Let me ask the poor backslider, Did you ever feel the touch of the
hand of Jesus? If so, you will know it again, for there is love in it.
There is a story told in connection with our war of a mother who
received a despatch that her boy was mortally wounded. She went down
to the front, as she knew that those soldiers told to watch the sick
and wounded could not watch her boy as she would. So she went to the
doctor, and said, "Would you like me to take care of my boy?" The
doctor said, "We have just let him go to sleep, and if you go to him
the surprise will be so great it might be dangerous to him. He is in a
very critical state. I will break the news to him gradually." "But,"
said the mother, "he may never wake up. I should so dearly like to see
him." Oh, how she longed to see him! and finally the doctor said, "You
can see him, but if you wake him up and he dies, it will be your
fault." "Well," she said, "I will not wake him up if I may only go by
his dying cot and see him." Well, she went to the side of the cot. Her
eyes had longed to see him; and as she gazed upon him she could not
keep her hand off that pallid forehead, and she laid it gently there.
There was love and sympathy in that hand, and the moment the
slumbering boy felt it, he said, "Oh, mother, have you come?" He knew
there was sympathy and affection in the touch of that hand. And if
you, oh, sinner, will let Jesus reach out His hand and touch your
heart, you, too, will find there is sympathy and love in it. That
every lost soul here may be saved, and come to the arms of our blessed
Saviour, is the prayer of my heart!
Jesus, my Saviour, to Bethlehem come,
Born in a manger to sorrow and shame;
Oh it was wonderful blest be His name,
Seeking for me, for me.
Jesus, my Saviour, on Calvary's tree,
Paid my great debt, and my soul He set free;
Oh, it was wonderful, how could it be!
Dying for me, for me.