AT a recent Sabbath school concert the superintendent said, "We have no
speakers from abroad to announce this evening, and therefore we shall
have to rely for remarks on our 'home' gifts. I see that brother S. is
present. We would like to hear from him."
The person named, a young man, came immediately forward, and said, in
substance,—
"Some years ago I made a promise. It was, that whenever I should be
invited to speak a word for Christ, in public, I would make no excuses,
but do the best I could. That promise I have ever regarded as sacred,
because it is a promise, and because it was made to my nearest and
best Friend. Once I was in fearful danger. He rescued me from that
danger. Once I was wretched, without peace of mind, unhappy, degraded.
He raised me up from my low estate, comforted and cheered me. Many
times since then I have been in trouble and he has helped me. I have
sometimes forgotten that Friend, often grieved him, said and done
things that were displeasing to him, slighted and insulted him in ways
that no other friend could overlook, and yet he has been constantly
kind, forbearing, and generous. All I have that is worth any thing I
owe to his love, and all I expect that is desirable and glorious he
only can give me. Can you tell me, children, who that Friend is?"
"Jesus! Jesus!" responded a score of voices.
"Yes, dear scholars," he replied, "it was Jesus; and I can not break
my promise to such a Friend. Therefore it is that, though called upon
unexpectedly, I will try to interest you for a few moments." And as he
proceeded with his remarks—apt, sprightly, impressive, it was plain
that that Friend was true to his promise, and was furnishing him richly
for that time of need.
And in thus redeeming our Christian pledge are we not always blest?
A Christian gentleman, whose "praise is in all the churches," not only
for his large-hearted benevolence, but for his excellent gifts in
prayer and exhortation, when a young convert, would be so embarrassed,
when attempting to speak in conference meeting, as to be obliged to
resume his seat almost without uttering a word. But he had resolved to
persevere; he kept his resolution and excelled in these services.
A godly deacon, now seventy-five years of age, leads the devotions of
the largest assemblies in and out of the denomination, and expounds
Scripture with remarkable acceptance. Yet when a young man his speech
was awkward and blundering, and his diffidence extreme. He was so
illiterate also, that before reading a chapter in the Bible, in the
presence of others, his wife had first to read it to him.
"I made a promise," said he, "when the Lord forgave my sins, that
I would never refuse to speak for him, or to pray in public, when
properly requested to do so, and I have kept my word."
Christian reader, have you made a similar promise? Have you kept it?