The Scotch Lassie.
There is a story told of an incident that occurred during the last
Indian mutiny. The English were besieged in the city of Lucknow, and
were in momentary expectation of perishing at the hands of the fiends
that surrounded them. There was a little Scotch lassie in this fort,
and, while lying on the ground, she suddenly shouted, her face aglow
with joy, "Dinna ye hear them comin'; dinna ye hear them comin'?" "Hear
what?" they asked, "Dinna ye hear them comin?" And she sprang to her
feet. It was the bagpipes of her native Scotland she heard. It was a
native air she heard that was being played by a regiment of her
countrymen marching to the relief of those captives, and these
deliverers made them free. Oh, my friends, don't you hear Jesus Christ
crying to you to-night?
Geo. H. Stewart Visits a Doomed Criminal.
I remember hearing a story of Mr. George Stewart. One day the Governor
of Pennsylvania came to him and said, "Mr. Stewart, I want you to go to
such a prison and tell that man for whose execution I signed the warrant
the other day, that there is not a ray of hope for him. When the day and
hour comes he must be executed. His mother has been tormenting the life
out of me; and all his friends have been running after me day and night,
and they are giving the poor fellow a false hope." "That is a very
disagreeable thing to do, Governor," answered Mr. Stewart. "Well, I want
you to go and tell him, so that he can be settled in his mind." The
story goes that when the doors of the cell were opened, that prisoner
seized Mr. Stewart's hands, and in his joy cried, "You are a good man. I
know you have come with a pardon from the Governor." But when Mr.
Stewart told him the Governor had sent him to say there was not a ray of
hope for him, that upon the day and hour he must be executed, the man
completely broke down and fainted away. The thought that at such a day
and such an hour he was going to be ushered into eternity, was too much
for the poor fellow. Suppose I come to you to-night and tell you there
is not a ray of hope--that you have broken the law of pardon. How many
would say, "I know a great deal better. The blackest sinner on earth
Christ can save. He says so." But, my friends, there is no hope without
the deliverance to be free from the bondage of sin.
The Demoniac.
When this man found himself delivered he wanted to go with the Saviour.
That was gratitude; Christ had saved him, had redeemed him. He had
delivered him from the hand of the enemy. And this man cried: "Let me
follow You around the world; where You go I will go." But the Lord said,
"You go home and tell your friends what good things the Lord has done
for you." And he started home. I would like to have been in that house
when he came there. I can imagine how the children would look when they
saw him, and say, "Father is coming." "Shut the door," the mother would
cry; "look out! fasten the window; bolt every door in the house." Many
times he very likely had come and abused his family and broken the
chairs and tables and turned the mother into the street and alarmed all
the neighbors. They see him now coming down the street. Down he comes
till he gets to the door, and then gently knocks. You don't hear a sound
as he stands there. At last he sees his wife at the window and he says,
"Mary!" "Why," she says, "why he speaks as he did when I first married
him; I wonder if he has got well?" So she looks out and asks: "John, is
that you?" "Yes, Mary," he replies, "it's me, don't be afraid any mare,
I'm well now." I see that mother, how she pulls back the bolts of that
door, and looks at him. The first look is sufficient, and she springs
into his arms and clings about his neck. She takes him in and asks him a
hundred questions--how it all happened--all about it. "Well, just take a
chair and I'll tell you how I got cured." The children hang back and
look amazed. He says: "I was there in the tombs, you know, cutting
myself with stones, and running about in my nakedness, when Jesus of
Nazareth came that way. Mary, did you ever hear of Him? He is the most
wonderful man; I've never seen a man like Him. He just ran in and told
those devils to leave me, and they left me. When He had cured me I
wanted to follow Him, but He told me to come home and tell you all about
it." The children by and by gather about his knee, and the elder ones
run to tell their playmates what wonderful things Jesus has done for
their father. Ah, my friends, we have got a mighty deliverer, I don't
care what affliction you have, He will deliver you from it. The Son of
God who cast out those devils can deliver you from your besetting sin.
Spurgeon's Parable.
Mr. Spurgeon, a number of years ago, made a parable. He thought he had a
right to make one, and he did it. He said: "There was once a tyrant who
ordered one of his subjects into his presence, and ordered him to make a
chain. The poor blacksmith--that was his occupation--had to go to work
and forge the chain. When it was done he brought it into the presence of
the tyrant, and he was ordered to take it away and make it twice the
length. He brought it again to the tyrant, and again he was ordered to
double it. Back he came when he had obeyed the order, and the tyrant
looked at it, and then commanded the servants to bind the man hand and
foot with the chain he had made and cast him into prison. "And," Mr.
Spurgeon said, "that is what the devil does with man." He makes them
forge their own chain, and then binds them hand and foot with it, and
casts them into outer darkness." My friends, that is just what these
drunkards, these gamblers, these blasphemers--that is just what every
sinner is doing. But, thank God, we can tell you of a deliverer. The Son
of God has power to break everyone of these fetters if you will only
come to Him.