knife across his own throat. I knew nothing more. I was borne senseless from the room that contained the bodies of my slaughtered children, and the body of my husband. The next day my hair was white, and my mind so shattered that I knew no one.”
She ceased! Our eyes were riveted upon her wan face.
Some of the women present sobbed aloud, while there was scarcely a dry eye in that temperance meeting. We saw that she had not done speaking, and was only waiting to subdue her emotion to resume her story.
“Two years,” she continued, “I was a mental wreck; then I recovered from the shock, and absorbed myself in the care of my boy. But the sin of the father was visited upon the child, and six months ago my boy of eighteen was placed in a drunkard’s grave; and as I, his loving mother, stood and saw the sod heaped over him, I said: "Thank God! I’d rather see him there than have him live a drunkard;" and I turned unto my desolate home a childless woman -- one on whom the hand of God had rested heavily.
“Girls, it is you I wish to rescue from the fate that overtook me. Do not blast your life as I blasted mine; do not be drawn into the madness of marrying a drunkard. You love him! So much the worse for you; for married to him, the greater will be your misery because of your love. You will marry and then reform him, so you say. Ah! A woman sadly overrates her strength when she undertakes to do this. You are no match for the giant demon ‘drink,’ when he possesses a man’s body and soul. You are no match for him, I say. What is your puny strength beside his gigantic force? He will crush you, too. It is to save you, girls, from the sorrows that wrecked my happiness, that I have unfolded my history to you. I am a stranger in this great city. I am merely passing through it; and I have a message to bear to every girl in America never marry a drunkard!
I can see her now, as she stood there amid the hushed audience, her dark eyes glowing, and her frame quivering with emotion, as she uttered her impassioned appeal. Then she hurried out, and we never saw her again. Her words, “fitly spoken,” were not without effect, however, and because of them there is one girl single now. -- Selected.
An evangelist said: “A little girl of eight years was sent
on an errand by her parents. While on her way, she was attracted by the singing
of a gospel meeting in the open air, and drew near. The conductor of the
meeting was so struck with the child’s earnestness that he spoke to her, and
told her about Jesus. She being the child of Roman Catholics, did not know much
about Him, but the gentleman told her of His love to her. On returning home her
father asked her what had detained her. She told him, and he cruelly beat her,
forbidding her to go to any such meeting again. About a fortnight afterwards,
she was so taken up with what she had previously heard of Jesus, that she
forgot all about her message. She saw the same gentleman, who again told her
more about the Savior. On her return home, she again told her father, as
before, where she had been, and that she had not brought what she had been sent
for, but that she had brought Jesus. Her father was enraged, and kicked the
poor little creature until the blood came. She never recovered from this brutal
treatment. Just before she breathed her last, she called her mother and said:
“Mother, I have been praying to Jesus to save you and father.” Then pointing to
her little dress, she said: “Mother, cut me a bit out of the blood-stained
piece of my dress.” The mother, wondering, did so. "Now,” said the dying child, “Christ shed His blood for my
sake, and l am going to take this to Jesus to show Him that I shed my blood for
His sake.” Thus she died, holding firmly the piece of her dress, stained with
her own blood. The testimony of that
dear child was the means of leading both father and mother to Christ. -- Selected.
“No,” said the lawyer, “I shan’t press your claim against that man; you can get some one else to take your case, or you can withdraw it, just as you please.”
"Think there isn’t any money in it?"
“There would probably he some money in it, but it would, as you know, come from the sale of the little house the man occupies and calls home; but I don’t want to meddle with the matter, anyhow.”
“Got frightened out of it, eh?”
“No, I wasn’t frightened out of it.”
“I suppose likely the old fellow begged hard to be let off?”
“Well, yes, he did."
"And you caved, likely?"
“No, I didn’t speak a word to him.”
“Oh, he did all the talking, did he?“
“Yes."
“And you never said a word?"
"Not a word.”
“What in creation did you do?”
“I believe I shed a few tears.”
“And the old fellow begged you hard, you say?”
“No, I didn’t say so; he didn’t speak a word to me"
“Well, may I respectfully enquire whom he did address in your hearing?”
“God Almighty.”
“Ah, he took to praying, did he?”
“Not for my benefit, in the least. You see“ and the lawyer crossed his right foot over his left knee, and began stroking his lower leg up and down, as if to state his case concisely; “you see, I found the little house easily enough, and knocked at the outer door, which stood ajar; but nobody heard me, so I slipped into the hall, and saw, through the crack of another door, just as cozy a sitting-room as there ever was. There on a bed, with her silver head way up high on the pillows, was an old lady, who looked for all the world just as my mother did the last time I ever saw her on earth.
Well, I was right on the point of knocking, when she said as clearly as could be: "Come, father, begin; I’m ready." And down on his knees by her side went an old, white-haired man, still older than his wife, I should judge; and I could not have knocked then for the life of me. Well, he began; first he reminded God they were still His submissive children, mother and he; and no matter what He saw fit to bring upon them they shouldn’t rebel at His will! Of course, ‘twas going to be terrible hard for them to go out homeless in their old age, especially with poor mother so sick and helpless; but still they’d seen sadder things than ever that would be. He reminded God, in the next place, how different all might have been if only one of their boys might have been spared them; then his voice kind of broke, and a thin, white hand stole from under the coverlet, and moved softly over his snowy hair; then he went on to repeat, that nothing could be so sharp as the parting with those three sons unless mother and he should be separated. But at last he fell to comforting himself with the fact that the dear Lord knew it was through no fault of his own, that mother and he were threatened with the loss of their dear little home, which meant beggary and the alms-house; a place they prayed to be delivered from entering, if it could be consistent with God’s will. And then he fell to quoting a multitude of promises concerning the safety of those who put their trust in the Lord; yes, I should say he begged hard; in fact it was the most thrilling plea to which I ever listened. And at last he prayed for God’s blessing on those who were about to demand justice” -- The lawyer stroked his lower limb in silence for a moment or two, then continued more slowly than before: “And, I believe, I’d rather go to the poor-house myself, tonight, than to stain my heart and hands with the blood of such a prosecution as that.”
“Little afraid to defeat the old man’s prayer, eh?” queried the client.
“Bless your soul, man, you could not defeat it!” roared the lawyer. “It doesn’t admit of defeat! I tell you, he left it all subject to the will of God; but he left no doubt as to his wishes in the matter; claimed that we were told to make known our desires unto God; but of all the pleading I ever heard that beat all. You see, I was taught that kind of thing myself in my childhood; and why I was sent to hear that prayer I’m sure I don’t know, but I hand the case over.”
“I wish,” said the client, twisting uneasily, “you hadn’t told me about the old fellow’s prayer.”
“Why so?”
“Well, I greatly want the money the place would bring, but was taught the Bible all straight when I was a youngster; and I’d hate to run counter to such a harangue as that you tell about. I wish you hadn’t heard a word of it; and another time I wouldn’t listen to petitions not intended for your ears.”
The lawyer smiled.
“My dear fellow,” he said, “you’re wrong again; it was intended for my ears, and yours, too, and God Almighty intended it. My old mother used to sing about God’s moving in a mysterious way, I remember.”
“Well, my mother used to sing it, too,” said the claimant, as he twisted his claim-papers in his fingers. “You can call in, in the morning, if you like, and tell mother and him the claim has been met.”
“In a mysterious way," added the lawyer, smiling. -- Selected
by Mrs. E. C. Best.
Bishop Bowman, of the M.E. Church, gives the following instance from his own experience:
“ In the fall of 1858, whilst visiting Indiana, I was at an annual conference where Bishop Janes presided. We received a telegram that Bishop Simpson was dying. Said Bishop Janes: “Let us spend a few moments in earnest prayer for the recovery of Bishop Simpson.” We kneeled to pray. William Taylor, the great California street-preacher, was called to pray; and such a prayer I never heard since.
The impression seized upon me irresistibly, Bishop Simpson will not die. I rose from my knees perfectly quiet. Said I:
"Bishop Simpson will not die." "Why do you think so?" "Because I have had an irresistible impression made upon my mind during this prayer."’ Another said: "I have the same impression." We passed it along from bench to bench, until we found that a very large proportion of the conference had the same impression. I made a minute of the time of day, and when I next saw Simpson, he was attending to his daily labor. I inquired of the bishop: "How did you recover from your sickness?" He replied: "I cannot tell." "What did your physician say?" "He said it was a miracle." I then said to the bishop: "Give me the time and circumstances under which the change occurred.’ He fixed upon the day, and the very hour, making allowance for the distance a thousand miles away that the preachers were engaged in prayer at this conference. The physician left his room and said to his wife: "It is useless to do anything further; the bishop must die." In about an hour he returned, and started back, inquiring: "What have you done?" "Nothing," was the reply. "He is recovering rapidly," said the physician; "a change has occurred in the disease within the last hour beyond anything I have ever seen; the crisis is past, and the bishop will recover." And he did.”
The doctor was puzzled; it was beyond all the course and
probabilities of nature, and the laws of science. What was it that made those
ministers so sure -- what was it that made the patient recover, at the exact
hour that they prayed? There is only one answer: “The ever-living power of a
Superior Spirit which rules the world.” -- Wonders of Prayer.
In the fall of 1885, our oldest boy, then two and one-half years old, was taken very ill. Diphtheria had for some time been raging to a considerable extent in the city of Grand Rapids, where we then resided. But a short time before, friends, who had just buried a little daughter, who had died of that disease, had visited at our home. Our little Rolin’s throat was badly cankered, he could no longer lie down without strangling; and we felt that by naught but the power and mercy of God, could he be spared to us. With a sad, aching heart, I laid away his little playthings, thinking I might never see him use them again; and as I looked over to the cemetery on the hill beyond us, a great yearning cry of anguish went up from my soul, as I thought that, in all human probability, I might be called within a few days, to there lay away the form of my darling.
More from a sense of regard for the feelings and convictions of others, than because of any confidence in the power of human remedies to meet the demands of the case, husband sent for a physician. As the one sent for was not in his office; the friend who went for him brought another, prominent for skill and experience. After careful examination, he pronounced the child dangerously ill of diphtheria, and said to the friend who brought him: “They do not realize how sick that child is; whatever is done for him must be done quickly.” He would leave no medicine, unless we gave him entire charge of the case, and this we did not feel ready to do.
After his departure, husband said to me: “If you wish me to send for the other physician, I will do so; but for myself, I can as easily exercise faith in God to heal Rolin as to trust Him for means to pay a doctor.”
Then, while I sat with Rolin in my arms, he knelt and prayed. As he plead with God that, if it were according to His will and for His glory, He would spare and heal the child He had given us, I knew he was wonderfully helped of the Spirit.
When he arose he told me that he had the positive assurance that his prayer was heard, and that Rolin would recover.
For hours previous, the sick one had been suffering greatly; but he immediately appeared very much better, and soon dropped into a sweet sleep. We laid him down among the pillows, and soon after retired, and that night we all slept well. The next morning, Rolin was up, dressed, and playing as usual about the house, and there was no more sign of diphtheria in his case.
In a short time a sister in the Lord, who had been with the previous afternoon, but who left at about the time we sent for the physician, and who knew nothing of what had transpired in her absence, came to the door. As I met her she said: “I have good news for you. Rolin is going to get well.” And upon careful inquiry we found that at very nearly, if not exactly, the same time that husband said to me that God had assured him that Rolin would recover, this sister, then a mile and a half away, had testified the very same thing to those that were with her.
A few weeks later, husband was just as miraculously healed of the same disease, and the very next day rode over twenty miles in a cutter; and though it was a very cold, raw, windy November day, his throat did not trouble him in the least.
Yours in the love of Jesus.
- Mrs. S. B. Shaw
In the winter of 1855, in the state of Iowa, the snow fell early in November to the depth of two feet. The storm was such that man nor beast could move against it. In a log cabin, six miles from her nearest relative, lived a woman with five children, ranging from one to eleven years.
The supply of food and fuel was but scant when the snow began falling; and day after day the small store melted away, until the fourth evening, when the last provisions were cooked for supper, and barely enough fuel remained to last one day more. That night, as washer custom, the little ones were called around her knee to hear the Scripture lesson read, before commending them to the Heavenly Father’s care. Then, bowing in prayer, she pleaded as only those in like condition can plead, that help from God might be sent.
While wrestling with God in prayer, the Spirit took the words of the Psalmist and impressed them on her heart: “I have been young, and now am old, yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.” And again, these words came as if spoken audibly: “The young lions do lack and suffer hunger, but they that wait on the Lord shall want no good thing.” Faith took God at His word; and with an assurance that help would come, she prayed God who heareth prayer, and retired to rest without a care or fear for the morrow When again the morning broke, that mother arose, kindled her fire and put on the kettle as she had done on other days before the food was all gone. Just as the sun arose, a man in a sleigh drove up to the house, and hastening in inquired how they were getting along. Her heart at first was too full for utterance; but in a short time he was told something of their destitution, and of her cry to God for help. He replied: “Last night about nine o’clock, wife and I were both impressed that you were in need. Spending almost a sleepless night, I hastened at early dawn, to come and inquire about the case.”
Then returning to his sleigh he took into the house breadstuff, meat and groceries, so that mother had abundance to prepare a breakfast for the little ones, who had eaten the last bread the night before. And as if to make the case above-mentioned a special providence, without a doubt remaining, the individual who was thus impressed and that at the very hour that mother was crying to God-was a stranger to the circumstances and surroundings of this family. Indeed, he had never been in that house before, nor had ever showed any interest in the person referred to; but he ever afterwards proved a friend indeed. Now, after years have rolled around, and these children are all married and settled in homes of their own, that mother’s heart is still strengthened to bear hardships and trust in God, by the recollections of that hour, when faith in God was so tested, and yet was so triumphant.
Let skeptics ridicule the idea of a special providence, or
lightly speak of prayer. One heart will ever believe God’s ear in mercy is open
to the cry of the feeblest of His children, when in distress their cry goes up
for help to Him. -- E.M. Dodson, of Orworth, Kan., in Michigan Holiness Record.
Hudson Taylor, founder of China Inland Mission, says that about 1830 his father became so interested in the spiritual condition of China, that he was led to pray that if God ever gave him a son, he might be privileged to labor as a missionary there; a prayer unknown to the son until after seven years of service in that mission field. Though carefully trained to the study of God’s word and a life of devotion, yet at the age of fifteen the lad was a skeptic.
Of his conversion he says: “One day, which I shall never forget, when I was about fifteen years old, my dear mother being absent from home some eighty miles away, I had a holiday. I searched through the library for a book to while away time. I selected a gospel tract which looked unattractive, saying, there will be an interesting story at the commencement, and a sermon or moral at the end; I will take the former, and leave the latter for those who like it. I little knew what was going on in the heart of my dear mother. She arose from the dinner-table with an intense yearning for the conversion of her boy, and feeling that, being from home, and having more leisure than she otherwise would, there was a special opportunity afforded her of pleading with God for me. She went to her bedroom, and turned the key in the door, and resolved not to leave the room until her prayers were answered. Hour after hour did that dear mother plead for me, until she could only praise God for the conversion of her son. In the meantime, as I was reading the tract, ‘The Finished Work of Christ,’ a light was flashed into my soul by the Holy Spirit, that there was nothing to be done, but to fall ‘on my knees and accept this Savior and his salvation, and praise God forevermore. While my mother was praising God in her closet, I was praising Him in the old warehouse where I had retired to read my book. When I met mother the door on her return with the glad news, she said: "I know, my boy; I have been rejoicing for a fortnight in the glad tidings you have to tell me!”
Many souls are lost for want of persistent pleading with God
in their behalf. Time that might be used in prayer is consumed in other ways,
and souls and opportunities pass forever from our reach. For those hours of
pleading with God, this faithful mother received not only her son for God, but
the great work God put into his hands-China Inland Mission. Hudson Taylor has
led out into the heart of China more than one hundred and seventy apostolic
missionaries, none of whom receive support except through faith in God. -- Anna Abrams, in
Vanguard.
The following are selected from a list of incidents recorded by Thomas Graham, the noted revivalist preacher, of the Erie Conference of the M.B. church. After his death they were found entered, under the above heading, in a small pass-book, as facts worthy of preservation, from an experience of almost fifty years in the ministry: When the Rev. Mr. Knapp, a regular Baptist minister, was holding a protracted meeting in Erie, he was interrupted by one Gifford, a Universalist preacher. Mr. Knapp felt his patience tried. At the conclusion of his sermon he prayed publicly that if said Gifford was within reach of salvation that God would have mercy upon him; but if not that God would take away his speech, so that he might deceive the people no longer. And Mr. Gifford went out of the house that night a perfect mute, nor did he speak another word for more than four years. He said himself he believed he could speak if he could will to do it. He carried a slate about with him all the time, on which he wrote what he wished to say. All physicians who examined him said there was no disease of the organs of speech. It was a direct visitation in answer to prayer. He went to New York, Boston, and other. places, to consult the best physicians; but it was of no use.*
When Rev. George Howe was holding a protracted meeting, at which many were converted, the family of a noted infidel experienced religion, which affected him much. Returning home one evening from meeting, he seemed more than usually melancholy; and after going to bed, he began to abuse his wife for letting the children have a certain rope to play with that day, for they had now lost it. She remarked to him that it was not lost, that she knew it was in a certain place which she designated. Apparently he became satisfied, and she fell asleep. That night one of the members of the Methodist society in the neighborhood came to two others of the brethren, stating to them that he was impressed with the idea of going to this infidel’s house, and wanted them to go along with him. They all started off immediately. They came to the infidel’s door and rapped, but received no answer. After waiting some time, they opened the door, and coming in, found the man of the house with the said rope around his neck, and in the act of putting it over a beam to hang himself. Immediately he dropped on his knees, and cried for mercy, and before they left him he was happily converted to God. His name was John James. Ten minutes more and he would have been in eternity. When Revs. William Swazy and John Chandler were holding a quarterly meeting in Greenville, Mercer Co., Pa., they gave an opportunity for seekers of religion to come to the altar on Saturday evening. Many came. One young man, who was almost induced to go, held back. The thought, however, that it “was now or never” haunted him, so that at last he arose and went part way down the aisle, with the intention of going forward; he stopped, however, and going back resumed his seat. Still this idea troubled him. He arose and went part way a second time. A third time he arose and went down, but instead of kneeling down at the altar, he went out of the house, intending to go home; but being impressed with the idea that it was “now or never,” he turned about and came back, and stood at the altar, and looked on the scene for a short time; then clinching his fist, and shaking it in the air, he shouted: “God Almighty, I will not! “ and left the house. From that moment he said his feelings left him. He walked on home; but as he stepped on his own doorstep and put his hand to the door to open it, he said a light shone around him, and a voice distinctly said: “He is joined to his idols, let him alone;” and, shrieking aloud, he fell on the pavement. His neighbors came and carried him in. They sent for Swazy and Chandler, who came and offered him the consolation of the gospel, but without avail. His reply was: “It is too late! Too late! Too late! “ And continued thus to exclaim until about sunrise the next morning, when his spirit took its flight to God, whom he had refused and insulted.
Maggie, an Irish girl of about twenty years, burned herself by lighting the morning fire with kerosene. Dr. Benjamin, the leader of the infidel club here, was called, who bound her up in cotton and oil.
A neighbor sent for John Byers, an old Scotch shoemaker, to pray with her. As he came into the house, the doctor was coming out, and ordered him away, saying, he didn’t want any praying done about any of his patients. But Brother Byers paid him no heed, and taking the girl’s hand, asked her: “Maggie, are you in great pain?” “Oh! Awful, sir,” was her answer. “Well, we will ask God to take it away,” he said; and falling upon his knees at her bedside paying no more attention to the room full of women that stood about, than if they had been so many flies, he asked the Lord to take all the pain away, so that he could talk to her about her soul; and very soon he got the perfect assurance that his prayer was heard. So he arose and said:
“Do you feel any pain now, Maggie?”
“No, sir, it has all gone away.”
Then he presented a Savior to her mind, as dying for dying Maggie, so that she, by believing on Him, might live forever; and soon she accepted Him as her Redeemer. After a little while she opened her eyes, and looking around, said to the women: “Don’t you hear it?”
“No, we don’t hear anything, Maggie,” they replied.
“Oh, I never heard such singing before! And the music! I can’t tell you how fine it is” And then she lay, listening till starting up, she sat up in bed, and pointing upward, said: “ Don’t you see them? Oh, how beautiful they are! What are they?”
“They are the angels, coming to take you home, Maggie,” said Brother Byers.
Then she laid back again on her pillow perfectly quiet, as if fearing to lose sight of the beautiful vision.
Brother Byers turned to go home, but had not got a hundred steps from the house, when one of the women called out to him: “ She’s gone, sir.”
But the case of the doctor lay heavily on John Byers’ mind; and that night, he did not go to bed until he had made the case a subject of earnest prayer, and had received the assurance that he should be converted, Seeing the doctor a few days after that, he told him of his answer to prayer for him. But the doctor laughed at the idea of such a fool getting any such a promise from the Maker of the universe.
But the next fall the doctor went to Florida for his health, and within two months, the news came back that Benjamin had knelt at a Methodist mourner’s bench, and was converted.
The next spring he died, rejoicing in the faith. -- Dr. H. Durham.
That heaven is real there can be no doubt. That others beside St. Paul have been allowed a view of Paradise, is evident from the testimony of the most reliable witnesses, such as Dr. Tennent, of New Jersey, Dr. Coke, and many others. One of the most interesting and touching incidents of this character is related by Rev. James B. Finley, in his “Autobiography.” It occurred in 1842, when he was presiding elder of the Lebanon District, Ohio Conference.
He tells us that he was “winding up the labors of a very toilsome year. I had scarcely finished my work till I was most violently attacked with bilious fever, and it was with great difficulty I reached my home.” He sank rapidly. The best medical skill failed to arrest the disease, and life was utterly despaired of. “ On the seventh night,” he says, “in a state of entire insensibility to all around me, when the last ray of hope had departed, and my weeping family and friends were standing around my couch, waiting to see me breathe my last, it seemed to me that a heavenly visitant entered my room. It came to my side, and in the softest nd most silvery tones, which fell like rich music on my ear, it said: ‘I have come to conduct you to another state and place of existence.’ In an instant I seemed to rise, and gently borne by my angel guide, I floated out upon the ambient air. Soon earth was lost in the distance, and around us on every side were worlds of light and glory. On, on, away, away, from world to luminous worlds afar, we sped with the velocity of thought. At length we reached the gates of Paradise; and oh, the transporting scenes that fell upon my vision, as the emerald portals, wide and high, rolled back upon their golden hinges! Then in its fullest extent, did O realize the invocation of the poet:
“’Burst, ye emerald gates, and bring
To my raptured vision,
All the ecstatic joys that spring
Round the bright Elysian.’
“Language, however, is inadequate to describe what then, with unveiled eyes, I saw. The vision is indelibly pictured on my heart. Before me, spread out in beauty, was a broad sheet of water, clear as crystal, not a single ripple on its surface, and its purity and clearness indescribable.
“While I stood gazing with joy and rapture at the scene, a convoy of angels was seen floating in the pure ether of that world. They all had long wings, and although they went with the greatest rapidity, yet their wings were folded close to their sides. While gazing, I asked my guide who these were, and what their mission. To this he responded: “They are angels, dispatched to the world from whence you came, on an errand of mercy.” I could hear strains of the most entrancing melodies all around me, but no one was discoverable but my guide. At length I said: “Will it be possible for me to have a sight of some of the just made perfect in glory?” Just then there came before us three persons; one had the appearance of a male, the other of a female and the third an infant. The appearance of the first two was somewhat similar to the angels I saw, with the exception that they had crowns upon their heads of the purest yellow, and harps in their hands. Their robes, which were full and flowing, were of the purest white. Their countenances were lighted up with heavenly radiance, and they smiled upon me with ineffable sweetness.
“There was nothing with which the blessed babe could be compared. Its wings, which were the most beautiful, were tinged with all the colors of the rainbow. Its dress seemed to be of the whitest silk, covered with the softest white down. The driven snow could not exceed it for whiteness or purity. Its face was all-radiant with glory; its very smile now plays around my heart. I gazed and gazed with wonder upon this heavenly child. At length I said: ‘If I have to return to earth, from whence I came, I should love to take this child with me, and show it to the weeping mothers’ of earth. Methinks when they see it, they will never shed another tear over their children when they die.’ So anxious was I to carry out the desire of my heart, that I made a grasp at the bright and beautiful one, desiring to clasp it in my arms; but it eluded my grasp and plunged into the river of life. Soon it rose up from the water; and, as the drops fell from its expanding wings, they seemed like diamonds, so brightly did they sparkle. Directing its course to the other shore, it flew up to one of the topmost branches of one of life’s fair trees. With a look of most seraphic sweetness it gazed upon me, and then commenced singing in heaven’s own strain: ‘To Him that hath loved me, and washed me from my sins in His own blood, to Him be glory, both now and forever. Amen.’
“At that moment, the power of the eternal God came upon me, and I began to shout; and clapping my hands, I sprang from my bed, and was healed as instantly as the lame man in the beautiful porch of the temple, who ‘went walking, and leaping, and praising God.’ Overwhelmed with the glory I saw and felt, I could not cease praising God.
“The next Sabbath, I went to camp-meeting, filled with the love and power of God. There I told the listening thousands what I saw and felt, and what God had done for me; and loud were the shouts of glory that reverberated through the forest."
This is a most remarkable case. Father Adams, a member of the Ohio Conference, now residing at Orange, South Carolina, told us that he was present at the camp-meeting, and heard Mr. Finley relate the circumstances, when such power fell on the people that not less than five hundred sinners were crying to God for mercy, while the saints of God shouted for joy.
The healing was divine -- done by the power of God.
The man was made whole in a moment, after all hope of life had fled. -- Christian Witness.
From “Remarkable Answers to Prayer,” by Patton, the following extract is made
The author has received a letter from James H. Black-man of Sharon, Mass., (P. O. address at Canton, Mass.,) which is of extraordinary interest. Some of the facts have been given before, but never so fully as now. Slightly abridged, it is as follows, under date of Oct. 23, 1875:
“In the spring of 1870, my wife was taken sick with kidney-complaint. She continued to grow worse during the summer. I took a bottle of urine to Dr. Erasmus D. Miller, a celebrated physician of Boston, to be tested. He sent me a note saying: "Her disease is Bright’s disease of the kidneys, in a far advanced stage, and incurable.’ The water was afterward tested by several physicians, who coincided with Dr. Miller. An increase of albumen was apparent at every test, and the last, (a 2 oz. bottle,) tested by Dr. A. A. Holmes, of Canton, contained nothing but albumen. The water gradually decreased in quantity, and finally stopped altogether, and for two years nothing passed. It is well known that physicians do not profess to cure this disease.During my wife’s illness her left limb became completely paralyzed, and withered away to the size of a man’s wrist in the largest place, without any feeling even to pins and boiling water. She tipped a milk pan of boiling water upon her feet, but did not know that this limb was scalded till she began to dress her well foot. For three years and two months she did not walk; for two years she crept upon her knees, drawing the lame leg after her; and for the last year she moved herself around in a wheeled invalid chair. During these three years she was taken out of her bed in the morning and put in to it again at night. For the two years and four months no physician had been in the house, and she had taken no medicine, resorted to no bathing or rubber. She ate but once a day, and immediately vomit.
“During her sickness, God gave me a new heart, and I prayed for her conversion, which occurred in January 1874; and then for that of our daughter, which took place in February. Previously I was a Unitarian, unacquainted with evangelical doctrines. Not knowing that the Christian world had decided that the day of miracles had passed, in my ignorance and simplicity, I went to praying with faith in Christ’s promise, that my wife might be healed-my wife and daughter joining after their conversion. God gave me the assurance that our prayers were accepted, and I became bold to say to others that she would soon walk. I made this declaration to James Jennison, Congregational minister at Canton, and he replied: “Why, you can’t expect God to do a miracle!
My assurance grew stronger and stronger, and filled me with joy and gratitude. Just then the water came back in large quantity, and on being tested by Dr. Holmes, proved free of albumen. On the morning of February 25, 1873, I prayed earnestly in secret, and then placed my wife on her knees at the family altar, and again prayed earnestly that she might walk. At the close of the prayer she was unconscious, and apparently dead. She remained thus about three minutes, when she exclaimed: ‘I can walk! I know I can walk! Praise God, I can walk!’ She got up off her knees, and walked twice around the room, exclaiming: ‘Praise God, I can walk! Why don’t you praise God that I can walk?” Then we commenced shouting: ‘Glory to God!’ Oh, the rapture of that moment! We bowed before God and thanked Him for the great miracle He had performed.
“I opened the door, and she walked out upon the piazza; and about an hour afterward she walked out and shook hands with a neighbor, who was so surprised that he lost all power of speech. The paralyzed limb became immediately enlarged, and in a few days was plump and round, and stronger than the other. The appetite came back, the vomiting ceased, and Bright’s disease, with all its attendant pains, passed away. She is in better health than ever before, and, like the impotent man at the Beautiful Gate, goes about leaping and praising God, often walking eight and ten miles a day without limping or fatigue.
“We got our faith by prayer and reading the promises. How could we, after having been born again, refuse to accept those promises as true? Our hearts had been given to Him, and we prayed for her recovery, that each might be enabled to go out into the world and make known the wonderful things God had done for us, in giving us clean hearts; and by the grace of God, so we will ever do.”
When I was twelve years of age I felt the need of a new heart. I asked God for it, and He gave it to me. I am now forty-six years old, and oh, how wonderfully the Lord has led me! I must say, there is nothing so grand and glorious as to know that we are of God’s chosen ones. When I came to Grand Rapids five years ago I became acquainted with S. B. Shaw (President of the Michigan Holiness Association), and his very worthy wife. I saw them live by faith alone for all things, both spiritual and temporal.; and of them I learned how to consecrate myself wholly unto the Lord.
I had been afflicted with rheumatism from a child; and had spent large sums of money for my recovery, but could only find relief for a few weeks at a time. I was sick and helpless in bed with inflammatory rheumatism, when I heard through Mrs. Shaw of Mrs. Dora Griffin. I sent for her to anoint me. After she had done so, and while she was praying for my recovery, the Lord touched my body, and I was healed that very same hour, and have never been troubled with rheumatism since; praise God!
One year after this, the piles came upon me, and I suffered greatly. After trying many remedies and doctors without relief, I said: “The Lord has healed me, and He will heal me again; " so I went to the “Beulah" rest, and after prayer and anointing, I was healed, and went home happy, healed and saved in both soul and body; praise His name forever!
Dear friends, you who are sick of sin and sick in body, come
to Jesus, and be healed, soul and body. -- Mrs. Susan E. Miller.
During the fall of 1888 we witnessed the remarkable healing of Brother J.S. Whiting, then a pastor at Hilliards, Mich. The night of his cure we were wonderfully led out in prayer. We give the circumstances in his own words, as published in the Holiness Record a short time afterwards.
He says: “About three weeks after my conversion the Lord told me to go preach His gospel. I obeyed the call the best I could, but have been trying to believe that I could work in the mill through the week and just preach on Sunday; but found that the Lord wanted me to give up all and work for Him. Still I hesitated. About one year ago, while about my work, I fell, and ruptured myself very badly was so that I could not stand on my feet without a truss, and sometimes even that was not sufficient, and I had to lie on my back.
“Last Thursday night, while I was preaching, my rupture began to pain me so badly that I had to stop and let Brother Shaw finish. That night we went to stay with one of the members. I suffered a great deal of pain all the next day. When night came, it rained so hard we could not have any meeting, so remained where we were. During the evening I lay on the couch, as I was unable to be on my feet, or even sit up with any comfort. Finally Brother Shaw said: ‘Let us pray' At first I thought I could not get on my knees, but with the Lord’s help I got down, and began to pray for God to heal my body. Then I thought something said:
‘Get up, and take off your truss.’ So I got up, and took it off, and went to the stove, opened the door, and threw it into the fire, as I felt clearly directed to do. Then God came and made a sound man of me. I can jump and praise Him now, and all is right.”
From what he told us, we think the Lord has done more for him than would be inferred from his words. We were with him one week before his healing, and a few days after, and certainly God wrought a most wonderful cure in his case. When we met him months afterward, we found him still well and sound. May God use this and other similar cases to inspire faith in others.
On the afternoon of August 9, 1853, a little Norwegian boy, named Kund Iverson, who lived in the city of Chicago, Ill., was going to the pastures for his cow, as light-hearted, I suppose, as boys usually are when going to the pasture on a summer afternoon. He came at length to a stream of water, where there was a gang of idle, ill-looking, big boys, who, when they saw Kund, came up to him, and said they wanted him to go into Mr. Elston’s garden and steal some apples."
“No,” said Kund promptly; “I cannot steal, I am sure.”
“Well, but you’ve got to,” they cried!
They threatened to duck him, for these wicked big boys had often frightened little boys into robbing gardens for them. Little boys, they thought, were less likely to get found out.
The threat did not frighten Kund, so, to make their words good, they seized him and dragged him into the river, and, in spite of his cries and struggles, plunged him in. But the heroic boy, even with the water gurgling and choking in his throat, never flinched, for he knew that God had said; "Thou shalt not steal,” and God’s law he had made his law; and no cursing, or threats, or cruelty of the big boys would make him give up. Provoked by his firmness, I suppose, they determined to see if they could not conquer. So they ducked him again, but still it was, “No, no; “ and they kept him under water. Was there no one near to hear his distressing cries, and rescue the poor child from their cruel grip?
No; there was none to rescue him; and gradually the cries of the drowning child grew fainter and fainter, and his struggles less and less, and the boy was drowned. He could die, but would not steal.
A German boy who had stood near, much frightened by what he saw, ran home to tell the news. The agonized parents hastened to the spot, and all night they searched for the lifeless body of their lost darling. It was found the next morning; and who shall describe their feelings as they clasped the little form to their bosoms? Early piety had blossomed in his little life. He loved his Bible and his Savior. His seat was never vacant at Sunday-school, and so intelligent, conscientious and steadfast had he been, that it was expected that he would soon be received into the church of his parents.
Perhaps the little boy used often to think how when he grew
up, be would like to be a preacher or a missionary, and do something for his
Lord and Master. He did not know what post he might be called to occupy, even
as a little child; and, as he left home that afternoon and looked his last look
in his mother’s face, he thought he was only going after his cow; and other
boys, and the neighbors, if they saw him, thought so too. They did not then
know that instead of going to the pasture, he was going to preach one of the
most powerful sermons of Bible law and Bible principles the country ever heard.
They did not know that he was going to give an example of steadfastness of
purpose and of unflinching integrity, such as should thrill the heart of this nation
with wonder and admiration. He was then only a Norwegian boy, Kund Iverson,
only thirteen years old, but his name was soon to be reckoned with martyrs and
heroes. And as the story of his moral heroism winged its way from state to
state, and city to city, and village to village, how many mothers cried, with
full hearts: “May his spirit rest upon my boy! “And strong men have wept over
it and exclaimed: “God be praised for the lad! “ And rich men put their hands
in their pockets, and said: “Let us build him a monument let his name be
perpetuated, for his memory is blessed.” May there be a generation of Kund
Iverson’s, strong in their integrity, true to their Bibles, ready to die rather
than do wrong. -- The Cynosure.
The Methodist Preachers’ Meeting of Boston was well attended last Monday, and Rev. W.N. Brodbeck, D.D., the pastor of the Tremont-street Church of this city thrilled the brethren with an address on “The relation of the ministers to revivals,” during which he pointedly referred to church fairs and festivals as barriers to revivals.
He declared that some ministers and churches would never have a revival, because they would not do the hard work, and make the sacrifice essential to secure said results
At Urbana, Ohio, he began revival services, but at first only doubtful characters came to the altar, in whom the public had no confidence. Many were offended, and some said: “Do you know those people that are coming to the altar?
He replied: “Yes, I know them; they are immortal souls for whom Christ died.” When the meetings had run three weeks, one of his leading members came to him and said : “ I think it is time these meetings were stopped we have held them three weeks, and we want to hold a fair, and have some entertainments “
The pastor firmly and promptly replied: “You may do as you please, but these meetings will not stop.”
His heart was broken, and so was the heart of one of the devout women members. They expressed their feelings to each other and parted. They both spent the night in prayer, and at 10 o’clock the next morning, the pastor gained the evidence that his prayers were answered. After dinner he went out, and met the devout lady on the street, her face shining with the glory of God. She said: “The victory is coming.”
“How do you know?”
“I got the evidence at 10 o’clock this morning, after spending a whole night in prayer."
This was the very time that the pastor gained the evidence.
That very night, while the pastor was preaching, a young man arose and came to
the altar; others followed, so that the pastor had to stop preaching. God was
among the people in power; the church was quickened, backsliders were
reclaimed, hundreds of sinners were converted. Places of amusement and saloons
were closed. The face of the community was changed, and 275 converts joined
that one church, and the fair was not held. All because they refused to have
the fair. Oh, for more nights of prayer! Oh, for more agony of soul for
perishing sinners! Oh! For more of the mind of Christ! Then would revivals
prevail, and thousands would be converted to God. -- Christian Witness.
We clip the following from an epistle of the Roman Emperor,
Marcus Aurelius, who was born in the year 121, and died in the year 180, as
found in Vol. 2, of the “Anti-Nicene Christian Library.” -- Editor.
The Emperor Ceasar Marcus Aurelius Antonius, to the people of Rome, and to the sacred senate, greeting: I explained to you my grand design, and what advantages I gained, on the confines of Germany, with much labor and suffering, in consequence of the circumstance that I was surrounded by the enemy; I myself being shut up in Carauntum by seventy-four cohorts, nine miles off. And the enemy being at hand, the scouts pointed out to us, and our general Pompeianus showed us, that there was close on us a mass of a mixed multitude of 977,000 men, which, indeed, we saw; and I was shut up by this vast host, having with me only a battalion composed of the first, tenth, double and marine legions.
Having then examined my own position, and my host, with respect to the vast mass of barbarians and of the enemy, I quickly betook myself to prayer to the gods of my country. But being disregarded by them, I summoned those who among us go by the name of Christians. And having made inquiry, I discovered a great number and vast host of them, and raged against them, which was by no means becoming; for afterwards I learned their power. Wherefore they began the battle, not by preparing weapons, nor arms, nor bugles; for such preparation is hateful to them, on account of the God they bear about in their conscience. Therefore it is probable that those whom we suppose to be atheists, have God as their ruling power entrenched in their conscience. For having cast themselves on the ground, they prayed not only for me, but also for the whole army as it stood, that they might be delivered from the present thirst and famine. For during five days we had got no water, because there was none; for we were in the heart of Germany and in the enemy’s territory. And simultaneously with their casting themselves on The ground, and praying to God (a God of whom I am ignorant), water poured from heaven upon us, most refreshingly cool, but upon the enemies of Rome a withering hail. And immediately we recognized the presence of God following on the prayer-a God unconquerable and indestructible. Founding upon this, then, let us pardon such as are Christians, lest they pray for and obtain such a weapon against ourselves. And I counsel that no such person be accused on the ground of his being a Christian. But if any one be found laying to the charge of a Christian that he is a Christian, I desire that it be made manifest that he who is accused as a Christian, and acknowledges that he is one, is accused of nothing else than only this, that he is a Christian; but that he who arraigns him be burned alive. And I further desire, that he who is entrusted with the government of the province shall not compel the Christian, who confesses and certifies such a matter, to retract; neither shall he commit him. And I desire that these things be confirmed by a degree of the senate. And I command this my edict to be published in the Forum of Trajan, in order that it may be read. The prefect Vitrasius Pollio will see that it be transmitted to all the provinces round about, and that no one who wishes to make use of or to possess it be hindered from obtaining a copy from the document I now publish.
She was a clear-eyed, fresh-cheeked little maiden, living on the banks of the great Mississippi, the oldest of four children and mother’s ‘little woman’ always. They called her so because of her quiet, matronly care of the younger Mayfields -- that was the father’s name. Her own name was the beautiful one of Elizabeth, but they shortened it to Bess. She was thirteen when one day Mr. Mayfield and his wife were called to the nearest town, six miles away. “Be mother’s little woman, dear,” said Mrs. Mayfield, as she kissed the rosy face. Her husband added: “I leave the children in your care, Bess; be a little mother to them.”
Bess waved her old sun-bonnet vigorously, and held up the baby Rose, that she might watch them to the last. Old Daddy Jim and Mammy had been detailed by Mr. Mayfield to keep an unsuspected watch on the little nestlings, and were to sleep at the house. Thus two days went by, when Daddy Jim and Mammy begged to be allowed to go to the quarters -- where the negroes lived, to see their daughter “Jinnie, who was pow’ful bad wid the toothache.” They declared they would be back by evening, so Bess was willing. She put the little girls to bed, and persuaded Rob to go; then seated herself by the table with her mother’s work-basket, in quaint imitation of Mrs. Mayfield’s industry in the evening time. But what was this? Her feet touched something cold! She bent down and felt around with her hand. A pool of water was spreading over the floor. She knew what it was; the Mississippi had broken through the levee. What should she do? Mammy’s stories of how houses had been washed away and broken in pieces, were in her mind. “Oh, if I had a boat! “ she exclaimed, “but there isn’t anything of the sort on the place.” She ran wildly out to look for Mammy; and stumbled over something sitting near the edge of the porch.
A sudden inspiration took her. Here was her boat! a very large, old-fashioned, oblong tub. The water was now several inches deep on the porch, and she contrived to half-float, half-roll the tub into the room.
Without frightening the children she got them dressed in the warmest clothes they had. She lined the oblong tub with a blanket, and made ready bread and cold meat left from supper. With Rob’s assistance she dragged the tub up stairs. There was a single large window in the room, and they set the directly by it, so that when the water rose the tub would float out. There was no way for the children to reach the roof, which was a very steep, inclined one. It did not seem long before the water had very nearly risen to the top of the stairs leading from below. Bess flung the window open, and made Rob get into their novel boat; then she lifted in Kate, and finally baby Rose, who began to cry, was given into Rob’s arms, and now the little mother, taking the basket of food, made ready to enter too, but lo! There was no room for her with safety to the rest. Bess paused a moment, drew a long breath, and kissed the children quietly. She explained to Rob that he must guard the basket, and that they must sit still. “Good-bye, dears. Say a prayer for sister, Rob. If you ever see father and mother, tell them I took care of you." Then the water seized the insecure vessel, and out into the dark night it floated.
The next day Mr. Mayfield, who, with his neighbors, scoured the broad lake of eddying water that represented the Mississippi, discovered the tub lodged in the branches of a sycamore with the children weeping and chilled, but safe.
And Bess? Ah, where was Bess, the “little mother," who
in that brief moment resigned herself to death? They found her later, floating
on the water with her brave childish face turned to the sky; and as strong arms
lifted her into the boat, the tears from every eye paid worthy tribute to the
“little mother.” -- Detroit Free
Press.
We clip the following from Lossing’s Pictorial Field Book of
the Civil War, Vol. 3, p. 79. It is certainly a remarkable evidence of God’s
power to deliver them that put their trust in him. -- Editor.
There were some Friends or Quakers from South Carolina in the battle at Gettysburg, who were forced into the ranks, but who, from the beginning to the end, refused to fight. They were from Guilford county, which was mostly settled by their sect, and as the writer can testify by personal observation, presented the only region in that state where the evidences of thrift, which free labor gave in a land cursed by slavery, might be seen. These excellent 4 people were robbed and plundered by the Confederates without mercy. About a dozen of them were in Lee’s army at Gettysburg and were among the prisoners captured there. They had steadily borne practical testimony to the strength of their principles in opposing war. They were subjected to great cruelties. One of them who re-fused to fight was ordered by his colonel to be shot. A squad of twelve men were drawn up to shoot him. They loved him as a brother because of his goodness, and when ordered to fire every man refused. The remainder of the company was called up and ordered to shoot the first twelve if they did not execute the order. The intended victim folded his hands, and raised his eyes, and said: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” The entire company threw down their muskets and refused to obey the order. Their exasperated captain, with a horrid oath, tried to shoot him with his pistol. The cap would not explode. Then he dashed upon him with his horse, but the meek conscript was unharmed. Just then a charge of some of Mead’s troops drove the Confederates from their position, and the Quaker became a prisoner. He and his co-religionists were sent to Fort Delaware, when the fact was made known to some of their sect in Philadelphia. It was laid before the President, and he ordered their release.
The following touching incident, which drew tears from eyes, was related to me a short time since, by a dear friend who had it from an eye-witness of the same. It occurred in the great city of New York, on one of the coldest days in February.
A little boy about ten years old was standing before a shoe-store in Broadway, barefooted, peering through the window, and shivering with cold.
A lady riding up the street in a beautiful carriage, drawn by horses finely caparisoned, observed the little fellow in his forlorn condition, and immediately ordered the driver to draw up and stop in front of the store. The lady, richly dressed in silk, alighted from her carriage, went quickly to the boy, and said: “ My little fellow, why are you looking so earnestly in that window?”
“I was asking God to give me a pair of shoes,” was the reply. The lady took him by the hand and went into the store, and asked the proprietor if he would allow one of his clerks to go and buy half a dozen pair of stockings for the boy. He readily assented. She then asked him if he could give her a basin of water and a towel, and he replied: “Certainly,” and quickly brought them to her.
She took the little fellow to the back part of the store, and, removing her gloves, knelt down, washed those little-feet and dried them with the towel.
By this time the young man had returned with the stockings. Placing a pair upon his feet, she purchased and gave him a pair of shoes, and tying up the remaining pairs of stockings, gave them to him, and patting him on the head said: “I hope, my little fellow, that you now feel more comfortable.”
As she turned to go, the astonished lad caught her hand, and
looking up in her face, with tears in his eyes, answered her question with
these words: “Are you God’s wife? “-- Parish Register.
On the summit of Washington mountain, overlooking the Housatonic valley, stood a hut, the home of John Barry, a poor charcoal-burner, whose family consisted of his wife and himself. His occupation brought him in but a few dollars, and when cold weather came he had managed to get together only a small provision for the winter. The fall of 1874, after a summer of hard work, he fell sick and was unable to keep his fires going. So, when the snow of December, 1874, fell, and the drifts had shut off communication with the village at the foot of the mountain, John and his wife were in great straits.
Their entire stock of food consisted of only a few pounds of salt pork and a bushel of potatoes; sugar, flour, coffee and tea had, early in December, given out; and the chances for replenishing the larder were slim indeed. The snow-storms came again, and the drifts deepened. All the roads, even in the valley, were impassable, and no one thought of trying to open the mountain highways, which, even in summer, were only occasionally traveled; and none gave the old man and his wife a thought.
December 15th came, and with it the heaviest fall of snow experienced in Berkshire County in many years. The food of the old couple was now reduced to a day’s supply, but John did not yet despair. He was a Christian and a God-fearing man, and His promises were remembered; and so, when evening came, and the north-east gale was blowing, and the fierce snow-storm was raging, John and his wife were praying and asking for help.
In Sheffield village, ten miles away, lived Deacon Brown, a well-to-do farmer fifty years old, who was known for his piety and consistent deportment, both as a man and a Christian. The deacon and his wife had gone to early, and, in spite of the storm without, were sleeping soundly, when with a start the deacon awoke, and said to his wife: “Who spoke? Who’s there?” “Why,” said his wife, “no one is here but you and me; what is the matter with you?" “I heard a voice,” said the deacon, “saying, ‘Send food to John.” “ Nonsense," replied Mrs. Brown; “go to sleep. You have been dreaming.” The deacon laid his head on his pillow, and was asleep in a minute. Soon he started up again, and waking his wife, said “There, I heard that voice again, ‘Send food to John.’”
“Well, well! “ said Mrs. Brown. “Deacon, you are not well; your supper has not agreed with you. Lie down and try to sleep.” Again the deacon closed his eyes, and again the voice was heard: “Send food to John.” This time the deacon was thoroughly awake. “Wife,” said he, ”whom do we know named John who needs food?” “No one I remember,” replied Mrs. Brown, “unless it be John Barry, the old charcoal-burner on the mountain.”
“That’s it,” exclaimed the deacon. “Now I remember, when I was at the store in Sheffield the other day, Clark, the merchant, speaking of John Barry, said: ‘I wonder if the old man is alive, for it is six weeks since I saw him, and he has not yet laid in his winter stock of groceries. ‘ It must be old John is sick and wanting food.”
So saying, the good deacon arose and proceeded to dress himself. “Come, wife,” said he, “waken our boy Willie and tell him to feed the horses, and get ready to go with me; and do you pack up in the two largest baskets you have, a good supply of food, and get us an early breakfast; for ram going up the mountain to carry the food I know John Barry needs.”
Mrs. Brown, accustomed to the sudden impulses of her good husband, and believing him to be always in the right, cheerfully complied; and after a hot breakfast, Deacon Brown and his son Willie, a boy of nineteen, hitched up the horses to the double sleigh, and then, with a month’s supply of food, and a “Good-bye, mother,” started at five o’clock on that cold December morning for a journey, that almost any other than Deacon Brown and his son Willie would not have dared to undertake.
The north-east storm was still raging, and the snow falling and drifting fast; but on, on went the stout, well-fed team on its errand of mercy, while the occupants of the sleigh, wrapped up in blankets and extra buffalo robes, urged the horses through the drifts and in the face of the storm. That ten mile’s ride, which required in the summer hardly an hour or two, was not finished until the deacon’s watch showed that five hours had passed.
At last they drew up in front of the hut where the poor,
trusting Christian man and woman were on their knees pray-ing for help to Him
who is the “hearer and answerer of prayer;” and as the deacon reached the door,
he heard the voice of supplication, and then he knew that the message which
awakened him from sleep was sent from heaven. He knocked at the door, it was
opened, and we can imagine the joy of the old couple, when the generous supply
of food was carried in, and the thanksgivings that were uttered by the starving
tenants of that mountain hut. --Albany Journal.
The child was so sensitive, so like that little shrinking plant that curls at the breath, and shuts its heart from the light.
The only beauties she possessed were an exceedingly transparent skin, and the most mournful, large blue eyes. I had been trained by a very stern, strict, conscientious mother, but I was a hard plant, rebounding after every shock; misfortune could not daunt, though discipline tamed me. I fancied, alas! that I must go through the same routine with this delicate creature; so one day, when she had displeased me exceedingly by repeating an offense, I was determined to punish her severely. I was very serious all day, and upon sending her to her little couch I said: “Now, my daughter, to punish you, and show you how very, very naughty you have been, I shall not kiss you tonight.”
She stood looking at me, astonishment personified, with her great mournful eyes wide open-I suppose she had forgotten her misconduct till then; and I left her with big tears dropping down her cheeks, and her little red lips quivering. Presently I was sent for “Oh, mamma! You will kiss me; I can’t go to sleep if you don’t!” she sobbed, every tone of her voice trembling, and she held out her little hands.
Now came the struggle between love and what I falsely termed duty. My heart said give her a kiss of peace; my stern nature urged me to persist in my correction, that I might impress the fault upon her mind. This was the way I had been trained, till I was a most submissive child ; and I remembered how I had often thanked my mother since for her straightforward course.
I knelt by the bedside. “Mother can’t kiss you, Ellen,”
I whispered, though every word choked me. Her hand touched mine; it was very hot, but I attributed it to her excitement. She turned her little grieving face to the wall; I blamed myself as the fragile form shook with self-suppressed sobs, and saying: “Mother hopes little Ellen will learn to mind her after this,” left the room for the night. Alas! in my desire to be severe I forgot to be forgiving.
It must have been twelve o’clock when I was awakened by my nurse. Apprehensive, I ran eagerly to the child’s chamber; I had had a fearful dream. “Ellen did not know me. She was sitting up, crimsoned from the forehead to the throat, her eyes so bright that I almost drew back aghast at their glances.
From that night a raging fever drank up her life; and what think you was the incessant plaint that poured into my anguished heart? “Oh! Kiss me, mamma, do kiss me; I can’t go to sleep. I won’t be naughty if you’ll only kiss me! Oh! Kiss me, dear mamma; I can’t go to sleep.”
Little angel! She did go to sleep one gray morning, and she never woke again, never! Her hand was locked in mine, and all my veins grew icy with its gradual chill. Faintly the light faded out of the beautiful eyes; whiter and whiter grew the tremulous lips. She never knew me; but with her last breath she whispered: “I will be good, mamma, if you’ll only kiss me."
Kiss her! God knows how passionate but unavailing were my kisses upon her cheek and lips after that fatal night. God knows how wild were my prayers that she might know, if but only once, that I kissed her. God knows how I would have yielded up my very life, could I have asked forgiveness of that sweet child.
Grief is unavailing now! She lies in her little tomb. There
is a marble urn at the head, and a rose bush at her feet; there grow sweet
summer flowers; there waves the grass there birds sing their matins and their
vespers; there the blue sky smiles down to-day, and there lies buried the
freshness of my heart. -- Ladies’ Home Journal.
Some two miles from the village of C., on a road that wound in among the hills, stood a great white house. It was beautifully situated upon a gentle slope facing the south, and overlooking a most charming landscape. Away in the distance a mountain lifted itself against the clear blue sky. At its base rolled a broad, deep river. Nestling down in the beautiful valley that intervened, reposed the charming little village, with its neat cottages, white church, little red school- house, and one or two mansions that told of wealth. Here and there in the distance a pond was visible, while farmhouses and humbler dwellings dotted the picture in every direction.
Such was the home of three promising children, who, for the last three months, had been constant members of the village Sabbath-school. The eldest was a girl of some fourteen years. John, the second, was a bright, amiable lad of eleven. The other, the little rosy cheeked laughing Ella, with her golden curls and sunny smile, had just gathered the roses of her ninth summer.
The father of these interesting children was the rich Captain Lowe. He was a man of mark, such, in many respects, as are often found in rural districts. Strictly moral, intelligent and well read, kind-hearted and, naturally benevolent, he attracted all classes of community to himself, and wielded great influence in his town.
But, not withstanding all these excellences, Mr. Lowe was an infidel. He ridiculed, in his good-natured way, the idea of prayer, looked upon conversion as a solemn farce, and believed the most of professing Christians were well-meaning but deluded people. He was well-versed in all the subtle arguments of infidel writers, had studied the Bible quite carefully, and could argue against it in the most plausible manner. Courteous and kind to all, few could be offended at his frank avowal of infidel principles, or resent his keen, half-jovial sarcasms upon the peculiarities of some weak-minded, though sincere members of the church.
But Mr. Lowe saw and acknowledged the saving influence of the morality of Christianity. He had, especially, good sense enough to confess that the Sabbath-school was a noble moral enterprise. He was not blind to the fact, abundantly proved by all our criminal records, that few children trained under her influences ever grow up to vice and crime. Hence his permission for his children to attend the Sabbath-school.
Among the many children who kneeled as penitents at the altar in the little vestry, one bright, beautiful Sabbath, were Sarah Lowe and her brother and sister. It was a moving sight to see that gentle girl, with a mature thoughtfulness far beyond her years, take that younger brother and sister by the hand, and kneel with them at the mercy-seat-a sight to heighten the joy of angels.
When the children had told their mother what they had done, and expressed a determination to try and be Christians, she, too, was greatly moved She had been early trained in the principles and belief of Christianity, and had never renounced her early faith. Naturally confiding, with a yield-ing, conciliatory spirit, she had never obtruded her sentiments upon the notice of her husband, nor openly opposed any of his peculiar views. But now, when her little ones gathered around her and spoke of their new love for the Savior, their joy, and peace, and hope, she wept. All the holy influences of her own childhood and youth seemed breathing upon her heart. She remembered the faithful sermons of the old pastor whose hands had baptized her.
She remembered, too, the family altar, and the prayers which were offered morning and evening by her now sainted father. She remembered the councils of her good mother, now in heaven. All these memories came crowding back upon her, and under their softening influence she almost felt herself a child again. When Mr. Lowe first became aware of the change in his children, he was sorely puzzled to know what to do. He had given his consent for them to attend the Sabbath-school, and should he now be offended because they had yielded to its influence? Ought he not rather to have expected this? And, after all, would what they called religion make them any worse children? Though at first quite disturbed in his feelings, he finally concluded upon second thought to say nothing to them upon the subject, but to let things go on as usual. But not so those happy young converts! They could not long hold their peace. They must tell their father also what they had experienced. Mr. Lowe heard them, but he made no attempt to ridicule their simple faith, as had been his usual course with others. They were his children, and none could boast of better. Still, he professed to see in their present state of mind nothing but youthful feeling, ex-cited by the peculiar circumstances of the last few weeks. But when they began in their childish ardor to exhort him also to seek the Lord, he checked their simple earnestness with a peculiar sternness which said to them " The act must not be repeated."
The next Sabbath the father could not prevent a feeling of loneliness as he saw his household leave for church. The three children, with their mother, and Joseph, the hired boy, to drive and to take care of the horse, all packed into the old commodious carriage, and started off. Never before had he such peculiar feelings as when he watched them slowly descending the hill.
To dissipate these emotions he took a dish of salt and started up the hill to a "mountain pasture," where his young cattle were enclosed for the season. It was a beautiful day in October, that queen month of the year. A soft melancholy breathed in the mild air of the mellow “Indian summer,” and the varying hues of the surrounding forests, and the signs of decay seen upon every side, all combined to deepen the emotions which the circumstances of the morning had awakened.
His sadness increased; and as his path opened out into a bright, sunny spot far up on the steep hillside, he seated himself upon a mossy knoll, and thought. Before him lay the beautiful valley, guarded on either side by its lofty hills, and watered by its placid river. It was a lovely picture; and as his eye rested upon the village, nestling down among its now gorgeous shade-trees and scarlet shrubbery, he could not help thinking of that company who were then gathered in the little church, with its spire pointing heavenward, nor of asking himself the question “Why are they there?”
While thus engaged, his attention was attracted by the peculiar chirping of a ground-sparrow near by. He turned, and but a few feet from him saw a large black snake, with its head raised about a foot above its body, which lay coiled upon the ground. Its jaws were distended, its forked tongue playing around its open mouth, flashing in the sunlight like a small lambent flame, while its eyes were intently fixed upon the bird. There was a clear, sparkling light about those eyes that was fearful to behold -- they fairly flashed with their peculiar bending fascination. The poor sparrow was fluttering around a circle of some few feet in diameter, the circle becoming smaller at each gyration of the infatuated bird. She appeared conscious of her danger, and yet unable to break the spell that bound her. Nearer and still nearer she fluttered her little wings to those open jaws; smaller and smaller grew the circle, till at last, with a quick, convulsive cry, she fell into the mouth of the snake.
As Mr. Lowe watched the bird, he became deeply interested in her fate. He started a number of times to destroy the reptile, and thus liberate the sparrow from her danger, but an unconquerable curiosity to see the end restrained him. All day long the scene just described was before him. He could not forget it or dismiss it from his mind. The last cry of that poor little bird sinking into the jaws of death was constantly ringing in his ears, and the sadness of the morning increased.
Returning to his house, he seated himself in his library and attempted to read. What could be the matter? Usually he could command his thoughts at will, but now he could think of nothing but the scene on the mountain, or the little company in the house of God. Slowly passed the hours, and many times did he find himself, in spite of his resolution not to do so, looking down the road for the head of his dapple gray to emerge from the valley. It seemed a long time before the rumbling of the wheels was at length heard upon the bridge which crossed the mountain stream, followed in a few moments by the old carry-all creeping slowly up the hill.
The return of the family somewhat changed the course of his thoughts. They did not say anything to him about the good meeting they had enjoyed, and who had been converted since the last Sabbath; but they talked it all over among themselves, and how could he help hearing? He learned all about “how good farmer Haskell talked,” and “how humble and devoted Esquire Wiseman appeared,” and “how happy Benjamin and Samuel were;” though he seemed busy with his book, and pretended to take no notice of what was said.
It was, indeed, true then that the old lawyer had become pious. He had heard the news before, but did not believe it. Now he had learned it as a fact. That strong-minded man, who had been a skeptic all his days, had ridiculed and opposed religion, was now a subject of “the children’s revival.” What could it mean? Was there something in religion, after all? Could it be that what these poor fanatics, as he had always called them, said about the future world was correct? Was there a heaven, and a hell, and a God of justice? Were his darling children right, and was he alone wrong? Such were the thoughts of the boasted infidel, as he sat there listening to the half-whispered conversation of his happy children.
Little Ella came and climbed to her long-accustomed place upon her father’s knee, and throwing her arms around his neck, laid her glowing cheek, half hidden by the clustering curls, against his own. He knew by her appearance she had something to say, but did not dare to say it. To remove this fear, he began to question her about her Sabbath-school. He inquired after her teacher, and who were her classmates, what she learned, etc. Gradually the shyness wore away, and the heart of the innocent, praying child came gushing forth. She told him all that had been done that day-what her teacher had said of the prayer-meeting at noon, and who spoke, and how many went forward for prayers. Then folding her arms more closely around his neck, and kissing him tenderly, she added:
“O father, I do wish you had been there!"
“Why do you wish I had been there, Ella?”
“O, just to see how happy Nellie Winslow looked while her grandfather was telling us children how much he loved the Savior, and how sorry he was that he did not give his heart to his heavenly Father when he was young. Then he laid his hand on Nellie’s head, who was sitting by his side, and said: "I thank God that he ever gave me a little praying granddaughter to lead me to the Savior." And, father, I never in all my life saw any one look so happy as Nellie did.”
Mr. Lowe made no reply-how could he? Could he not see where the heart of his darling Ella was? Could he not see that by what she had told him about Esquire Wiseman and his pet Nellie, she meant he should understand how happy she should be if her father was a Christian? Ella had not said so in words - that was a forbidden subject - but the language of her earnest, loving look and manner was not to be mistaken; and the heart of the infidel father was deeply stirred. He kissed the rosy cheek of the lovely girl, and taking his hat left the house. He walked out into the field. He felt strangely. Before he was aware of the fact, he found his infidelity leaving him, and the simple, artless religion of childhood winning its way to his heart. Try as hard as he might, he could not help believing that his little Ella was a Christian. There was a reality about her simple faith and ardent love that was truly “the evidence of things not seen." What should he do? Should he yield to this influence, and be led by his children to Christ? What I, Captain Lowe, the boasted infidel overcome by the weakness of excited childhood! The thought roused his pride and with an exclamation of impatience at his folly, he suddenly wheeled about, and retracing his steps, with altered appearance, he re-entered his house.
His wife was alone, with an open Bible before her. As he entered he saw her hastily wipe away a tear. In passing her, he glanced upon the open page, and his eye caught the words: “YE MUST BE BORN AGAIN! “ They went like an arrow to his heart “TRUTH,” said a voice within, with such fearful distinctness that he started at the fancied sound and the influence which he had just supposed banished from his heart returned with tenfold power. The strong man trembled. Leaving the sitting-room, he ascended the stairs leading to his chamber. Passing Sarah’s room, a voice attracted his attention. It was the voice of prayer. He heard his own name pronounced, and he paused to listen.
"O Lord, save my dear father. Lead him to the Savior. Let him see that he must be born again. O, let not the serpent charm him! Save, O, save my dear father!
He could listen no longer. “Let not the serpent charm him!“ And was he then like that helpless little bird, who, fluttering around the head of the serpent, fell at last into the jaws of death? The thought shot a wild torrent of newly awakened terror through his throbbing heart.
Hastening to his chamber he threw himself into a chair. He started! The voice of prayer again fell upon his ear. lie listened. Yes, it was the clear, sweet accents of his little pet. Ella was praying-was praying for him.
“O Lord, bless my dear father. Make him a Christian, and may he and dear mother be prepared for heaven."
Deeply moved, the father left the house and hastened to the barn. He would fain escape from those words of piercing power. They were like daggers in his heart. He entered the barn. Again he hears a voice. It comes stealing down from the hay-loft, in the rich silvery tones of his own noble boy. John had climbed up the ladder, and kneeling down upon the hay was praying for his father.
“O Lord, save my father!"
It was too much for the poor convicted man, and, rushing to the house, he fell, sobbing, upon his knees by the side of his wife and cried “O Mary, I am a poor, lost sinner! Our children are going to heaven, and I am going down to hell! O wife, is there mercy for a wretch like me?”
Poor Mrs. Lowe was completely overcome. She wept for joy. That her husband would ever be her companion in the way of holiness, she had never dared to hope. Yes, there was mercy for even them. “Come unto me, and find rest.” Christ had said it, and her heart told her it was true. Together they would go to this loving Savior, and their little ones should show them the way.
The children were called in. They came from their places of prayer, where they had lifted up their hearts to that God who had said: “Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name he will give it to you.” They had asked the Spirit’s influence upon the hearts of their parents, and it had been granted. They gathered around their weeping, broken hearted father and penitent mother, and pointed them to the cross of Jesus. Long and earnestly they prayed, and wept, and agonized. With undoubting trust in the promises, they waited at the mercy-seat, and their prayers were heard.
Faith conquered. The Spirit came, and touched those penitent hearts with the finger of love; and then sorrow was turned to joy-their night, dark, and cheerless, and gloomy, was changed to a blessed day.
They arose from their knees, and Ella sprang to the arms of
her father, and together they rejoiced in God. -- Rev. H.P. Andrews, in Christian Advocate
.
On board an English steamer, a little ragged boy, aged nine years, was discovered on the fourth day of the voyage out from Liverpool to New York, and carried before the first mate, whose duty it was to deal with such cases. When questioned as to his object in being stowed away, and who had brought him on board, the boy, who had a beautiful sunny face, that looked like the very mirror of truth, replied that his step-father did it, because he could not afford to keep him, nor pay his passage out to Halifax, where he had an aunt who was well off, and to whose house he was going.
The mate did not believe the story, in spite of the winning face and truthful accents of the boy. He had seen too much of stowaways to be easily deceived by them, he said and it was his firm conviction that the boy had been brought on board and provided with food by the sailors.
The little fellow was very roughly handled in consequence. Day by day he was questioned and requestioned, but always with the same result. He did not know a sailor on board, and his father alone had secreted and given him the food which he ate. At last the mate, wearied by the boy’s persistence in the same story, and perhaps a little anxious to inculpate the sailors, seized him one day by the collar, and dragging him to the fore, told him that unless he told the truth, in ten minutes from that time he would hang from the yard-arm. He then made him sit down under it on the deck.
All around him were the passengers and sailors of the midday watch, and in front of him stood the inexorable mate, with chronometer in his hand, and the other officers of the ship by his side. It was a touching sight to see the pale, proud, scornful face of that noble boy; his head erect, his beautiful eyes, bright through the tears that suffused them.
When eight minutes had fled, the mate told him he had but
two minutes to live, and advised him to speak the truth and save his life. But
he replied with the utmost simplicity and sincerity, by asking the mate if he
might pray. The mate said nothing, but nodded his head, and turned as pale as a
ghost, and shook with trembling like a reed in the wind. And then all eyes
turned on him, the brave and noble fellow this poor boy whom society owned not,
and whose own step-father could not care for knelt with clasped hands and eyes
upturned to heaven. There then occurred a scene as of Pentecost. Sobs broke
from strong, hard hearts, as the mate sprang forward and clasped the boy to his
bosom, and kissed him, and blessed him, and told him how sincerely he now
believed his story, and how glad he was that he had been brave enough to face
death, and be willing to sacrifice his life for the truth of his word. -- Illustrated Weekly
Telegraph.
Shall I repeat a true story told me by the sufferer himself a few weeks ago? And may I repeat it, so far as memory serves me, in his own language? I can never forget the passionate energy of my friend, as he walked again in the darkened chambers of a wrecked life, and recalled the scene when alone he met the tempter. But to the story
“I left my New England home in boyhood. As I kissed my mother good-bye, she put her hand on either side of my cheeks, and said: “You are pure now, my son. Ever keep your soul sweet and clean, and never touch a glass of intoxicating liquor.’ The pledge I then made to her I kept under strong temptations, and in circumstances that severely tried my good resolutions. Serving through the war, I came out with a cough that threatened quick-consumption. My physician recommended cod-liver oil and whiskey. I took his prescription. The former cured me of one disease; the latter brought on one of deeper and deadlier nature.
Yet I was not conscious of it, till one day a friend roused me with the words: "Major, you must be careful. You are bringing disgrace to your family." I was shocked, and resolved that this should never be said of me again; but I still pursued the vile way.
“A little later, my brother repeated the warning, and I pledged him that I would heed his kindly words. That pledge was broken. I had a delightful home, was blessed with wife and children, and to her wifely pleading I again said: "I’ll drink no more," and went on to disgrace the name she bore.
“One morning as I passed the open door of my daughter’s room, I saw her on her bended knees, and heard her sweet voice crying out: "O God, spare my father, and save him from a drunkard’s grave." Then and there, I vowed before God that I would never drink again. I was drunk before night! A little later I was summoned to see a loving sister that was sick. I hastened to her bedside only to find in a darkened room her dead body. As I leaned over that marble form, and my tears fell on her cold cheeks, there, with clasped hands, alone with the dead, I told my God that the cup should never again soil my lips. In three days I was as bad as ever! At last, in a fit of desperation, I sent for my father and mother to visit my home, securing for them a palace-car, making their long journey as pleasant as possible.
They came to my charming home to meet their drunkard-son. The dear mother begged and prayed with and for me, that my purity might be restored. “After their return, with the echo of her agonizing petition sounding in my ears, I said: "I will once more take the pledge, and if broken now, I will go to the Pacific coast, leaving wife and children, to hide myself where they shall never hear of me again. "With this came the resolve to invite in a few friends to take one more social glass together, and then to sign the pledge. I sent to Boston for the choicest liquors, and one night when I had been left alone in the house, invited them in. For an hour I waited, and no one came. I paced the floor, and looked out into the moonlight, longing for their presence, that I might satisfy the appetite that began to clamor.
“And the clock struck nine, and no friends came. Then rushed into my soul visions of my childhood, and the voice of my mother sounded out: "‘Keep your soul pure and clean, my son;" and her words of tenderness awakened memories that had long been sealed. I opened the Bible, and read: ‘No drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of God." Ah! Does that mean me? Closing the book I paced the room, and longed for companionship, that these busy thoughts might be dispelled, and the clock struck ten. I listened for voices, but there was quiet everywhere save in my own tempest-tossed soul. Then it flashed upon me that alone I must meet the tempter, and alone take the promised pledge. I reached out my hand to unseal the bottle that never looked so attractive, when a voice seemed to sound. "Let it remain untouched-now is the decisive hour;" and again I paced the room, and again with greater force, appetite begged for satisfaction. The struggle began to be more bitter, the tempter made a heavier assault, the hour dragged wearily along, and the clock struck eleven. Then I felt that the next hour must be the point on which my destiny for eternity was poised. For I was impressed by the thought that if I could resist the tempter until midnight, in some way, I knew not how, God would bring to me a way of escape. Oh, how I longed to break the bottle, the contents of which were more attractive than anything on earth; and yet that voice sounded out: "Touch but a single glass, and you are lost."’ Then said the tempter: "Why not drink just once? You have resolved tonight to take the pledge; it will be all right to indulge in a parting farewell to an old friend."
I again opened the Bible, and read: "God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life." I fell on my knees, and with the open Bible before me, and the bottle by my side, implored and prayed for strength to hold on till midnight. Oh! how appetite begged and clamored; and yet I was conscious that if I yielded it would be fatal, and my soul would be lost. The minutes dragged along, oh! so slowly, till eleven and a half o’clock, and the voice cried: "Only hold on till twelve, and you are safe." Fifteen minutes passed, and then came the sorest, bitterest conflict of soul that man ever experienced. I had been in the midst of great physical peril on the battlefield many a time, when death came on the right and on the left in fearful form, but never had been in such deadly danger as now; for it was a conflict with heaven on one side and hell on the other. One who has never been under the maddening control of a master passion cannot realize the agony that can be concentrated, into even a few moments; and so the bitterness of that last fifteen minutes seemed prolonged into hours. Can I hold out? Will this struggle end in life and peace? Will the tempter vanish, a defeated, baffled spirit, and leave me free? Five minutes more and the agony increased, as appetite begged and clamored with tenfold power. There pealed out on the still hour of the night the stroke of the distant clock: one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten-eleven-twelve! I leaped to my feet and shouted, Victory! Saved by the grace of God! The burden rolled into the open sepulchre, and I felt that I was saved, and saved forever. I went out on my back piazza, and held the bottle up in the moonlight, and looked at it as calmly as a mother would look at a sleeping child; and then, hurling it upon the pavement, fell upon my knees in glad thanksgiving, and then and there yielded my soul, my life, my all, to Him who had redeemed me with His precious blood. The final stroke of the midnight bell, as it heralded a new day, was the dawn of a new life for me. I was made conscious on the instant, my sins were washed away. From that hour to this I have had no taste or craving for liquor, and my life is devoted to scattering the leaves which shall be for the healing of the nations.”
Such is the story of my friend, who, in a Western city, is today doing service for the Master. Years have passed since that midnight conflict, and his life has been one of consecration, and many a soul has been lifted and inspired by his burning, loving words:
“Touch not, taste not, handle not," even though it is
placed to your lips under the seductive guise of "only a medicine." -- Congregationalist.
"I am the Lord that healeth thee.”
With a deep sense of gratitude to my Heavenly Father for my restoration to health, I write this testimony. I will begin with extracts from a statement of my condition at the time of my restoration, written by the attending physician thinking it will be more satisfactory than one of my own.
“Mrs. Claghorn came to me for treatment, first on June 6, 1885, then afterwards during August, 1885, and almost continuously thereafter, until January 26, 1886 -- the day of her sudden and marvelous restoration to health. Her symptoms were frequent chills, pains in the bones, pains in the back, inability to sleep, and at times terrible paroxysms of tonic and clonic spasms, strongly marked opisthotones, cramping of limbs, coldness of extremities, intense pain at the base of the brain, intolerance of light, sometimes complete unconsciousness; the paroxysms being frequently followed by partial paralysis of the right side. She also suffered from a large cellulitis tumor. At times the case responded readily to the treatment given; at other times, she grew rapidly worse for several days; the attack culminating in a paroxysm, followed by more or less paralysis. Such an attack occurred from the 21st to the 25th of January, 1886, although not so severe as some she had had. The morning of the 26th, she was unable to turn herself in bed, and had not stood upon her feet for five months. The details of her sudden restoration, which occurred that afternoon, she can best give in her own language. She rode about a mile the next evening, in a cutter, to prayer-meeting, walked down the aisle like a girl of eighteen, and from a condition of emaciation, rapidly gained in flesh and appearance. I made an examination March 5, 1886, and found the cellulitis tumor gone. More than a year has now passed away, and she is and has been apparently in the most perfect health. There has been no recurrence of her sufferings during the past year.
Respectfully,
A.M. HUTCHINSON, M. D., Waseca, Minn.
For two weeks before my restoration I was unable to turn myself in bed, or to feed myself. All that time my right side was helpless, and I was rapidly sinking. On the 25th of January, I was taken with convulsions, though not so severe as on some previous occasions.
My physician was with me until midnight, when I grew easier. On the morning of the 26th, I felt better, until about seven o’clock, when I commenced to feel much worse. I suffered intensely, and could feel the terrible convulsions coming back. While I was in such pain, my husband received some statements of "faith-cure,” which an unknown friend had sent, and he commenced reading one; saying it might make the time pass more rapidly if I could bear the reading. I was not at all interested at first, for I knew nothing of such things; I had heard of a few cases, but they were all so far away, I set them aside as something I could not understand. But this was an account of a lady whose disease was just enough like mine to hold my attention, and he read it to the close. I was too ill to think much, but I could see it was no made up story, and wondered if God would really do such things.
At 12:40 P.M. my husband went out, leaving me in the care of an attendant, who was in an adjoining room. I began to wonder if it were possible the Lord could have healing for me. I had not, in all my sickness, asked Him for health. But now I seemed to be led to make the request: "Lord, if thou hast this healing for me, give it to me now and instantly a voice said: “In the name of Jesus of Nazareth, arise and walk!" and I was thrilled through and through with sensations impossible to describe. While I was wondering, the command was repeated in the same words. But I did not feel returning strength, and the terrible pain still remained. So I said aloud: “But I haven’t the strength, Lord; give me the strength, and I will get up;" and again the same voice said: “In the name of Jesus of Nazareth, arise and walk “ Then I made an effort to arise; it was more a mental effort than anything else; but I rose like a feather, and stood upon my feet. All pain ceased the first moment for months. It was just one o’clock. I commenced to say: "Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief," and prayed it continually. Then I sat down on the side of the bed, and raising my arms above my head, used the paralyzed side freely.
A swelling the size of an egg was gone, and everything inside of me seemed to be changing position, and recreating sensations impossible to describe were felt all through me.
Then I got up and walked a few steps, and turned and looked at the bed, and the medicine beside it, and I commenced to sink to the floor. But I asked for more strength, and received it, and went on around the bed to the center of the room, when I thought I would have my clothes brought, and dress. But when I would have called the nurse, the impression was received (not in an audible voice): “It is enough, you have seen the power of God, go back to bed;“ and I obeyed.
Upon returning to bed, I reconsecrated myself to God, and begged Him to complete His will in me; and if He could better use me as a sufferer, to let me suffer, but only glorify Himself in me; and I received the assurance that He would. Soon after the nurse brought me some food. I surprised her very much by feeding myself, and my stomach, which had previously rejected all food, retained it now with ease.
Now my husband came in, looking so disconsolate, and prepared to find me much worse than when he left me. I need not attempt to tell of his joy and surprise upon hearing what God had done for me in his absence; you can better imagine it. When he had returned thanks, I requested him to go for my physician.
Doctor was not in town, and I did not see him until evening. His first words upon entering my room were: “Glory to God!” and he returned thanks to God for His marvelous work, as only a thoroughly consecrated Christian could; not reserving a particle of credit for the cure, but giving all glory and honor to God. He forbade all medicine. That night I arose and knelt at the bedside in prayer. I slept that night, as I have every night since, like a babe. I never had such refreshing sleep. I had had no natural sleep during my sickness.
The next morning I arose and dressed, unassisted, and walked out to breakfast; ate heartily, and in the evening I rode nearly a mile to our weekly prayer-meeting, and told how great things the Lord had done for me. My strength returned gradually. For days I could not stand upon my feet without first asking for strength; and if I were standing, and would for aj instant take my mind off Christ, I would commence to sink to the floor. All functions were naturally resumed without any pain whatever.
Tumors and all inflammation were all dispelled, and I was a well woman. Several times I had severe paroxysms of pain, but I would go right to God, and he-would remove them at once.
My right side was much shrunken, and shorter than the other. When I stood upon my left foot, the toes of my right foot touched the floor. That, however, stretched out gradually as I used my limbs. It is now more than a year since I was restored. I have done all my work since the first of June. I ask for strength for a day at a time, and God helps me over all the hard places.
I have not had a sick day since my restoration. I have had severe colds several times, but they have been removed by resorting to my new found Physician; and I have not taken a drop of medicine since the 26th of January, 1886, neither have I done anything for myself in a medicinal way. God has done it all.
Satan has tried many times to tempt me, but the Sword of the
Spirit, when presented, proves too much for him. I have written this for the glory of God, and trust He will bless
it. -- Mrs. Alice B. Claghorn,
in Michigan Holiness Record.
On Saturday morning, January 3, 1880, in MaIden, Massachusetts, Bishop Gilbert Haven’s physician said that his last day had come, and that it would do him no harm to see his friends. Many were near at hand. Others were summoned by telegram and by messenger, until groups gathered around that couch, touched with the light of immortal glory, to muse over the transition from death unto life. A physician who was present said: “I never saw a person die so before.” A clergyman remarks: “To me it did not seem that I was in the presence of death. The whole atmosphere of the chamber was that of a joyous and festive hour. Only the tears of kindred and friends were suggestive of death. I felt that I was summoned to see a conquering hero crowned.”
We have preserved some of the Bishop’s utterances to different persons, as they were reported in the public prints. As Dr. Daniel Steele entered his chamber, the Bishop lifted up his hand, exclaiming, in his familiar way : “O Dan, Dan, a thousand, thousand blessings on you! The Lord has been giving you great blessings, and me little ones, and now he has given me a great one. He has called me to heaven before you. “Do you find the words of Paul true: "O death, where is thy sting?" inquired Dr. Steele. “There is no death, there is no death" interrupted the Bishop; “I have been fighting death for six weeks, and today I find there is no death.” Then he repeated again and again John viii. 51: "Shall never see death; Glory! Glory! Glory!" In life he seldom, if ever, shouted; he certainly had a right to shout in death. “You have a great Savior,” was remarked to him.
"Yes," he answered, "that is the whole of the gospel, the whole of it" With difficulty he repeated
“Happy, if with my latest breath
I may but gasp His name
Preach Him to all, and cry in death,
Behold, behold the Lamb!"
He had an immediate opportunity to preach Christ by
witnessing to his saving power, for his counseling physician from Boston had
come to bid him farewell. Said the dying man, as he took the doctor’s hand: “I
am satisfied with your attentions; you have done all that human skill can do to
heal me. I die happy. I believe in Jesus Christ. To Dr. Lindsay he also
remarked: “Good-night, doctor. When we meet again it will be good-morning.” To
his old classmate, Dr. Newhall, he said: “I have got the start of you. I
thought you would go first. Your mind has been clouded a little, but it is all
light over there." When Dr. Mallahieu approached him he put his aims
around his neck and drew him to his face, and exclaimed: “My dear old friend, I
am glad to see you. You and I would not have it so if we had our way, but God
knows best. It is all right! All right! We have been living in great times, but
there are greater times coming. You have been my true friend-you never failed
me. You must stand by the colored man when I am gone. Stand by the colored
man.” Then he spoke of dying, and said: “Oh, but it is so beautiful, so
pleasant, so delightful! I see no river of death. God lifts me up in His arms.
There is no darkness; it is all light and brightness. I am gliding away into
God, floating up into heaven.” As the hour drew near, and death preyed upon
him, his faith failed not. His right hand was dead, and black from mortification;
but holding up his arm, and gazing at the perishing member for a moment, he
said, with triumph: “I believe in the resurrection of the body!” Thus he
trampled death under his feet, and Elijah-like, in a flaming chariot of glory,
went shouting to his home in the skies. -- Golden Dawn.
A little girl in a wretched tenement in New York stood by her mother’s death-bed, and heard her last words: “Jessie, find Jesus.”
When her mother was buried, her father took to drink, and Jessie was left to such care as a poor neighbor could give her.
One day she wandered off unmissed, with a little basket in her hand, and tugged through one street after another, not knowing where she went. She had started out to find Jesus. At last she stopped, from utter weariness, in front of a saloon. A young man staggered out of the door, and almost stumbled over her. He uttered passionately the name of Him whom she was seeking. “ Where is He?” she inquired eagerly.
He looked at her in amazement.
“What did you say?“ he asked.
“Will you please tell me where Jesus Christ is? For I must find Him “ - this time with great earnestness.
The young man looked at her curiously for a minute without speaking, and then his face sobered; and he said in a broken, husky voice, hopelessly: “I don’t know, child; I don’t know where he is.” At length the little girl’s wanderings brought her to the park. A woman, evidently a Jewess, was leaning against the railing, looking disconsolately at the green grass and the trees.
Jessie went up to her timidly. “Perhaps she can tell me where he is,” was the child’s thought. In a low, hesitating voice, she asked the woman: “Do you know Jesus Christ?”
The Jewess turned fiercely to face her questioner, and in a tone of suppressed passion, exclaimed: “Jesus Christ is dead!” Poor Jessie trudged on, but soon a rude boy jostled against her, and snatching her basket from her hand, threw it into the street. Crying, she ran to pick it up. The horses of a passing streetcar trampled her under their feet and she knew no more till she found herself stretched on a hospital bed.
When the doctors came that night, they knew she could not live until morning. In the middle of the night, after she had been lying very still for a long time, apparently asleep, she suddenly opened her eyes, and the nurse, bending over her, heard her whisper, while her face lighted up with a smile that had some of heaven’s own gladness in it: “O Jesus, I have found you at last!“
Then the tiny lips were hushed, but the questioning spirit
had received an answer. --Selected.
In the early part of the summer of 1882, while we were holding a camp-meeting at C----, a drunken mob came on the ground, and disturbed the meeting by their profanity and quarreling. They came armed with revolvers, and were determined to break up the meeting. Not having anticipated any such difficulty, no police force had been provided. Our words of expostulation were unheeded, and they went so far as to yell and blaspheme, and shake their fists in the faces of the leaders of the meeting. So great was the disturbance, that for a time the services were entirely suspended, and there was certainly imminent danger that the meeting would be completely broken up.
Realizing that God’s help alone could give to His children victory, in the midst of the excitement we went to the woods, and in sobs and tears, fell upon our face. God gave us great help of the Spirit in prayer, and we told Him how we were holding the meeting for His glory and the salvation of souls, and unless He came to our rescue, great reproach would be brought upon His cause.
We obtained evidence that God would deliver, and hastened back to the camp, called for order, and began to exhort the people in the power of the Spirit. A halo of glory came over the meeting. Wicked men turned pale, and acknowledged the wonderful change. Many began to weep, while some of God’s children shouted for joy, and many were prostrate under the power of God.
Defeat was changed to almost unthought of victory, and during all that night the workers were kept busy praying with seekers, and many were saved. Not until the light of the morning dawned could they find time for rest; and the two remaining days of the meeting were days of triumph.
So great was the conviction that some who repeatedly tried
to leave were constrained to return, and yield themselves to God. One man said
he was determined not to yield, and for the third time started to leave the
grounds; but God showed him that this, if rejected, would be his last chance
for salvation. So, at about two o’clock in the morning, he came to the altar,
and was gloriously saved. -- Editor.
A man, blind from his birth a man of much intellectual vigor, and with many engaging social qualities, found a woman who, appreciating his worth, was willing to cast in her lot with him, and become his wife. Several bright, beautiful children became theirs, who tenderly and equally loved both their parents.
An eminent French surgeon, while in this country, called upon them, and, examining the blind man with much interest and care, said to him "Your blindness is wholly artificial; your eyes are naturally good; and if I could have operated upon them twenty years ago, I think I could have given you sight. It is barely possible that I can do it now, though it will cause you much pain.
"I can bear that,” was the reply, “so you but enable me to see.”
The surgeon operated upon him, and was gradually successful. First there were faint glimmerings of light; then more distinct vision. The blind father was handed a rose he had smelled one before but had never seen one. Then he looked upon the face of his wife, who had been so true and faithful to him; and then his children were brought, whom he had so often fondled, and whose charming prattle had so frequently fallen upon his ears.
He then exclaimed: “Oh, why have I seen all of these before inquiring for the man by whose skill I have been enabled to behold them! Show me the doctor.” And when he was pointed out to him, he embraced him, with tears of gratitude and joy.
So, when we reach heaven, and with unclouded eyes look upon its glories, we shall not be content with a view of these. No; we shall say: “Where is Christ? He to whom I am indebted for what heaven is? Show me him, that with all my soul I may adore and praise him through endless ages.” -- Selected.
A poor emigrant had gone to Australia to “make his fortune,” leaving a wife and little son in England. When he had made some money, he wrote home to his wife:
“Come out to me here; I send the money for your passage; I
want to see you and my boy.” The wife took ship as soon as she could, and
started for her new home. One night, as they were all asleep, there sounded the
dreaded cry of, "Fire, fire! “ Every one rushed on deck, and the boats
were soon filled. The last one was just pushing off, when a cry of, “There are
two more on deck,” arose. “They were the mother and her son. Alas! “Only room
for one,” the sailors shouted. Which was to go? The mother thought of her
far-away home, her husband looking out lovingly and longingly for his wife.
Then she glanced down at the boy, clinging, frightened, to her skirts. She
could not let him die. There was no time to lose. Quick! Quick! The flames were
getting round. Snatching the child, she held him to her a moment. “Willie, tell
father I died for you! Then the boy was
lowered into the sailors’ willing arms. She died for him. -- Selected.
Rev. E. B. Slade tells an interesting instance of answered prayer. One cold winter he was forty miles away from home, holding revival services, when, in the midst of a terrible snowstorm, during which travel was almost wholly impossible, his wife, at home, ran out of wood. To save the little that remained, she put her children to bed, and wrapped them up in blankets, At last baking must be done, and, making a fire of her last wood, she began to pray that help might come, and persevered until her faith won the victory. She then went about her work in perfect peace of mind, assured that relief would come. In the course of a few hours her nearest neighbor, a lady, waded through the snow, saying that she had been impressed that she must come over and see what was the matter. The facts were stated, and relief promised. Hardly had she gone when another lady came in with the same statement, and the same offer was made. A little while later a gentleman came in expressing a similar feeling; and when he learned the facts, he took them all to his home, and cared for them until Mr. Slade returned home.
We extract the following from the Methodist Magazine for July, 1827, being an account of a conversion that occurred in a revival of religion, at Lanjeth, in Cornwall, England. The account is given by Rev. W. Lawry, preacher on the St. Austell circuit.
"The first extraordinary conversion which I remarked, was that of old William Morkum, of Lanjeth, who had lived just seventy years without God in the world. In the month of February, 1826, as he was at work as usual on the high roads, and reflecting on his long life spent in the neglect of religion, his mind became greatly alarmed at the prospect of eternity. Night came on; he sought to be refreshed on his bed by sleep, but in vain. His alarm and terror increased so much that his family, consisting of his wife and daughter, were kept up all night. On the next day he proceeded to his labor, but remarked to his companion, with great apparent emotion ‘I believe I am a lost soul.’ The next night came on, when, such was the horror of his mind that his family, at his request, sent for some of their pious neighbors to come and pray with him. They spent the whole night in prayer; but he remained without hope, under the most fearful apprehensions. The third day was spent as the former; but the third night was still more terrible to him than the second. The religious friends were again called in, and great was the agony of his mind. Hitherto he could not be persuaded that prayers would avail; but at this crisis his friends prevailed upon him to join them in prayer to God, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. He now poured forth the cry of the publican: "God be merciful to me, a sinner." During the third night his fears subsided, and he had power to cast his soul on the atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ, through whom he obtained peace with God. For many years he had through infirmity been bowed almost double, and had not been able to lift his hand to his head. His employment had been to break stones on the roads. The moment, however, of his deliverance from his load of guilt and fear, he exclaimed in ecstasy
"I am made whole both in body and soul!"’ He accordingly stood perfectly erect, and clasped his hands together behind his head. "Now," said he, "I will request the parish to buy me a pair of spectacles, that I may learn to read the Bible; and I will myself procure a lantern to light me on the winter evenings to the Methodist chapel." He joined himself to the society at Lanjeth, and met twice in class. About a month after his conversion he became unwell, and said to his family: "The time is come that I must die." He lay down for a few days upon his peaceful bed, without pain or mental conflict, expressing his trust in the adorable Redeemer, and peacefully fell asleep in the Lord.
“If I could have your faith, Hawkins, gladly would I but I was born a skeptic. I cannot look upon God and the future as you do.”
So said John Harvey, as he walked with a friend under a dripping umbrella. John Harvey was a skeptic of thirty years standing, and apparently hardened in his unbelief. Everybody had given him up as hopeless. Reasoning ever so calmly made no impression on the rocky soil of his heart. I