IN ANOTHER CHURCH.
While thus one body of Christian believers worshipped, another was
assembled in the Methodist chapel in John Street, where Aunt Martha
usually went.
A vast congregation crowded every part of the church. They swarmed upon
the pulpit stairs, upon the gallery railings, and wherever a foot could
press itself to stand, or room be found to sit. As the young preacher,
Summerfield, rose in the pulpit, every eye in the throng turned to him
and watched his slight, short figure--his sweet blue eye, and his face of
earnest expression and a kind of fiery sweetness. He closed his eyes and
lifted his hands in prayer; and the great responsibility of speaking to
that multitude of human beings of their most momentous interests
evidently so filled and possessed him, that in the prayer he seemed to
yearn for strength and the gifts of grace so earnestly--he cried, so as
if his heart were bursting, "Help, Lord, or I perish!" that the great
congregation, murmuring with sobs, with gasps and sighs, echoed solemnly,
as if it had but one voice, and it were muffled in tears, "Help, Lord, or
I perish!"
When the prayer was ended a hymn was sung by all the people, to a quick,
martial melody, and seemed to leave them nervously awake to whatever
should be said. The preacher, with the sweet boyish face, began his
sermon gently, and in a winning voice. There was a kind of caressing
persuasion in his whole manner that magnetized the audience. He grew
more and more impassioned as he advanced, while the people sat
open-mouthed, and responding at intervals, "Amen!"
"Ah! sinner, sinner, it is he, our God, who shoots us through and
through with the sharp sweetness of his power. It is our God who
scatters the arrows of his wrath; but they are winged with the plumes
of the dove, the feathers of softness, and the Gospel. Oh! the promises!
the promises!--Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and
I will give you rest. Yes, patriarch of white hairs, of wasted cheeks,
and tottering step! the burden bears you down almost to the ground
to-day--into the ground to-morrow. Here stands the Judge to give you
rest. Yes, mother of sad eyes and broken spirit! whose long life is a
sorrowful vigil, waiting upon the coming of wicked sons, of deceitful
daughters--weary, weary, and heavy laden with tribulation, here is the
Comforter who shall give you rest. And you, young man, and you, young
maiden, sitting here to-day in the plenitude of youth, and hope, and
love, Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, for the dark day
cometh--yea, it is at hand!"
So fearfully did his voice, and look, and manner express apprehension, as
if something were about to fall upon the congregation, that there was a
sudden startled cry of terror. There were cries of "Lord! Lord! have
mercy!" Smothered shrieks and sobs filled the air; pale faces stared at
each other like spectres. People fell upon their knees, and cried out
that they felt the power of the Lord. "My soul sinks in deep waters,
Selah;" cried the preacher, "but they are the waters of grace and faith,
and I am convicted of all my sins." Then pausing a moment, while the vast
crowd swayed and shook with the tumult of emotion, with his arms
outspread, the veins on his forehead swollen, and the light flashing in
his eyes, he raised his arms and eyes to heaven, and said, with
inexpressible sweetness, in tones which seemed to trickle with balm into
the very soul, as soft spring rains ooze into the ground, "Yea, it is at
hand, but so art thou! Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly; and when youth,
and hope, and love have become dead weights and burdens in these young
hearts, teach them how to feel the peace that passeth understanding. Draw
them to thee, for they, wearily labor: they are heavily laden, gracious
Father! Oh, give them rest!"
"Come!" he exclaimed, "freely come! It is the eternal spring of living
water. It is your life, and it flows for you. Come! come! it is the good
shepherd who calls his flock to wander by the still waters and in the
green pastures. Will you abide outside? Then, woe! woe! when the night
cometh, and the shepherd folds his flock, and you are not there. Will
you seek Philosophy, and confide in that? It is a ravening wolf, and ere
morning you are consumed. Will you lean on human pride--on your own
sufficiency? It is a broken reed, and your fall will be forever fatal.
Will you say there is no God?"--his voice sank into a low, menacing
whisper--"will you say there is no God?" He raised his hands warningly,
and shook them over the congregation while he lowered his voice. "Hush!
hush! lest he hear--lest he mark--lest the great Jehovah"--his voice
swelling suddenly into loud, piercing tones--"Maker of heaven and earth,
Judge of the quick and the dead, the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning
and the End, the eternal Godhead from everlasting to everlasting, should
know that you, pitiable, crawling worm--that you, corrupt in nature and
conceived in sin! child of wrath and of the devil! say that there is no
God! Woe, woe! for the Judge cometh! Woe, woe! for the gnashing of teeth
and the outer darkness! Woe, woe! for those who crucified him, and
buffeted him, and pierced him with thorns! Woe, woe! for the Lord our
God is a just God, slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy. But oh! when
the day of mercy is past! Oh! for the hour--sinner, sinner, beware!
beware!--when that anger rises like an ingulfing fiery sea, and sweeps
thee away forever!"
It seemed as if the sea had burst into the building; for the congregation
half rose, and a smothered cry swept over the people. Many rose upright
with clasped hands and cried, "Hallelujah!" "Praise be to God!" Others
lay cowering and struggling upon the seats; others sobbed and gazed with
frantic earnestness at the face of the young apostle. Children with
frightened eyes seized the cold hands of their mothers. Some fainted, but
could not be borne out, so solid was the throng. Their neighbors loosened
their garments and fanned them, repeating snatches of hymns, and waiting
for the next word of the preacher. "The Lord is dealing with his people,"
they said; "convicting sinners, and calling the lost sheep home."
The preacher stood as if lifted by an inward power, beholding with joy
the working of the Word, but with a total unconsciousness of himself. The
young man seemed meek and lowly while he was about his Father's business.
And after waiting for a few moments, the music of his voice poured out
peace upon that awakened throng.
"'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give
you rest.' Yes, fellow-sinners, rest. For all of us, rest. For the
weariest, rest. For you who, just awakened, tremble in doubt, rest. For
you, young woman, who despairest of heaven, rest. For you, young man, so
long in the bondage of sin, rest. Oh! that I had the wings of a dove,
for then would I fly away and be at rest. Brother, sister, it shall be
so. To your weary soul those wings shall be fitted. Far from the world of
grief and sin, of death and disappointment, you shall fly away. Deep in
the bosom of your God, you shall be at rest. That dove is his holy grace.
Those wings are his tender promises. That rest is the peace of heaven.
"Come, O thou all-victorious Lord,
Thy power to us make known;
Strike with the hammer of thy word,
And break these hearts of stone.
"Oh that we all might now begin
Our foolishness to mourn;
And turn at once from every sin,
And to the Saviour turn.
"Give us ourselves and thee to know,
In this our gracious day:
Repentance unto life bestow,
And take our sins away.
"Convince us first of unbelief,
And freely then release;
Fill every soul with sacred grief,
And then with sacred peace."