"My father is dying! He is in great distress of body and mind. I've
called to ask if you won't please come and see him, for there's no one
to speak a word to him about his soul, and I fear he can't live till
morning."
"But," said I, "I am not a minister, and am afraid I could be of little
service. Has your father no experienced Christian friend who would like
to converse with him? What church does he attend?"
"We do not go any where to meeting," she replied, with an embarrassed
air; "but father had been talking about it some time!"
"Hadn't you better go for a clergyman, then? There's Rev. Mr. E."
"I've been for him," she quickly returned, "but he was not at home, and
then I inquired for some one who could pray, and a man sent me to you.
Do please go, sir, for father is very anxious that I get some one, and
I can't leave him long, he suffers so, and he 'll feel dreadfully if
nobody comes to see him."
There was a coincidence in this unexpected call that impressed me. I
had been much exercised with the desire to be more actively useful as
a Christian, and had felt moved to pray that larger opportunities for
doing good might be given. Was this an answer to that prayer? But it
did not come in the way I had anticipated, and numberless excuses were
ready to present themselves, the most weighty of which was my extreme
youth, and consequent inexperience; and (shall I confess it?) I even
glanced, with selfish shrinking, out at the driving blast. But the case
would admit of no parleying. With pale, imploring face, my caller stood
waiting my decision. Strength came, and I said,—
"I will go, and do the best I can for your father;" and, thanking me,
she hurried away.
In a distant and disreputable part of the city, alone, on a dreary
declivity overlooking the sea, stood the dwelling of the sick man.
Entering, I had stepped to the feeble fire that flickered in the grate,
to warm me ere speaking to him, when, casting my eyes toward the bed,
they met his. Such an expression of wild despair I had never before
seen. In the thrilling tones of one consciously approaching eternity
unprepared, he exclaimed, stretching out his hand,—
"'I want some one to point me the way!'"
Instantly all diffidence fled; and, grasping his hand, I began to
question him about his past life and present feelings. Suspicious
of "death-bed repentance," I dealt plainly with him, which was well
received. The result was a conviction that his was a case of genuine
sorrow for sin. He had been a man of great physical strength and
endurance. His business had called him to stand much in the water,
as he worked about the vessels in the harbor, experiencing no ill
effects from his exposed life till within a short time, when his
lower limbs commenced swelling, accompanied by excruciating pain, the
torture increasing as the disease crept up toward the vitals. Now his
sufferings were well nigh intolerable, and his swollen appearance
made him a truly frightful object. His naturally fine mind remained
unclouded, however, and its whole vigor was exercised in self-accusing
reviews of the past, and hopeless anticipations of the future.
"Oh," said he, "it's not the fear of death that troubles me so much as
thoughts of my wasted, godless life. I have lived as if there was no
God. What a stupid, ungrateful wretch I have been! And he has been so
good, so forbearing, so patient. For fifty years and more I never saw a
sick day, and yet no love toward him who made and preserved me! Oh, how
can I think of it!"—and he covered his face as if to hide some hideous
vision.
"But," I asked, "did you have no concern about these things till you
were taken sick?"
"Yes; one day, a few weeks before, I fell to thinking over my past
life,—I know not what made me,—and I saw it to be all wrong. Then I
resolved to do better. But what a task I found it to overcome evil
habits formed through so many years; and then my sins, my sins, they
were a load crushing me to despair. One thing, however, I determined
on, and that was to attend preaching somewhere. But, delaying to get
suitable clothing, I was meanwhile laid up with this sickness. And
now," he continued, "what I wish more than any thing else is to be rid
of sin and serve God. But how can this be? How can I hope he will have
mercy on me, when all the strength of my days has been given to self
and sin? What shall I do? what shall I do? It's all dark to me."
Assuring him that salvation was free and ample, that the blessed
Saviour invited all who felt their need of it to partake without money
and without price, he could not credit the good news, and exclaimed,
with moving earnestness,—
"Read it to me from 'the Book.' I want to hear it for myself, that I
may know there is no mistake about it!"
Drawing a Bible from my pocket, and lifting up a prayer for guidance,
for I knew not where to turn, I opened at this passage: "Jesus stood
and cried, saying, If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink."
A divine radiance seemed to rest on the Lord's invitation, and as I was
explaining it, he suddenly exclaimed,—
"'I see it!'" He had fallen back on the pillow, a smile surpassingly
beautiful irradiating his before distorted features. Those wondrous
words of Christ, in which divine majesty blends with perfect human
sympathy, through the Spirit's power, had inspired trust. The cloud,
the darkness, the storm passed from his soul, and, like a tired infant
nestling in his mother's arms, so he found rest in the love of his
Saviour.
How blessed to kneel in prayer after such a change! Prayer was turned
to praise, and that lowly cot became as the gate of heaven. Nor did
his peace abate, for when I called again, three days afterwards, and
inquired how he felt,—
"Oh!" said he, with beaming face, "it's so delightful; 'it is peace in
the morning, and peace at night.' My mind is so at rest," he continued,
"that even my bodily pains, at times, seem all to have left me."
But how can I express the gladness that filled my heart that night,
as I left the aged convert to return home! The howling tempest could
not drown the melody that came down from angel-harps, to the ear of
faith, as in the presence of God there was joy over another repentant
sinner. Christian disciple, pray to be a true laborer for Christ. Watch
to improve each opportunity the Lord shall give for activity in his
vineyard. Charlotte Elizabeth writes, "I asked work of my heavenly
Master, and he gave it." None shall ask it of him in vain. Fear not
to follow his leadings. The impenitent are more ready to hear on the
subject of their eternal interests than is generally supposed. "I
have," says Newcomb, "conversed with many hundreds, in almost every
variety of states of mind, not excepting avowed infidels, but have
rarely met with one who did not receive it kindly, and treat me with
courtesy." Since the incident related above, which occurred in my
eighteenth year, personal religious conversation with some "thousands"
enables me to bear a similar testimony.