PRAYERFULNESS.
LANGUAGE OF PRAYER.--PRAYER ON HORSEBACK.--OLD MAN IN SUPERGAN.--MAR
OGEN.---EARNESTNESS.--FAREWELL PRAYER MEETING IN 1858.--LETTER FROM
PUPIL.--SPIRIT OF PRAYER IN 1846.--WOMAN WHO COULD NOT PRAY.--"CHRIST
BECOME BEAUTIFUL."--CLOSET IN THE MANGER.--MONTHLY
CONCERTS.--PRAYERFULNESS IN 1849 AND 1850.--SABBATH, JANUARY
20TH.--INTEREST CONTINUED TILL CLOSE OF TERM.--FAMILY
MEETINGS.--AUDIBLE PRAYER.--ANSWER TO MOTHERS' PRAYERS.--CONNECTION OF
REVIVALS WITH PRAYER AT HOME.
The Nestorian converts have been noted for their spirit of prayer.
In 1846, the prayers of the hopefully pious in the Male Seminary were
very remarkable. Several rooms were appropriated to devotion, and there
one might hear the voice of supplication from morning till night. Many
spent several hours a day in this holy employment; and one needed only
to listen to know that their prayers came from the depths of the soul.
At one time, they beg that the dog may have a single crumb from the
table of his master; again, they are smiting on their breasts by the
side of the publican. Now they are prodigals--hungry, naked, and far
from their Father's house; and now they sink in the sea, crying, "Lord,
save me; I perish!" or, as poor outcast lepers, they come to the great
Physician for a cure. This one builds on the Rock of Ages, while the
torrents roar around. That one washes the feet of Jesus with his tears,
and wipes them with the hair of his head; another, as a soldier of the
cross, plants its blood-stained banner in the inner citadel of his
heart. Their ardent feelings found such appropriate expression in their
Oriental metaphors, that one might learn from children to pray as he
never prayed before.
On the reopening of the Seminary that spring, the first desire of the
pupils was to enter their closets and commune with God.
Riding out one evening, Mr. Stoddard saw three persons before him on
the way to Seir. Their horses went from one side of the road to the
other, at random; and their own heads were uncovered to the cold March
wind. At first he took them for dervishes; but on coming nearer he
heard the voice of prayer, and found they were Nestorians. The eyes of
all were reverently closed, and when one finished the other continued
their supplications. He turned aside, and left them undisturbed. On
another occasion, when John and Moses were riding to Geog Tapa on the
same horse, they again engaged in devotion; but as the horse was
unruly, they each prayed in turn, while the other held the reins.
Sometimes the language of their prayers is very broken. Mr. Stoddard
once stood in the church in Supergan, twenty miles from Oroomiah, while
prayers were read in the ancient Syriac, and overheard an old man, very
ignorant, praying back in the congregation by himself. He had, perhaps,
never heard five prayers, in his whole life, in a language he could
understand; but reverently, and in a low tone, commingling the memories
of old forms with the utterance of new desires, he was saying, "Our
Father in heaven--always going, after Satan--O Lord Jesus
Christ--hallelujah--forever and ever, Amen!" It was incoherent, but
comprehensive. He addresses God as his heavenly Father. He confesses
his sins. He appeals to Christ as his only helper. He praises God for
his unspeakable gift, and then closes in the usual form.
The pious Mar Ogen, of Ishtazin, when in great pain, and hardly able to
move, often broke out in words like these: "O Lord Jesus, thou art the
King of glory, the King of kings and Lord of lords; thou art great and
holy, and merciful. I am a sinner, condemned. My face is black, my
bones are rotten. O Lord Jesus, have mercy upon me, poor, and blind,
and naked, and miserable. O Lord Jesus Christ, I am vile. I am lost;
but do thou remember me."
No language expressed their sense of guilt better than the words, "All
our righteousnesses are as filthy rags." In the fervor of their desire
for Christ, and grace through him, they would say, "Blessed Saviour, we
will cling to the skirts of thy garment, and hope for mercy till our
hands are cut off." A common petition was, "O Lord, we pray that we may
never deny thee, even to the blood of our necks"--most expressive
words, in a land where so many criminals are beheaded.
One prayed for our country, when he heard of the southern rebellion,
thus: "O God, pour peace into that land. Permit them not to fight with
each other, but with Satan and their wicked hearts, and may they fight
spiritually to subdue the whole world to Christ."
During one of the revivals in the Female Seminary, the prayers of the
pupils were exceedingly earnest. A member of the mission, having
occasion to open the door of a room where a few of them were together,
heard as follows:
"We are hanging over a lake of fire, with a heavy load upon our backs,
by a single hair, and that is almost broken. We are in a ship burned
almost down to the water; the flames are just seizing upon us. O God,
have mercy. Jesus, Son of David, have mercy. O Lamb of God, have mercy
on us." "No wonder," a missionary wrote, "I sometimes think that it is
pleasanter to pray in Syriac than in our own language, because I have
such fervent-minded ones with whom to pray."
The day Miss Fiske left Oroomiah, a large number of women and girls
gathered around to bid her farewell. They said, "Can we not have one
more prayer meeting before you leave?" They were told that they might
meet in the school room. "But may it not be in that Bethel?" they
asked, referring to the teacher's own room. She told them she could not
lead their devotions then. Their reply was, "You need not do it; we
will _carry you_ to-day." Seventy were soon assembled in her room. They
sung, "Blest be the tie that binds," and offered six prayers. One asked
that when Elijah should go up, they might all see the horsemen and
chariot, and all catch the falling mantle; not sit down to weep, or
send into the mountains to search for their master, but take up the
mantle, go, smite Jordan, and, passing over, go to work. She then
reminded the Saviour that he had promised not to leave them orphans
(John xiv. 18, Greek and Syriac), and begged him not only to come to
them, but to abide with them when their teacher was gone. Her thoughts
then turned to the departing company, who were to take their long land
journey of six hundred miles on horseback. She asked that the sun might
not smite them by day, nor the moon by night. Theirs was a desert way,
and the Lord was entreated to spread a table for them through all the
wilderness, and, when they should pass over the narrow, precipitous
roads, to give his angels charge to keep them in all their ways, and
bear them up in their hands, lest they dash a foot against a stone; and
when they should go through the rivers, not to let the waters overflow
them. The company would lodge by night in tents, and it was asked that
the angel of the Lord might ever encamp round about the moving
tabernacle. Borne in mind as they should pass on, first to the steamer,
and then to the sailing vessel, she asked that when they should be on
the "fire ship," the flame might not kindle upon them; and when on the
"winged ship," where the waves would go up to heaven, and down to hell,
that He would keep them in the hollow of his hand, and bring them to
the desired haven. She then asked that all her teacher's friends might
be spared till she should reach them, especially the aged mother, and
that when she should fold her daughter in her arms, she might say, like
Simeon of old, "Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace." Here she
paused, and Miss Fiske thought she had finished; but soon she added,
"May our teacher's dust never mingle with a father's dust, or with a
mother's dust; but may she come back to us to mingle her dust with her
children's dust, hear the trumpet with them, and with them go up to
meet the Lord, and be forever with him." Nor did their prayerfulness
cease after their teacher had left them.
There was a pupil in the Seminary, who, before conversion, was
exceedingly obstinate and rude; but afterwards, in writing to Miss
Fiske, she uses expressions like these: "I remember how you used to put
your arms about my neck, and tell me how Christ became obedient unto
death; not for friends, but for enemies like me. Especially do I
remember how you spoke of that love which saw a remedy in its own
blood, when there was no help for a lost world. At that time I did not
understand it, but now I know not how to express my gratitude. I know
that you are very happy with your aged mother, though your heart is
here; and she is happy, too, that she sees your face. Yet these earthly
meetings, though so pleasant, are but for a season. But how delightful
will be that meeting with the holy angels, with the risen Lamb, and
with God our Father! and if separations are so trying here, what must
be those of the last day? May I not then be separated from you. If I
should be, I know you will say, 'Holy, holy Lord God, just art thou,
for she has been taught.' We miss you much; but the Teacher who is
better than any earthly instructor, came and taught us this winter
(1858-1859). The Lord Jesus has been the gardener of our school. He has
come down and watered it with heavenly rain. He has truly fulfilled his
promise, 'I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you.' He said,
'Wait for the promise of the Father.' We waited for his coming, and he
turned himself quickly, and we had delightful seasons. Our times of
prayer were longed for. We prayed more than we did any thing else. When
we retire from the school room now, in many places two girls are found
praying together. In my village I meet the women together and alone. I
also have precious seasons, praying with a company of girls; and I have
selected two women to pray with and for till they shall be Christians.
I hope that they will choose Christ for their portion. Some of the
women of our village, like Mary, sit at Jesus' feet. One Christian
mother had an only son, and very wicked, who trod the Sabbath under
foot, and was wholly given up to his own pleasure. She set apart a day
for fasting and prayer in his behalf, and soon the Lord met him in his
evil way, and now he is a decided Christian."
But let us leave these general views, and look at this prayerfulness
more in the order of its manifestations.
During the revival in 1846, two of the pupils spent a whole night in
prayer for the conversion of their brothers, first one leading in
devotion, and then the other, till morning. Like Jacob they felt, "We
will not let thee go except thou bless us." While the missionaries
admired their pious zeal, it is proper to add, that they generally
insisted on the observance of regular hours of sleep, as conducive
alike to bodily and spiritual health. Yet one writes on a similar
occasion, "Sometimes, in my anxiety, I have gone to their cold closets
to persuade them to leave; but the fervor of their prayers has oftener
driven me to mine, than it has allowed me to call them from theirs."
Twice, and even three times, a day, were not enough for them to retire
for communion with God. Many spent hours every day at the mercy seat.
There were but few closets, and this was a great trial to them. Often
three or four of them might be seen sitting, in tears, waiting their
turn to go in to the mercy seat. Would that they might have had some of
those closets at home that are never entered! At another time, the
Bible of one of the girls was found on one of their wooden stools, open
at the fifty-first psalm, and the page blotted with weeping, as she
read it preparatory to retiring for prayer. Her teacher could put her
finger on no part of those large pages without touching a tear.[1]
Still later, when news of the death of Munny, of Ardishai, by the
accidental discharge of a gun, reached Miss Fiske in America, her first
thought was, "Dear child, I shall never again break off your communion
with Jesus;" for she remembered that when once she begged her to leave
her closet and get rest for the Sabbath, her reply was, "O, I am so
sorry that you spoke to me! I was having such a good time with my dear
Saviour." Only a few days before her death, while in the vineyard with
her brother, she suddenly clasped her hands, and exclaimed, "Blessed
Mr. Stoddard! when shall I see him? and when shall I see my blessed
Saviour?" [Footnote 1: See page 138.]
A poor woman came to the Seminary one day, weeping for her sins, and
seated herself on the floor. The teacher was soon at her side, telling
her of Him who was wounded for our transgressions. She prayed with her,
and then asked her to pray for herself. "But I can't pray; I don't know
your prayers." "Hatoon, don't try to pray like me, or like any body;
but just tell God how you feel and what you want." "May I tell God just
what is in my heart?" Being assured on that point, she fell on her
face, weeping aloud, saying amid sobs, "O God, I am not fit even for an
old broom to sweep with," and could say no more. This was doubtless the
most worthless thing the poor woman could think of in her humble home.
But it was not long ere she could join others in their little meetings
for prayer; and she still lives, honoring the Saviour, whom she loves.
She is the mother of two of the most useful graduates of the Seminary.
Again: a pious man brought his wife to spend a few days in the
Seminary, when she was somewhat thoughtful, and left her nearly a week.
Let Miss Fiske describe their meeting. "He came for her at noon, and I
was conversing with him in my room, when she passed out from her closet
without seeing him. (The small upper window to the left, over the
central door, marks the closet.) But he saw her, and reached out his
hand, saying, 'My beloved, come here.' She placed her hand in his,
looked up in his face, and answered his 'Is Christ become beautiful?'
with a gentle '_I_ think so.' The tears of both fell fast, while he led
her, without leave, into my chamber, that they might unite in prayer.
But I was glad to have them offer their first _united_ prayers there.
It was ever after a more sacred place."
Miss Fiske spent most of the vacation that followed the first revival,
in 1848, with Mr. Stoddard, in the villages, where her pupils aided her
much in labors among the people. After a very pleasant evening spent in
Geog Tapa with those who were seeking Jesus, Hanee, the pupil with whom
she staid, came and asked, "Would you like to be alone?" It was the
first time she had ever been asked such a question by a Nestorian, and
it awakened feelings similar to those that filled her heart when first
she heard the voice of a Nestorian woman leading in prayer. To use her
own words, "I followed the dear child, and she led me to the best
closet she could give me--a manger, where she had spread clean hay; and
she said to me, as she turned to leave, 'Stay just as long as you
like.' You may well suppose it was a precious spot to me. It was my own
fault if I did not there meet Him who was once laid in a manger for us."
The members of the Seminary were especially interested in the monthly
concert, which was held in Oroomiah, on the first Monday of the month.
On that day they generally wanted two or three meetings; and in 1846 it
was often difficult to persuade them to study at all. From the rising
to the setting sun, the voice of supplication for a dying world
continually fell upon the ear. At one time, all united in pleading for
a world's redemption; then, in little companies of five or six, they
urged the request; and again, each, alone in her closet, still pressed
the same petition.
Previous to 1846, so few of the Nestorians knew how to pray, that
religious meetings were for instruction rather than prayer; but now it
was a delightful privilege to unite with them in pleading for the
conversion of the world to Christ. Never were their petitions so full
of unction as when offered for this object. In April, Miss Fiske's
pupils, not satisfied with an extra meeting by themselves, though
continued till near sunset, were induced to close it only by the
promise of having a similar meeting next day. No wonder their teacher
never enjoyed a monthly concert in America as she did that one. It was
indeed a rare privilege to unite with such spirits in its observance.
The pupils wrote to the Seminary, at South Hadley--"Dear sisters, we
love the monthly concert very much. Three hours on that day we meet
together to pray that the kingdom of God may come among us, and among
all the nations of the earth. It is a very sweet day to us, and we love
none so well, except the Sabbath."
In January, 1849, they spent day and night in weeping and prayer,
mostly for themselves, as unfit to pray for others. The same was true
of the Male Seminary. The teachers, the older pupils, and Deacons John
and Guwergis spent nearly the whole of one night in prayer; and so
burdened were they with the lost condition of their people, and their
own unfaithfulness, that almost all of them gave up their former hope
in Christ, and sought anew for pardon. The voice of praise and prayer
was now heard, not only through the day, but frequently during the
night.
Up to January 29th, only two or three of the unconverted in the
Seminary showed any concern for salvation. Most of them were so
careless and trifling, that their teachers were almost heart-broken;
but when the retiring bell rung that night, many were so distressed for
sin that they could not heed it. The pious were pleading in behalf of
those out of Christ, and many of these last were crying for mercy. One
prayer commenced, "O Lord, throw us a rope, for we are out in the open
sea, on a single plank, and wave after wave is dashing over us." So
they continued till near midnight, when their teachers constrained them
to retire.
At the beginning of February, the other Seminary witnessed a remarkable
outpouring of the spirit of prayer. Every spare moment of the previous
day, and much of the night, had been devoted to fervent intercession by
those who feared that the Spirit of God was about to leave them. So
intense was the feeling, that the ordinary services were suspended, and
at once every closet was filled; yet a majority had no place for
retirement. One of them proposed prayer in the yard, and there, on that
wintry day, for an hour, their earnest cries went up to heaven. All of
the careless were deeply moved, and many dated their conversion from
that day.
The work extended to Geog Tapa, Seir, and other villages. From Degala,
Deacon Joseph wrote, "Whenever I went home, I found our house a house
of mourning. After the lamp was put out at night, I could not sleep for
the sounds of prayer and weeping on all sides. In some houses, very
young children had heard their parents pray so much, that they also did
the same. The women, too, had frequent meetings by themselves. One day
I led some men to a place where they could hear women praying within
the latticed window of a house, and, trembling, they begged me to teach
them also how to come to God."
The missionaries avoided all stirring appeals to the passions, among a
people so excitable, though the ready performance of every duty
manifested the sincerity of the praying pupils, while it made the
labors of their teachers pleasant.
There was not that agonizing wrestling in prayer on the first Monday of
1850 that had marked the same day the year before; but the following
week was characterized by unusual tenderness in both Seminaries, and
two of the older pupils of the Female Seminary found no rest except in
their closets.
On the evening of the second Sabbath in January, Miss Fiske was not
able to attend the prayer meeting, and remained in her room alone. The
gentle opening of her door announced that the meeting was over, and a
little group passed on hastily, but quietly, to the rooms beyond. She
had just risen to follow, when she heard several voices in earnest
supplication. She turned to the stairway, and there also the sound of
fervent entreaty came up from many closets, while some groped about to
light their lamps, or stirred the dying embers of their fires. What
meant this simultaneous movement to the mercy seat? There had been
nothing unusually exciting in the meeting, and she sat down with the
sweet assurance that it was from above. It was late before the
suppliants left their closets, and retired in perfect silence; but
morning found them resuming the same loved employment, and good news
came of similar blessings from the Boys' Seminary.
That week was one of deep solemnity. The pious pupils devoted every
leisure moment to prayer. Their domestic duties were performed
faultlessly, and much earlier than usual, and then they sought their
closets. Some spent five hours each day of that week in those sacred
retreats, and when urged to leave for needed sleep, the reply was, "For
weeks we have slept, doing nothing for God and souls. How can we sleep
until forgiven?"
Saturday afternoon, several begged leave to give themselves entirely to
prayer for a blessing on the morrow; and never did the teachers more
gladly welcome the approach of holy time. A blessed Sabbath followed
such a preparation day. During morning service, almost all were in
tears. At dinner, many seats were vacant. It may seem an exaggeration,
but it was literally true, that no voice was heard all that day save
the voice of prayer. Miss Fiske has never known such a Sabbath before,
nor since. In the afternoon, the feeling was overpowering. There was no
request for prayer, but unbroken stillness and the perfect performance
of every duty, without a word being said. At the supper table, every
face seemed to say, "Our meat and drink are not here." Some asked to be
excused, but at length all were seated; and the scene that followed can
never be forgotten. All who were previously interested, and more
beside, wept tears of silent sorrow. The blessing was asked, and the
steward[1] began to help them, himself in tears; but no plate was
touched, for even the uninterested gazed in silent wonder. Their
teacher urged them to eat; but one, seizing her hand, said in a voice
too low to be overheard, "You would not ask _me_ to eat if you knew my
heart." The reply was, "I feel just as sure that the Lord would have
you eat, as that he would have you pray." They were then besought to
eat, so as to have strength to pray. This touched a tender chord, and
so succeeded; and then they silently withdrew to make that use of their
renovated strength. Each hour that night found some at the mercy seat,
feeling that to leave off at such a crisis might lessen the blessing.
[Footnote 1: Yohanan, father of Esli. See page 67.]
Two months now passed on, each day furnishing new evidence that those
prayers were heard. There was less of excitement, but no diminution of
interest, to the close of the term. The uniform and sustained
prayerfnlness of those months surprised the beholders. The voice of
supplication was the latest sound of evening, the watchword of
midnight, and the lark song of the dawn. One pupil, nine years of age,
after spending two hours in her closet, consented to retire only when
allowed to rise and pray if she awoke during the night; and she was
sure to wake. About three o'clock every morning, her earnest pleadings
roused her teachers from repose.
The hours of social prayer were full of tenderness. Those who heard the
pupils pleading far within the veil, close by the mercy seat, almost
forgot that they were yet on earth. The school, their parents and
relatives, were all affectionately remembered. The hour always seemed
too short, and often closed with such expressions as these: "If we have
not been heard here, we will go to our closets, and if not heard there,
we will return here, and again go back to our closets, and so continue
to plead for these loved ones to the last." These meetings, though
varied in character, were always of thrilling interest. Now there was
an overwhelming sense of sin, as committed against a holy God, and
then, as a ray of hope appeared, a weeping voice would implore, as on
one occasion, that "the Holy One would walk over the hills of Judea,
find Golgotha, and let them live." Again, the sight of manifold
transgressions prompted the cry, "But we fear our sins have covered
Golgotha from thy sight, and then are we forever lost." Another part of
the same prayer contained the entreaty, "Lift not the mercy seat from
off the holy ark, to look on the law we have broken, but look into
Jesus' grave, and bid us live."
In the daily family prayer meetings every inmate of the room was
specially and tenderly remembered. Once, when a father had come for his
daughter, and Miss Fiske went to find her, on opening the door she
heard a prayer for one who had shown little feeling; and in pleading
the sufferings of Christ on her behalf, each petition seemed to rise
higher, till every face was turned upward, as if to see him; and the
one who led in devotion involuntarily stretched out her hands to lay
hold of him, saying, "Come, Lord Jesus, and save our perishing sister;
but if she will not receive thee in this life we must forever rejoice
in her destruction"--a striking illustration of intense spiritual
emotion, bringing the heart into sympathy with the whole truth of God.
(Rev. xix. 3.)
These labors for their impenitent associates, and for those women who
came to the Seminary, were full of Christ. The hour between supper and
the evening meeting was usually spent in personal labor from room to
room; and the entreaties and prayers, then audible on all sides, made
it delightful to be a stranger in a strange land for Jesus' sake. It
was scarcely less affecting when superstitious grandmothers, worldly
mothers, and giddy sisters were prayed with and entreated to come to
Christ.
The audible prayers of the pupils may trouble some readers, but not
more than they troubled their teacher. She desired more silent
devotion; but Mr. Stoddard, himself in the habit of praying aloud,
looked on it with more favor, and feared to have it checked. Soon after
his own conversion, a friend remarked to him, "I think you had better
not pray quite so loud;" and for days after it he could not pray at
all. He had never thought of others while communing with God, and he
was troubled that others should think of him. Even to the last he
continued the practice of praying audibly.
Miss Fiske sometimes spoke to her pupils on the subject. There was one
who spent hours daily in her closet, but her teacher heard all she
said. So, on a fitting opportunity, she suggested to her, in a gentle
way, that she might modify the practice. "I will try to pray in a lower
voice," was the reply; "but I never thought of anybody's hearing me."
That night her voice was more subdued, but her prayer was very short;
and soon after midnight her teacher was awakened by the voice of prayer
out on the roof. She stepped out quietly; and there was her pupil
wrapped in a blanket, and thanking the Lord for such a place to pray.
She continued her devotions till near morning; and the kind teacher had
no heart to interfere any further. Mr. Stoddard was much amused with
her success; and it may teach all of us, in this matter, to suffer the
Holy Spirit to divide to every one severally as he will.
On another occasion, not liking to assume the responsibility herself,
and yet fearing for the health of her pupil, who generally spent a long
time in fervent devotion, she led the physician to the outside of the
door; but he, too, after listening for a while, did not venture to
interrupt such communion with God. Sarah of Tiary was within.
Meetings were held three days in the week with the women in the
neighborhood, and were well attended. The older pupils were allowed to
assist in these in order to form habits of doing good for after life;
and they did so to edification, both leading in prayer and addressing
the beloved mothers--as they called those older than
themselves--tenderly and in fitting words.
It was of such a work that Miss Fiske wrote at the time, "We cannot
speak confidently of its fruits at this early date, especially as many
of our dear charge are so young; but we can say what present
appearances are; and while we daily try to obey our Saviour's command,
'Feed my lambs!' we trust that friends at home will hear no less
distinctly the same voice, saying, 'Pray for my lambs in Persia.' All
those whom we regarded as Christians have shown themselves most
faithful to their Master during this season. Others, of whom we were
less confident, have seemed to pass through a previously untried
experience, and, we tremblingly hope, have laid hold of eternal life.
The same is true of several never before convicted. Among these last is
a little girl who was suddenly awakened, with as clear convictions,
apparently, as I ever saw in any; and her final trust in Christ as
implicit. For several days she would say, with tears and sobs, 'I have
never yet loved the Saviour; but O, I do want to love him now.' Her
mother is one of the few converted in Geog Tapa before the first
revival. She has suffered almost every thing for Christ. Often, on
returning late from meeting, she has found herself shut out for an hour
in a piercing winter wind, before her husband would open the door. At
other times she has been beaten, but never denied Him who bought her.
The pious natives often say that in the conversion of her daughter, she
now receives the reward of her years of prayer and faithful endurance.
The last days of the term bound the dear pupils very closely to each
other, and we trust to Christ. When the hour of separation came, a
prayer meeting was held in each room, and continued to the last moment.
Those without hope clung to their praying sisters, with tears and
entreaties for prayer. The hopeful converts went forth with a holy,
chastened gratitude and trust. We tremble for them among their wicked
friends, but rejoice that Israel's Shepherd will keep his own."
Their prayer was, "May we not carry to our homes the poison of the
second death in our hearts, but bear to them the seeds of eternal life."
But the rich blessings bestowed in Oroomiah were not all in answer to
prayer ascending from that place. There was a connection between them
and prayer offered in our own country, of which David would say, "Whoso
is wise, and will observe it, even he shall understand the loving
kindness of the Lord." Most of the revivals in Oroomiah commenced on
the day of the monthly concert of prayer, and several on or immediately
after the first Monday in January--a day specially set apart to prayer
for missions. But there was a special centre of prayer for the Female
Seminary in the institution at South Hadley; and pious hearts loved to
watch the connection between the two. While the two inquirers, on that
first Monday in 1846, were making closets for themselves with the
sticks of wood in the cellar, some of Miss Lyon's pupils distinctly
remember how she said to them that morning, "We must pray more for Miss
Fiske and her school." They did so; and they remember, too, how the
good news of the revival cheered them, when it came.
The earliest indication of interest, in 1847, was on the first Monday
in January; and letters afterwards told of special prayer for the
school offered that day in South Hadley. Almost every letter written
during the winter of 1849 contained similar information. The revival of
1856 came suddenly and unexpectedly; but when, on the night of February
17th, one of the praying pupils could not sleep, because, as she said,
"the whole school was resting on her," and at midnight went to her
teacher to ask her help in prayer, subsequent letters from America
showed, that on that night she wrestled not alone. In 1857, the first
inquiry for the way of life was on the last Thursday in February, the
day of prayer for institutions of learning. Miss Fiske returned from
the February concert of prayer, in 1858, feeling depressed on account
of the want of interest in the school, and in half an hour was called
to see two of her pupils, who felt that they could not remain the
enemies of God. In the first week of February, 1859, meetings were held
every evening in the Seminary at South Hadley to pray for the school in
Oroomiah; and a letter from Miss Rice, written that week, says, "God is
with us; souls are seeking Christ; and I am so strengthened for labor,
that I am sure Christian friends are praying for us more than they did
last month." Do Christians in this country realize as they ought the
connection between their prayers and the blessings bestowed on the
opposite side of the globe? Do we go to the monthly concert believing
that prayer, offered then and there, will, through infinite grace in
Christ Jesus, result in the salvation of souls and the advancement of
his kingdom? Such facts as these ought surely to increase our faith.
Well might a missionary say, "I have so often felt sure that I was
reaping in answer to the prayers of those far away, that on this
subject my heart is full, and my first and last word to friends is,
'Pray for us.'"