I WAS visiting in the quiet city of N—. On the street a clerical friend
met me, and said,—
"I want you to come to our conference meeting this evening, and hear
one of my members talk. It will do you good."
Now I confess to a partiality for those social services, in which
young and old, the lettered and unlettered, all turn preachers, and
in the freedom of God's family circle make heart-offerings of prayer,
and praise, and exhortation. Would that we had less "pulpit" and more
"church" in our sanctuaries; at least, I should prefer it.
The good pastor's flock were accustomed to prayer-meeting privileges,
and no time was lost.
"That's the man," whispered my friend; "listen."
At that instant a man arose in a side pew, and commenced speaking.
Partly bald, his thin, light hair fell from a high forehead, while
his sharply cut features, bronzed by exposure to sun and storm, wore
a bold, stern look, as of one accustomed to face danger without
shrinking. His voice was resonant and full, his manner assured and
forcible. A tender smile, like sunlight resting on the jagged rock,
played over his face,—a face accustomed more to harsher moods, one
would think.
His words—I will not attempt to rehearse them—were wondrously weighty
and convincing, as, with a confidence such as the Apostles had
after the baptism of Pentecost, he reasoned out of the Scriptures
of "righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come." He spoke like
one who had consciously emerged from darkness to light; who had been
soundly converted from the extremity of ungodliness to a living
discipleship. And when he alluded to his own experience, how touching
and persuasive!
"Sinner!" he exclaimed; "you who make light of these things, pleased
with the trifles of earth, hugging sin, your deadliest foe, to your
hearts, rejecting the only good, eagerly pressing on the broad road to
destruction, look at me, a monument of God's sparing mercy, a trophy
of his grace! Some of you have known me from my childhood. You can
remember what a vile, God-defying, blasphemous wretch I was. You have
heard me insult the Majesty of heaven and earth; yes, pour out my
swearing wrath on Him who died for me. It is but a year since he spoke
to me as to Saul of Tarsus, and brought me to his feet. Since then my
testimony has been one and the same. I am a new creature; old things
have passed away. I have found him of whom Moses and the prophets
did write; and in finding him I have found every thing. Sin's strong
fetters have been broken; pardon, peace, joy, love, the fellowship of
the saints, the communion of the Holy Ghost, heaven, all are mine, and
can 'you' stay away?"
Then, plaintively, almost soliloquizing, "Fifty years of my life were
wasted in sin, before I saw the great light. I have been all over the
world, seen hardships and danger in many a clime, all the while defying
the God who made and preserved me. Yes, I have been to Palestine,
trodden that sacred soil with a heart harder than adamant, gone over
those places hallowed by the weary feet, watered by the tears and blood
of Immanuel,—but what was it all to me? Oh, that I could once more see
that land, all-glorious! Oh, that I might again look on Jordan and
Tiberias, Gethsemane and Calvary, now that he has had pity on a wretch
like me, and revealed himself to my soul. How dear, how holy, would be
those scenes!—what joy, what rapture would thrill my heart! But this
can not be. But, blessed be God, the heavenly Canaan—
"'Stands dressed in living green.'
"I shall see 'that.' I shall behold Him whom I once reviled, but who is
now to my soul the chiefest among ten thousand, and the One altogether
lovely. Sinner, will you go with me? Come, for there is room for all!"
"What," said the preacher, as we walked home together, "did you think
of that?" referring to the exhortation I have meagerly sketched.
"Ah!" I replied, with a sigh, "if we all could speak with that
assurance of faith and depth of conviction."
"And yet," he continued, "that man was one of the worst, most hopeless
scoffers I ever heard of. The language he would use in expressing his
scorn and hatred of the Saviour is too horrible to repeat. But since
his conversion not an opposer dares breathe an accusation against his
demeanor. Having been forgiven much, he loves much."
"What were the circumstances connected with his conversion?"
"A member of my church and Sabbath school," said he, "was in search of
scholars. She was looking for them among the poor and neglected. She
had heard of this man—was aware that he was a skeptic of the blackest
hue; but knowing that he had children growing up untaught in divine
things, her heart was moved with pity; and, repressing her timidity,
she begged leave for them to attend Sunday school. Her conciliatory,
persevering efforts, were rewarded by her request being granted. The
youngest of them, a little girl of five, became religiously impressed,
and began the habit of secret prayer. One evening, just at dark, her
father chancing to pass the door of her room, thought he heard a voice.
It was little Mary offering her childish petitions. Just then she was
asking God to bless and save her dear father. The listening parent
heard his name thus laid before the mercy-seat. Conviction followed.
'What does this mean?' he ejaculated. 'My little girl praying for me!
Am I, then, such a sinner?' His life came up for review; he was plunged
in wretchedness, could not sleep, and next morning sent for me. He was
walking the room, gloomy and agitated, as I entered.
"'Sir,' said he, 'can you prove that the Bible is true?'
"'Yes, to one who is candid,' I answered.
"'Then let me hear your arguments,' he rejoined.
"I spent the day with him. Ere I left, at his request I prayed for
him, and he broke out in earnest supplication for himself. When light
dawned, his mind was flooded. No doubts have distressed him since. His
testimonies always have power with unbelievers; they don't question the
change. But did you observe," he added, "how he yearned to see the Holy
Land once more? He often reverts to that, reproaching himself for his
indifference and unbelief when there."
The converted infidel died about a year after. His last moments were
glorious. Denied another sight of the earthly Canaan, the heavenly soon
burst upon his enraptured vision.
Oh, ye laborers in the Sabbath schools of our land, go forth! Go forth
into the highways and hedges, into the homes of error, the dens of
corruption, and bear thence the tender child where hallowed influences
descend, and the knowledge that maketh wise unto salvation is imparted.
Save the children, and it may be you will save the fathers and the
mothers, who, transformed, shall become champions of the cross.