More than half a century ago a faithful minister coming early to the kirk,
met one of his deacons, whose face wore a very resolute expression.
"I came early to meet you," he said. "I have something on my conscience to
say to you. Pastor, there must be something radically wrong in your
preaching and work; there has been only one person added to the church in a
whole year, and he is only a boy."
The old minister listened. His eyes moistened, and his thin hand trembled
on his broad-headed cane.
"I feel it all," he said; "I feel it, but God knows that I have tried to do
my duty, and I can trust him for the results."
"Yes, yes," said the deacon, "but 'by their fruits ye shall know them,' and
one new member, and he, too, only a boy, seems to me rather a slight
evidence of true faith and zeal. I don't want to be hard, but I have this
matter on my conscience, and I have done but my duty in speaking plainly."
"True," said the old man; "but 'charity suffereth long and is kind; beareth
all things, hopeth all things.' Ay, there you have it; 'hopeth all things'!
I have great hopes of that one boy, Robert. Some seed that we sow bears
fruit late, but that fruit is generally the most precious of all."
The old minister went to the pulpit that day with a grieved and heavy
heart. He closed his discourse with dim and tearful eyes. He wished that
his work was done forever, and that he was at rest among the graves under
the blossoming trees in the old kirkyard. He lingered in the dear old kirk
after the rest were gone. He wished to be alone. The place was sacred and
inexpressibly dear to him. It had been his spiritual home from his youth.
Before this altar he had prayed over the dead forms of a bygone generation,
and had welcomed the children of a new generation; and here, yes, here, he
had been told at last that his work was no longer owned and blessed!