THEIR SECOND SABBATH ON THE ISLAND, AND THE WAY THEY SPENT IT
On coming together in the morning, Robert proposed that they should add
to their usual religious exercises the singing of a hymn. "It is
father’s plan," said he, "to mark the Sabbath with as many pleasant
peculiarities as possible."
Harold was gratified with the suggestion, but remarked, "As I cannot
sing, you must allow me to join you in my heart, or else to assist the
music with my flute."
"Oh, the flute, by all means!" Mary replied. "And see here what a
beautiful hymn I have just found!"
Robert took the book, and read with remarkable appropriateness of tone
and manner that exquisite hymn by Dr. Watts, beginning
"My God, how endless is thy love!"
The music that morning was unusually sweet. The voices of the singers
were rendered plaintive by a consciousness of their helpless situation;
and the rich tones of the flute, together with Sam’s African voice,
which was marked by indescribable mellowness, added greatly to the
effect.
The subject of the chapter was the parable of the prodigal son. Sam,
poor fellow, raised himself on his elbow, and listened attentively; his
remark made afterwards to Mary, showed that, however far beyond his
comprehension a great part of the parable may have been, he had caught
its general drift and meaning. "De Lord is berry kind; he meet de
sinner afore he get home, and forgib him ebbery ting."
About nine o’clock the young people separated, with the understanding
that they were to re-assemble at eleven, for the purpose of reading the
Scriptures, and of conversation about its teachings.
Robert went to the beach, and taking his seat upon a log, near the
flag-staff, looked upon the ocean, and engaged in deep reflection upon
their lonely situation, and the waning prospects of their deliverance.
His Testament gradually slipped from his grasp, and his head sunk
between his knees. Such was his absorption of mind, that the big drops
gathered upon his forehead, and he was conscious of nothing except of
his separation from home, and of the necessity for exertion. At last he
heard a voice from the tent. Harold and Mary were beckoning to him; and
looking up to the sun, he saw that eleven o’clock had come and passed.
He sprang to his feet, and in doing so, was rebuked to see lying on the
ground the Testament which he had taken to read, but had not opened.
Harold, on leaving the tent, took his pocket Bible and strolled up the
river bank, to a pleasant cluster of trees, where he selected a seat
upon the projecting root of a large magnolia. His mind also reverted
naturally to their lonely situation; but he checked the rising thoughts,
by saying to himself, "No. I have time enough during the week for
thoughts like these. The Sabbath is given for another purpose, which it
will not do for me longer to neglect. When the Lord delivered us in
that strange way at sea, I resolved to live like a Christian, but I have
neither lived nor felt as I ought. The Lord forgive me for my neglect,
and help me to do better." He knelt down, and for several minutes was
engaged in endeavouring to realize that he was in the presence of God.
His first words were a hearty confession that, although he had been
early taught to know his duty, he had not done it, nor had the heart to
do it; and, though in the experience of countless blessings, he had
never been grateful for any until the time of that unexpected
deliverance. He thanked God for having taught him by that dreadful
accident to feel that he was a sinner, and that it was a terrible thing
to live and to die such. He said he knew there were promises, many and
great, to all who would repent of sin, and believe in Jesus Christ, and
he prayed that God would enable him so to repent and believe, as to feel
that the promises were made to him.
Rising from his knees, and sitting upon the root of the tree, he opened
the Bible, and his eye rested upon the fifty-fifth chapter of Isaiah,
"Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath
no money; come ye, buy and eat; yea, come; buy wine and milk, without
money and without price." Here he stopped, for his eyes filled, and the
page became obscured. He put his hands to his face, and thought, "That
passage surely describes _me_. I came to this spot as a thirsty person
goes to a spring. My soul longs for something, I know not what, except
that God only can supply it, and that I have nothing to offer for its
purchase. Now God says that he will _give_ it, ’without money and
without price.’ O, what a blessing! O, how merciful! Let me see that
passage again."
He re-opened the Bible, which had been laid in his lap, but the place
had not been marked, and was not to be found. After searching some
time, he turned to the New Testament, and having opened it at the
Epistle to the Romans, was turning back to the Gospels, when his eye was
caught by these words (contained in the seventh and eighth verses of the
fourth chapter of Romans): "Blessed are they whose iniquities are
forgiven, and whose sins are covered. Blessed is the man to whom the
Lord will not impute sin." "Ah, yes!" he exclaimed, "how true that is!
There is no blessing like it." Supposing that something might be said
in the chapter to show how sin may be forgiven and covered, he read the
chapter through, but was disappointed. The only clear idea he gained
was that Abraham was counted righteous, and was saved, not by his works,
but by his faith. This confused him. "I always thought," said he,
"that people were saved because they were good. But this teaches,--let
me see what,"--at this time his eye rested on the words, "Now it was not
written for his sake alone (viz. that Abraham’s faith was imputed to him
for righteousness), but FOR US ALSO, _to whom_ it shall be imputed, if
we believe on him that raised up Jesus, our Lord, from the dead, who was
delivered for our offences, and was raised again for our justification."
"Ah, there comes my case again!" he mentally exclaimed. "It does seem
as if God is opening to me the scriptures. This fact, about Abraham,
was _recorded_ not for his sake, but FOR OUR SAKES _now_. And the
blessing bestowed on him (that is, the forgiveness of sin), shall be
bestowed on us too, ’if we believe on Him (that is, God the Father),
that raised up Jesus from the dead, who was delivered (that is, given up
to death--put to death) for our offences, but raised again for our
justification.’ But justification, what does that mean?"
He glanced his eye over the chapter. It flashed upon him that
justification means nothing more nor less than what Paul had been
speaking of throughout the whole chapter. Abraham was "justified"--that
is, "sin was not imputed to him"--he was "counted righteous," on account
of his faith. Now he understood the passage. It declared that we too
shall be justified, if we believe on God, who gave up Jesus to suffer
for our sins, and who raised him again that we might be counted
righteous.
As soon as he had conceived this idea, and had certified his mind of its
correctness, by reading the passage over several times, he fell once
more upon his knees, and said, "O Lord, I am a sinner. But thou hast
said, ’Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters; and he that
hath no money.’ I come as a sinner, thirsting for pardon, but having no
money to offer for its purchase. My only hope is in Thy promise. I
plead it now before Thee. Thou hast promised, that as Abraham was
justified by faith, so shall we be, if we believe on Thee, who didst
raise Jesus from the dead. Lord, I believe; help thou my unbelief.
Accept of me as righteous in thy sight, not because I am righteous--for
I am not, but because Jesus Christ was delivered for our offences, and
raised again for our justification. Forgive my iniquities, cover my
sins, and make me all that thou wouldst have me be, for Jesus Christ’s
sake. Amen."
For some minutes he continued kneeling; his eyes were closed, his hands
clasped, and his bowed face marked by strong emotion. It was pleasant
to be thus engaged. He had experienced for the first time the
blessedness of drawing near to God, and now he was listening to that
"still small voice," that spoke peace to his inmost soul.
Once more he sat upon the rough root of the tree. He opened his Bible to
the same page which had been so instructive, but it was to the next
chapter, where he read: "Therefore, being justified by faith, we have
peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ." "Yes, yes," he
murmured, as his hand sought his bosom. "Peace indeed! Peace with God!
Peace through our Lord Jesus Christ--and justified by faith." He
continued reading:
"By whom we have access by faith into this grace wherein we stand, and
rejoice in hope of the glory of God. And not only so, but we glory in
tribulations also; knowing that tribulation worketh patience, and
patience experience, and experience hope, and hope maketh not ashamed,
because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts, by the Holy Ghost
which is given unto us."
"Ah! is not this true?" he joyfully soliloquized. "We glory in
tribulations. I used to wonder how people could glory in trouble. But
now, thanks to God for trouble! especially for the trouble that brought
us to this island, and brought me to Jesus Christ! Yes, _thanks to God
for trouble_!"
Having read the chapter to the end, and found, as is usual with persons
in his state of mind, that although he could not understand it all,
there was scarcely a verse in which he did not discover something
suitable to his case, he knelt down and consecrated himself to God;
praying that the Lord would grant him grace to live as a Christian, and
more particularly so to live, as to be the means of bringing his young
companions to a knowledge of the truth. As he closed his prayer, the
words of the morning hymn rose vividly to his recollection; he did not
indeed use them as any part of his address to a throne of grace, but he
used them as uttering beautifully the language of his own heart in that
sweet communion to which he was now initiated.
"I yield my powers to thy command,
To thee I consecrate my days;
Perpetual blessings from thy hand
Demand perpetual songs of praise."
Looking at his watch he saw that the hour of eleven was at hand. He
turned his face toward the tent, and walked slowly onward, and as he
went his lips continually murmured,
"Perpetual blessings from thy hand,
Demand perpetual songs of praise."
While Robert and Harold were thus engaged, Mary told Frank to amuse
himself not far away, and that after she had looked over her own lessons
she would call for him. In the act of going to her room, she was
arrested by the voice of Sam, who said:
"Please, misses, Mas Robert and Mas Harold both gone away; and if you
can, read some of the Bible to your poor sick servant--do, misses."
Touched by his melancholy earnestness, she promised to do so with
pleasure, after having finished Frank’s lessons and her own; and indeed,
urged on by his apparent thankfulness, she dispatched her task in
one-half the usual time, and then called for Frank.
"What! have you learned your lessons already?" he asked, in some
surprise. She replied, "Yes." "Then," said he, "I wish you would make
mine as short, for it took you a very little while." But when she
informed him of the secret of her rapidity, and he heard a plaintive,
half-devotional sigh from Sam’s corner, he said, "Get the book, sister;
I will learn as fast as I can, and then we can both go and sit by him,
while you read." Mary patted his cheek, saying that he was a good
fellow, whenever he chose to be; and giving him the book, he stood by
her side, and learnt his lessons very soon, and very well.
The chapter selected at Sam’s request was the third of John. With this
he was so well acquainted as to be able to repeat verse after verse,
while Mary was reading, and he seemed withal to have a very clear idea
of its meaning. Mary was surprised. She knew that her father was in
the habit of calling his plantation negroes together on Sabbath
evenings, and instructing them from the Scriptures, but she had no idea
that the impressions made by his labour had been so deep.
It was not until half-past eleven that they were all assembled and
composed. They sang several hymns, then conversed freely upon the
subject of the chapter, which had interested them in the morning, and on
which they had promised to reflect. These exercises occupied them so
pleasantly that it was past the usual hour ere any one thought of
dinner.
A part of Dr. Gordon’s custom had been to call upon each of his children
every day at their midday meal, to tell what "new knowledge" they had
gained since that hour of the day preceding. On Sundays the same plan
was pursued, except that the knowledge was required to be suitable to
the day. This practice was on the present occasion resumed by the young
people. Frank’s new knowledge consisted of part of his morning lesson;
Mary’s, of a new method devised by her for remembering the order of
certain books in the Bible; Robert’s, of the aim and object of the
parable just discussed: it was a keen rebuke to the Scribes and
Pharisees, who murmured against Jesus for receiving sinners and eating
with them. When Harold’s turn came, he spoke with much emotion, and a
face radiant with pleasure. He said that he had on that day learnt the
most important lesson of his life; how good the Lord is, and how great a
sinner he himself had been; he had learnt how to love Him, and how to
trust Him; how to read the Bible, and how to pray. He was not able to
tell how it happened, but there was now a meaning in the Scriptures, and
a sweetness in prayer, that he had never before suspected, and that he
hoped it would last for ever. He concluded by saying that he could
conceive of no greater blessing than that of being enabled to feel all
his life-long as he felt that morning, after promising to try to live
like a Christian.
To these remarks of Harold no one made reply. Robert looked down a
moment, then directed his gaze far away, as if disturbed by some painful
recollection. Mary gazed wistfully on her cousin, and covered her face
with both hands. Frank slid from his seat, and coming to Harold’s side,
insinuated himself upon his knee, and looked affectionately into his
face. All felt that a great event had happened in their little circle;
and that from that time forth their amiable cousin was in a most
important sense their superior. They separated in silence, Robert going
to the spring, Mary to her room, and Harold to talk with Sam.
Late in the afternoon they went together to the seashore, and sitting
around their flag-staff, on the clear white sand, looked over the gently
rippling waters, and talked thankfully of their merciful deliverance,
and of their pleasant Island of Refuge. The air became chilly, and the
stars peeped out, before they sought the tent. Again soft music stole
upon the night air, and floated far over the sands and waters. Then all
was hushed. The youthful worshippers had retired. And so softly did
sleep descend upon their eyelids, and so peacefully did the night pass,
that one might almost have fancied angels had become their guardians,
were it not for the still more animating thought that the _God_ of the
angels was there, and that He "gave his beloved sleep."