here to condemn you, being myself the chief of sinners for these
twenty-five years. What have I done to bless this community? How much
have I cared for the men in my employ? What difference did it make to
me that my example drove men away from the Church of Christ, and caused
anguish to those few souls who were trying to redeem humanity? To my
just shame I make answer that no one thing has driven the engine of my
existence over the track of its destiny except self. And oh, for that
Church of Christ that I professed to believe in! How much have I done
for that? How much, O fellow members--and I see many of you here
to-night--how much have we done in the best cause ever known and the
greatest organisation ever founded? We go to church after reading the
Sunday morning paper, saturated through and through with the same
things we have had poured into us every day of the week, as if we
begrudged the whole of one day out of seven. We criticise prayer and
hymn and sermon, drop into the contribution box half the amount we paid
during the week for a theatre or concert ticket, and think we have done
our duty as Christians. Then when anything goes wrong in the
community, or our children fall into vice, we score the church for
weakness and the preacher for lack of ability. Shame on us, men of
Barton, members of the Church of Christ, that we have so neglected our
own church prayer meeting, that but of a resident membership of more
than four hundred, living in easy distance of the church, only sixty
have attended regularly and over two hundred have been to that service
only occasionally. Yet we call ourselves disciples of Christ! We say
we believe in His blessed teachings; we say we believe in prayer; but
in the face of all these professions we turn our backs with
indifference on the very means of spiritual growth and power which the
Church places within our reach. If Christ were to come to the earth
to-day, He would say unto us: 'Woe unto you, church members,
hypocrites!' He would say unto us: 'Woe unto you, young disciples in
name, who have promised to love and serve Me, and then, ashamed of
testifying before men, have broken promise and prayer, and ridiculed
those who have kept their vows sacredly!' He would say to us men who
have made money and kept it to ourselves: 'Woe unto you, ye rich men,
who dress softly and dine luxuriously and live in palaces, while the
poor cry aloud for judgment and the labourer sweats for the luxury of
the idle! Woe unto you who speculate in flesh and blood, and call no
man brother unless he lives in as fine a house and has as much money in
the bank! Therefore ye shall receive the greater condemnation!'
"O Self! god of the earth yet! With two thousand years of the Son of
God written into the world's history, still goes up the cry of those
who perish with hunger, who break into the sanctuary of their souls,
because they cannot get work to do, and are weary of the struggle of
existence. Self! thou art king; not Jesus Christ! But oh, the shame
of it! the shame of it! Were it not for my belief in the mighty
forgiveness of sins, I would stand here to-night with no hope of ever
seeing the paradise of God. But resting in that hope I wish to say to
you who have beheld the example of my selfish life, I repudiate it all.
In the world I have passed as a moral citizen and a good business man;
in society there has been no objection to my presence, on account of my
wealth and position; in the church I have been tolerated because I gave
it financial support; but in the sight of that perfect Crucified Lamb
of God I have broken the two greatest laws which He ever announced. I
have been a sinner of the deepest dye; I have been everything except a
disciple of Jesus Christ. I have prayed for mercy. I believe my
prayer has been answered.
"I am conscious that some here present may think that what I have said
has been in poor taste; that it has been an affront to the object of
the meeting or an insult to the feelings of those who have called the
audience together. In order that the people may know that I am sincere
in all I have said, I will say that I have placed in the bank the sum
of 10,000 dollars, to be used as the committee may deem wisest and best
for the education of children in bereaved homes, or for any other help
to those who need it. This money is God's. I have robbed Him and my
brother man all these years. Whatever restitution I can make in the
next few days I desire to make.
"But the great question with us all, my friends, is not this particular
disaster. That will in time take its place as one event out of
thousands in the daily life of this world. The great event of
existence is not death, it is life. The great question of the world is
not the tariff or the silver question, or the labour question, or
temperance, or this or that or the other. The great question of the
whole world is selfishness in the heart of man. The great command is,
'Seek ye first the kingdom of God.' If we had done that in this town,
I believe such a physical disaster as the one we lament would never
have happened. That is our great need.
"If we go home from this meeting resolved to rebuke our selfishness in
whatever form it is displeasing to God, and if we begin to-morrow to
act out that resolution in word and deed, we shall revolutionise this
town in its business, its politics, its church, its schools, its homes.
If we simply allow our emotions to be stirred, our sympathies to be
excited to the giving of a little money on this occasion, it will do us
and the community little permanent good. God wants a complete
transformation in the people of this nation. Nothing less than a
complete regeneration can save us from destruction. Unconsecrated,
selfish money and selfish education, selfish political power and
selfish genius in art, letters, and diplomacy will sink us as a people
into a gulf of annihilation. There is no salvation for us except in
Jesus Christ. Let us believe in Him and live in Him.
"I have said my message. I trust you have understood it. I would not
say otherwise if I knew that I should step off this platform now and
stand before the judgment seat of Christ. God help us all to do our
duty! Time is short, eternity is long. Death is nothing; life is
everything."
Five years after this speech of Robert Hardy to the people of Barton in
the town hall, one who was present in the audience described the
sensation that passed through it when the speaker sat down to be like a
distinct electric shock which passed from seat to seat, and held the
people fixed and breathless as if they had been smitten into images of
stone. The effect on the chairman of the meeting was the same. He sat
motionless. Then a wave of emotion gradually stirred the audience, and
without a word of dismission they poured out of the building and
scattered to their homes.
Robert found George waiting for him. The father was almost faint with
the re-action from his address. George gave his arm, and the two
walked home in silence.
Thus ended Robert Hardy's fourth day.
FRIDAY--THE FIFTH DAY.
We must pass hastily over the events of the next day in Robert Hardy's
life. The whole town was talking about his surprising address of the
night before. Some thought he was crazy. Others regarded him as
sincere, but after the first effect of his speech had worn off, they
criticised him severely for presuming to "preach" on such an occasion.
Still others were puzzled to account for the change in the man, for
that a change had taken place could not be denied. How slow men are to
acknowledge the power of God in the human heart! Mr. Hardy went about
his business, very little moved by all this discussion. He realised
that only two days more remained.
He spent the afternoon and evening at home, but was interrupted by
several calls. After tea the entire family gathered in the room where
Clara lay. She was living, but was still unconscious. As Mrs. Hardy
was saying something to her husband about his dream and the events of
the day before, Clara suddenly opened her eyes, and distinctly called
out the words:
"Father! what day is it?"
It was like a voice out of the long-dead past. Mr. Hardy, sitting by
the side of the bed, replied quietly, while his heart beat quickly:
"This is Friday night, dear child."
Another question came, uttered in the same strange voice:
"Father, how many more days are left for you?"
"To-morrow and Sunday."
The voice came again:
"I shall go with you then."
The eyes closed and the form became motionless as before.
It was very quiet in the room at the close of Robert Hardy's fifth day.
SATURDAY--THE SIXTH DAY.
Those words of Clara, "I shall go with you then," filled the family with
dismay. Mr. Hardy bowed his head and groaned. Mrs. Hardy, almost beside
herself with grief and terror, flew to the side of the girl, and with
beseeching cries and caresses tried to bring back to consciousness the
mind that for a moment or two had gleamed with reason and then had
relapsed into that mysterious condition in which it had been lying for
three days; but all in vain. The eyes were closed; the form was rigid.
The others, George and Will and Bess, grew pale, and Bess cried, almost
for the first time since the strange week began. Robert was the first to
break the grief with a quiet word. He raised his head, saying:
"I do not believe Clara is going to die when I do."
"Why, father, what makes you think that?" cried Alice.
"I don't know; I can't give any exact reason. I only know that I don't
believe it will happen."
"God grant that she may be spared to us," said Mrs. Hardy. "O Robert, it
is more than I can bear! Only to-day and to-morrow left! It can't be
real. I have battled against your dream all the week. It was a dream
only; I will not believe it to be anything else. You are not ill; there
is no indication that you are going to die. I will not, I cannot,
believe it! God is too good. And we need you now, Robert. Let us pray
God for mercy."
Robert shook his head sadly but firmly.
"No, Mary; I cannot resist an impression so strong that it has become
conviction, that in some way I shall be called from you Sunday night. I
have struggled against it, but it grows upon me. God is merciful. I do
not question His goodness. How much did I deserve even this week of
preparation after the life I have lived? And the time will not be long
before we shall all meet there. God grant that it may be an unbroken
company!"
Mr. Hardy spoke as anyone in his condition would. The children drew
about him lovingly. Bess climbed into his lap and laid her face against
her father's, while the strong man sobbed as he thought of all the years
of neglected affection in that family circle. The rest of the evening
was spent in talking over the probable future.
George, who seemed thoroughly humbled now, listened respectfully and even
tearfully to his father's counsel concerning the direction of business
and family matters. The boy was going through a struggle with himself
which was apparent to all in the house. Ever since his mother had seen
him kneeling down in the night watch, he had shown a new spirit. It
remained to be seen whether he had really changed, or whether he had been
merely frightened for the time being into good behaviour.
Saturday morning found the Hardys weary with the agitation of the week,
but bearing up under a strange excitement which only the prospect of the
father's approaching death or removal could have produced.
Robert could not realise that his week was almost at an end. Why, it
seemed but yesterday that he had dreamed after the Sunday evening
service! As on every other day, he asked himself the question, "What
shall I do?" Only when he had prayed could he answer the question. Then
the light came. Who says prayer is merely a form? It is going to God
for wisdom and getting it. It is crying out for light, and lo! the
darkness flees. It is spreading out our troubles and our joys and our
perplexities and our needs, and finding God Himself the best possible
answer to them all. Robert Hardy had been learning this of late, and it
was the one thing that made possible to him the calmness of the last two
days allotted him.
The day was spent in much the same way that the other days had been
spent. He went down to his office about ten o'clock, and after coming
home to lunch went down again, with the intention of getting through all
the business and returning home to spend the rest of the time with the
family. Along towards three o'clock, when the routine work of the shops
was disposed of, the manager felt an irresistible desire to speak to the
men in his employ. Those in his department numbered about eight hundred,
and he knew how impossible it would be for him to speak to them
individually. He thought a minute and then called Burns in and gave an
order that made the foreman stare in the most undisguised wonder.
"Shut down the works for a little while and ask the men to get together
in the big machine shop, I want to speak to them."
Burns had been astonished so often this week that, although he opened his
mouth to say something, he was able to repress his wonder. After staring
blankly at his employer for a minute, he turned and went out to execute
the order.
The great engine was stopped. The men from the casting rooms and the
carpenters' shops, and the store-rooms, and the repairing departments,
came trooping into the big machine shop, and sat or leaned on the great,
grim pieces of machinery. As the shop filled, the place began to take on
a strange aspect never seen there before.
Mr. Hardy crossed the yard from the office, followed by the clerks and
minor officers of the road, all curious to hear what was coming. Mr.
Hardy mounted one of the planers and looked about him. The air was still
full of gas, smoke, and that mixture of fine iron filings and oil, which
is characteristic of such places. The men were quiet and respectful.
Many of them had heard the manager's speech of Thursday night at the town
hall. Most of them were aware that some change had taken place in him.
It had been whispered about that he had arranged matters for the men
injured in the Sunday accident so that they would not suffer for anything.
The grimy, hard-muscled, hard-featured crowd of eight hundred men all
turned their eyes upon the figure standing erect and pale-faced on the
great planer, and he in turn looked out through the blue murky atmosphere
at them with an intensity of expression which none in that audience
understood. As Mr. Hardy went on with his speech they began to
understand what that look meant.
"My brothers," began the manager, with a slight tremble in the words so
new to him, "as this may be the last time I shall ever speak to you, I
want to say what I feel I owe to you. For twenty-five years I have
carried on the work in this place without any thought of the eight
hundred men in these shops, except as their names were on the pay roll of
the company. It never made any difference to me when your wives and
children grew sick and died; I never knew what sort of houses you lived
in, except that in comparison with mine they must have been very crowded
and uncomfortable. For all these twenty-five years I have been as
indifferent to you as a man possibly could be to men who work for him.
It has not occurred to me during this time that I could be anything else.
I have been too selfish to see my relation to you and act upon it.
"Now I do not call you in here to-day to apologise for twenty-five years
of selfishness--not that alone; but I do want you to know that I have
been touched by the hand of God in such a way that before it is too late
I want to call you all 'brothers.' I ask that when you think of me
hereafter it may be as I am now, to-day, not as I have been in all the
past years.
"It is not for me to say how far or in what manner I have trampled on the
brotherhood of the race. I have called myself a Christian. I have been
a member of a church. Yet I confess here to-day that under the authority
granted me by the company I have more than once dismissed good, honest,
faithful workmen in large bodies, and cut down wages unnecessarily to
increase dividends, and have thought of the human flesh and blood in
these shops as I have thought of the iron and steel here. I confess all
that and more. Whatever has been un-Christian I hope will be forgiven.
"There are many things we do to our fellow-men in this world which
abide--the sting of them, I mean. The impress of my selfishness is
stamped on this place. It will take years to remove it. I might have
been far more to you. I might have raised my voice, as a Christian and
an influential director of this road, against the Sunday work and
traffic; I never did. I might have relieved unnecessary discomfort in
different departments; I refused to do it. I might have helped the cause
of temperance in this town by trying to banish the saloon; instead of
that I voted to license an establishment of crime and poverty and
disease. I might have used my influence and my wealth to build healthy,
comfortable homes for the men who work on this road; I never raised my
finger in the matter. I might have helped to make life a happier,
sweeter thing to the nearly one thousand souls in this building; but I
went my selfish way, content with my own luxurious home and the ambition
for self-culture and the pride of self-accomplishments. Yet there is not
a man here to-day who isn't happier than I am.
"In the name of the good God, who forgives our sins for Jesus' sake, I
wish you the wish of a man who looks into the other world and sees things
as they really are. I do not desire you to think of my life as a
Christian life. It has not been such; but as you hope to be forgiven at
last, forgive all wrongs at my hands.
"You are living in the dawn of a happier day for labour. There are
Christian men in business, and some few connected with railroads, who are
trying to apply the principles of Christianity to the business and frame
of the world. My probable successor in these shops is such a man.
"God is love. I have forgotten that myself. I have walked through life
forgetful of Him. But I know that He is drawing the nations and the
world together to-day in true sympathy. The nations that are
persistently defiant and disobedient to God shall perish. The rulers who
haughtily take God's place and oppress the people shall be destroyed.
The men of power and intelligence and money who use these three great
advantages merely to bless themselves and add to their own selfish
pleasure and ease, shall very soon be overthrown. I would give all I
possess to be able to live and see a part of it come to pass. Men,
brothers, some of you younger ones will live to see that day.
"Love God and obey Him. Envy not the rich. They are often more
miserable than you imagine. True happiness consists in a conscience at
peace with God and a heart free from selfish desires and habits. I thank
you for your attention. You will know better why I have said all this to
you when you come in here again to work next Monday. My brothers, God
bless you. God bless us all!"
When Robert stepped down from the planer and started towards the door,
more than one black hand was thrust into his with the words, "God bless
you, sir!" He felt a strange desire to weep. Never before had he felt
that thrill shoot through him at the grasp of the hand of his brother
man. His speech had made a profound impression on the men. Many of them
did not understand the meaning of certain sentences; but the spirit of
Mr. Hardy was unmistakable, and the men responded in a manner that
touched him deeply.
He finally went into his office; the big engine started up again, and the
whirr and dust and clamour of the shops went on. But men bent over their
work there, in the gathering dusk of the winter day, who felt a new
heart-throb at the recollection of the pale face and sincere word of the
man who had broken a selfish silence of a quarter of a century to call
them brothers. O Robert Hardy, what glorious opportunities you missed to
love and be loved! With all your wealth you have been a very poor man
all your life until now, the next to the last day of it!
There is little need to describe the rest of this day. Robert went home.
Everyone greeted him tenderly. His first inquiry was for Clara. Still
in that trance-like sleep; would she never wake? Mrs. Hardy shuddered
with fear. She had spent much of the day in prayer and tears. The
evening sped by without special incident.
James Caxton came and joined the family circle. His presence reminded
Mr. Hardy of the old quarrel with the young man's father. He said to
James that if anything should prevent him from seeing his father the next
day, James might tell him how completely and sincerely he wished the
foolish quarrel forgotten, and his own share in it forgiven.
So that day came to a close in family conference, in tears, in fear and
hope and anxiety and prayer. But Mrs. Hardy would not lose all hope. It
did not seem to her possible that her husband could be called away the
next night.
SUNDAY--THE SEVENTH DAY.
Alice, with the quickness of thought that always characterised her,
planned that all the rest should go to church while she remained with
Clara. Will was able to go out now. So, for the first time in months,
Robert and his wife and Bess and the two boys sat together in the same
seat. George had not been to church for a year, and Will was very
irregular in his attendance.
The opening services seemed especially impressive and beautiful to Mr.
Hardy. He wondered how he had ever dared sit and criticise Mr. Jones'
preaching and his reading of the hymns. To be sure, he was not a
perfect speaker; but his love for his people and for all men and his
rarely good everyday life were so remarkable, that they ought to have
counted for more than they ever did. It is astonishing how many good
deeds and good men pass through this world unnoticed and unappreciated;
while every evil deed is caught up and magnified and criticised by
press and people, until it seems as if the world must be a very wicked
place indeed, and the good people very scarce.
Mr. Hardy joined in the service with a joy unknown to him for years.
He had come to it from the reading of his Bible instead of the reading
of the morning paper, and from prayer instead of from thoughts of his
business or a yawning stroll through his library. His mind was
receptive of the best things in the service. He entered into it with
the solemn feeling that it was his last.
When the minister gave out the text, "For we must all appear before the
judgment seat of Christ; that every one may receive the things done in
his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad,"
Mr. Hardy started, and leaned forward intently, feeling that the
message of the preacher was peculiarly for him and strangely
appropriate to his condition. The first statement of the sermon
arrested his attention and held him irresistibly to the end of the
argument:
"The judgment seat of Christ will not be a dreadful place to a man
whose sins have been forgiven in this world; but if he comes up to it
seamed and scarred and stained with sins unrepented of and unforgiven
because he has not asked God to forgive him, it will be a place of
awful fear to his soul. There are men here in this audience who are as
ready to die now as they ever will be; they have made their peace with
God; they have no quarrel with their neighbours; their accounts are all
square in business; they are living in loving relations with the home
circle; they have no great burdens of remorse or regret weighing them
down; if God should call them this minute to step up to the judgment
seat, they would be ready.
"But there are other men here who are not at all ready for such a
tremendous event. They may think they are, but they are mistaken. How
can they stand before the greatest Being in all the universe and have
no fear, when they are unprepared to answer His questions: 'Why did you
not confess Me before men? Why did you not do as I commanded and bear
the burdens of the weak instead of pleasing yourself?' What will they
say then?