I cannot discover that, up to this point, any one text had played a
conspicuous part in precipitating the crisis which transfigured his
life. But, after this, I find one sentence repeatedly on his lips.
During a journey a man is often too engrossed with the perplexities of
the immediate present to be able to review the path as a whole. But,
when he looks back, he surveys the entire landscape in grateful
retrospect, and is astonished at the multiplicity and variety of the
perils that he has escaped. Henry Martyn had some such feeling. When, at
the age of twenty-two, he entered the ministry, he was amazed at the
greatness of the grace that had made such hallowed privileges and sacred
duties possible to him. Even in his first sermon, we are told, he
preached with a fervor of spirit and an earnestness of manner that
deeply impressed the congregation.
He preached as one who ne'er should preach again,
And as a dying man to dying men.
'For,' he wrote, '_I am but a brand plucked from the burning_.'
Again, when the needs of the world pressed like an intolerable burden
upon his spirit, the same thought decided his course. On the _one_ hand,
he saw a world lying in darkness and crying for the light. On the
_other_ hand, he saw all those sweet and sacred ties that bound him to
his native land--his devoted people, his admiring friends, and, hardest
tie of all to break, the lady whom he had fondly hoped to make his
bride. Here, on the _one_ hand, stood comfort, popularity, success and
love! And here, on the _other_, stood cruel hardship, endless
difficulties, constant loneliness, and an early grave! 'But how,' he
writes, 'can I hesitate? _I am but a brand plucked from the burning!_'
_A brand in peril of sharing the general destruction!_
_A brand seen, and prized, and rescued!_
_A brand at whose blaze other flames might be lit!_
_A brand plucked from the burning!_