THE SINGERS.
Iddo had not gone far on the path, which, when out of the Land of
Indifference she found lying before her, when she heard singing, and
turning a corner she came in sight of a band of pilgrims going her way.
The very sound of their voices inspired her with courage and happiness,
and, as she followed closely behind them she heard the words of their
song:
"O happy band of pilgrims,
If onward ye will tread.
With Jesus as your Fellow,
To Jesus as your Head."
"O happy band of pilgrims,
Look upward to the skies,
Where such a light affliction
Shall win you such a prize."
And as their voices ceased another chimed in,
"My merry heart is springing,
And knows not how to pine,
'Tis full of joy and singing
And radiancy divine."
The words were new to Iddo, but the voice she recognized at once as
that of Chisleu.
"Oh, how glad I am to see you," she cried, making her way towards him.
Chisleu turned upon her a face full of calm joy. There was such a
change in it that had it not been for the voice she would hardly have
recognized it. It was a gentle, chastened, yet radiant face.
"I did not know you sang," said Iddo.
"I have only lately learnt," he said, "I met these good people, and
when I said I could not join them in their songs, they pointed out to
me that as there was to be so much singing in the Radiant City it was
as well to learn on the journey. And it is astonishing how it helps the
journey, it seems another thing to me. And moreover I find it does not
only make things easier, but in the Guide Book we are commanded to sing
and be joyful. I never realized that before."
"Does the King then so much like us to sing that he has written about
it in the Guide Book?" said Iddo.
"Yes, I find He has. I had no idea that it was my duty to be happy as
well as my pleasure. But I find it written there,"
"'Rejoice evermore.' 'The joy of the Lord is your strength.' 'Is any
merry? let him sing psalms.' I only wish I had known this before."
"Why?" asked Iddo.
"For two reasons. One reason being, that, as I say, it makes all the
difference in the journey, as the enemy does not like to hear it and it
keeps him away. There is nothing that baffles him more I believe than
to hear the soldiers singing one of the songs of the Radiant City. And
when I have an idea he is near and wants me to listen to him, I cry,
'May Jesus Christ be praised,' and he slinks away. He finds the gloomy
soldier by far the easier prey, I fancy, than those who sing. Why it
has been so all along."
"How do you know that?" said Iddo.
"In the Guide Book we read about one of the armies of the Lord going to
meet a strong enemy. And it says when the Lord's soldiers began to sing
the enemy was smitten."
"And what is your other reason?"
"My other reason is that I feel I have done so much harm by my
gloominess. A lot of young people whom I might have helped have run
away when they have seen me coming, just because I felt it my duty to
pick holes in them and to be stern, and to judge them. Now if they had
found me singing, who knows but they might have been helped on their
journey. Every young thing likes music and merriment. And then there is
a third reason which I forgot and which is more important even than the
others."
"What is that?" asked Iddo.
"Because a Master is judged by his servants, and a King by his
subjects. And if they see that the soldiers and servants of the Great
King of the Radiant City are cheerful and happy, they naturally think
it must be the service of the King that makes them so. Child," he
added, "I feel ashamed when I think of what people must have thought of
my King, when they heard my censorious words and looked at my gloomy,
angry face. I, of all His servants, ought to rejoice."
"Why, Mr. Chisleu?" asked Iddo.
"Why? Because He has done great things for me. I have done so much
harm on the road, made so many mistakes, even once went so far as to
doubt His love, thinking He had forgotten me, while all the time He was
looking down upon me in love and tenderness, and sent my good friend
Amer at last to persuade me of this. I, of all men, should be full of
joy and thankfulness."
"And do you think," said Iddo, "that I ought to learn to sing?"
"Aye! sure enough you should. Have you nothing to be thankful for?"
Even as he spoke, a little enemy crept out of the grass at his feet and
looked at him.
For a moment Chisleu was taken so much by surprise, as he was not
expecting one, that he started. Then he recognized him as one of a band
of rebels whose names are Conceit, Self-Satisfaction, and Complacency,
and at once he drew his sword, while at the same time he sang "'May
Jesus Christ be praised,'" and at the sound of his singing and the
sight of his sword, the enemy slunk away.
"Do you see that fellow?" asked Chisleu of Iddo, "I know him and his
comrades of old. I think he has been particularly troublesome since
I have learnt to sing, as I don't remember meeting him so often in
the old days. It is because he hates me singing the King's songs. I
expect," he added, "he looks out for every occasion to turn my song to
his own advantage. I see I must be on the watch against him."
"I did not see the enemy," said Iddo, "I wonder why he attacked you
while you were helping me."
"Perhaps just because I was helping you: and after all," added Chisleu
thoughtfully, "if ever there is a chance for the enemy it is when we
are talking of ourselves. We have to do it occasionally, I suppose,
but very occasionally, and then we must remember that we do it at our
own peril. Sometimes it is a duty to brave this danger for the sake of
another; but often we think we are braving it for another's sake, while
all the time it is for our own sake, that we may be thought well of, or
in a spirit of self-congratulation. You see the words of the Guide Book
are true,"
"'The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.'"
"But," said Iddo, "you always seem to me so good, surely there is no
need for you to be so watchful."
Chisleu's face changed, as he turned and looked upon her with sternness.
"My child, don't do the enemy's work. He failed just now, and so he is
trying to catch me through your lips. Never flatter."
Iddo was startled, and could not help comparing the intense earnestness
of the soldier of the King, with the utter indifference she had
been impressed with in the land she had left: and at the same time,
Chisleu's face having regained its calm joy, she could not but contrast
the peace and happiness written so plainly there and in the faces of
the other pilgrims, who were walking so merrily on in front of her,
with the artificial merriment of that land.
Everyone there had seemed to her, the more she knew them, to be making
amusement their work rather than their recreation. She was sure it was
sometimes real hard work. And when the excitement was over she had
often seen a look of weariness on the faces of those who had worked the
hardest to procure the fun.
Iddo found that the pilgrims' songs were not all directly about the
Radiant City and its King. They sang about the beauties of the way,
of the flowers the King had raised to cheer them, of the trees He had
planted to give them shade, of the changing sky overhead, and the
sweet-scented winds about them; of the stars and sun the King had
created to give them light on the way, of the ever-moving sea, of which
they often caught glimpses, of all the wonders of nature; they sang
also of the beauty of love, of acts of heroism, of thoughts too deep
for words, and when Iddo expressed some surprise at what she heard,
Chisleu reminded her of the words in the Guide Book,
"'The works of the Lord are great, sought out of all them that have
pleasure therein.'"
Iddo was much struck by noticing the great change in Chisleu, how his
voice had softened, and his mind expanded, and how, instead of thinking
that every one was in the wrong, he constantly confessed that he was
in the wrong himself, and imputed good motives to people where others
found it difficult to do so.
But every now and then the old enemies got the better of him; he would
suddenly irritably interrupt the pilgrims in their songs, with the
complaint that they were singing out of tune, or too fast for the
newcomers, or had put the wrong tune to the words. And now and then his
irritability would become infectious, so that he would suddenly awake
to the fact that he had been the means of discord.
But whenever this happened he confessed his sin so humbly, that the
enemy, who had done what he could to make him inconsistent, had to
retreat, with the knowledge that Chisleu's quick confession of sin,
instead of resulting in confusion and in making an occasion for other
enemies to run in, had been the means of shaming some of the pilgrims
who had given way, and had caused them to resist the enemy.
"Mr. Chisleu," said Iddo, "I want to learn to sing. Will you teach me?"
"Teach you! Nay, you must go to the King Himself for that. We can only
sing when He teaches us."
When Iddo next met her mother she had learnt to sing, and her mother
thought her voice the sweetest she had ever heard. She was not alone in
her opinion. Many a one was cheered on his way to the Radiant City by
the sound of it. Some who had fallen on the road, being hard pressed by
the enemy, and the victims of Despondency or Despair, lifted up their
heads, as Iddo's voice caught their ears, while others who were on
the eve of wandering from the right path, resolutely turned away from
the enemy who was tempting them. For Iddo sang of the wonderful love
of the King, Who had died for them, and was even then watching them,
and of the glory and brightness of the Radiant City to which they were
travelling. And she sang moreover of the Coming of the King, to which
she was looking forward now with ardent expectation. And the words she
sang were these:—
"Thou art coming, oh my Saviour,
Thou art coming, oh my King,
In Thy beauty, all resplendent,
In Thy glory, all-transcendent;
Well may we rejoice and sing;
Coming:—In the opening East,
Herald brightness slowly swells;
Coming:—O my glorious Priest,
Hear we not Thy golden bells?"
One day in the midst of her singing, Iddo felt her mother, with whom
she was walking hand in hand, step forward alone, towards a river
running at the foot of the hill, which the girl had not noticed. A
sudden panic of apprehension seized her.
"Mother, Mother," she cried: but even as she spoke, her mother turned
round with a radiant smile on her face, and, waving farewell to her
child stepped into the waters with a song on her lips.
Iddo sank on to the ground, her song silenced.
For a time she lay quite still, her face hidden in the long grass, her
hands outstretched in misery. Then suddenly across the hills came the
voices of the pilgrims singing:—
"Oh sweet and blessed country,
The home of God's elect!
Oh sweet and blessed country,
That eager hearts expect:
Jesus, in mercy bring us
To that dear land of rest;
Who art, with God the Father,
And Spirit, ever bless'd."
Gradually the words of the beautiful song brought comfort and healing
to her heart, and before long her voice was heard, sweet and true, as
she walked through the Valley of the Shadow, for she could be silent no
longer, as the King Himself had taught her to sing—even songs in the
night.