THE HOME FOR THE SICK.
IN one of the main avenues in a large city stands a spacious building
enclosed in garden. The edifice and its ornamental surroundings
occupy an entire square. Lofty trees and low shrubs, parterres of
flowers, picturesque arbors with rustic seats, gravelled walks
winding in and out among the blossoms, prove to the passer-by that
this is truly what the name indicates,—a "Home for the Sick."
A Russian nobleman, after a thorough examination of the building
itself, its lofty ceilings and thorough ventilation, its conveniences
for heating and cooking, its laundry department, its beautiful, sunny
wards, with the well-trained nurses moving quietly from cot to cot
for the relief of the sufferers, was asked,—
"What do you think of our hospital?"
With a burst of enthusiasm he exclaimed, "It isn't a hospital, it is
a palace where the king receives his guests and takes care of them."
At this moment a carriage is drawn up before the principal entrance
and a young woman is assisted to alight. Presently two men approach
with a chair, in which she is seated, a young lady who has
accompanied her walking by her side.
This is not her first visit to the hospital. For months together she
lay prostrate, struggling for life, going away at last, not strong,
certainly, but with a prospect of perfect recovery. Now she knew she
had come home to die. Yes, it was home in the truest and sweetest
sense of the word, for here she had been born of the Spirit.
Old things had passed away and all things had become new. Here she
had joined herself to the people of God, confessing Jesus Christ to
be her only hope for pardon and peace. She no longer shuddered at the
approach of the grim messenger; she was ready to welcome him whenever
her Saviour called her to his immediate presence.
She was placed in her old bed, endeared by so many precious memories,
where she could see the setting sun, and by his resplendent glories
be reminded of the Sun of Righteousness in whose effulgent beams her
soul would bask for ever and ever.
Oh, no! there was no terror in the thought of death; the language of
her heart was, "Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly."
As she lay reposing on her spotless couch, her cheek rivalling the
whiteness of her pillow, she clasped her hands, exclaiming,—
"How good God is! Think of my being allowed to come home, to have my
own bed! You were so thoughtful, dear friend, to ask for that favor.
This room has been like heaven to me. I am afraid I ought not to be
so happy."
She glanced wistfully in her companion's face, who understood the
appeal and answered, warmly,
"God has forgiven the past, dear. We are told to 'forget the things
that are behind, and press forward.' You have given that burden to
the Saviour; don't take it back again: it shows distrust of His
loving care for those you have committed to Him."
"If I could only know before I die that he is safe—I mean that he
has accepted Christ,—I would ask no more. Poverty, even want,
I do not care for. Poverty brought me here, where I found my
precious, waiting Saviour; but oh, if I could know that in his
wanderings God's spirit has led him into the truth, how I would
praise His name to all eternity!"
An expression of holy rapture beamed from every feature. Her friend
gazed with glistening eyes. Softly laying her hand on the head of the
dying girl, she repeated the words, "who giveth us the victory
through our Lord Jesus Christ." Rising, she pressed her lips to the
forehead of the sufferer, whispered, "I shall come again tomorrow,"
and left the room.
In the morning Stella found herself so much refreshed by sleep that
when the chaplain came into the ward she requested the privilege of
having private communion administered to her.
This gentleman, Rev. Mr. Owen, was not a stranger to her. It was his
faithful words which had cut so deep into her heart that for weeks
her soul writhed with self-inflicted torture. It was a sermon he
preached one Sunday when she was in the chapel which brought her to
the feet of Jesus, clothed and in her right mind. The text was this,
"If ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also
forgive you; but if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will
your Father forgive your trespasses." How quickly the gracious
promise had been fulfilled in her case! Her heart, which had hardened
to flint while cherishing anger toward one whom she believed had
injured her, grew tender and loving under the softening influence of
the spirit of forgiveness. No sooner did she cast away the vile
serpent which had coiled itself so closely around her vitals as to
crush out every vestige of affection, than the dove of peace flew
down and nestled in her bosom.
To the chaplain Stella had related some facts in the history of her
early life, with a mere hint at some events which had blasted her
happiness. Only to the loved and trusted friend of her own age,
one who had secured a place for her in this happy home, and brought
her hither, had she confessed that her own temper, jealousy, and
distrust had greatly aggravated her sufferings. Mr. Owen knew enough
to understand that, whatever the past had been, she was now
repentant, that she had listened to the invitation, "Come unto me all
ye that are weary and heavy laden," and that Jesus Christ had given
her rest.
In an interview with the chaplain preparatory to her receiving the
precious memorials of Christ's love, she once more announced her
faith in Christ as her only hope for a poor sinner like herself, and
her belief that He would answer her prayers for one long lost to her,
that, if he were still living, he would be brought to love her
Saviour, and to forgive her, as she had, from the heart, forgiven
him.
The effect of this service was so refreshing that for several days
she was quite free from the extreme suffering for breath which had so
exhausted her. According to her request, her friend, in one of her
daily calls, had brought her paper and pens, and, bolstered up in
bed, she spent nearly an hour every day in writing.
The end came at last unexpectedly. She was sitting nearly upright
listening to the last chapters in the Revelation, when, with a wave
of her hand to stop the reading, she repeated in a full voice the
words just read: "And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes;
and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying; neither
shall there be any more pain, for the former things are passed away."
She paused, raised her eyes, a bright smile illumined her face;
she pointed upward, then with a little gasp her spirit fled away
to the Saviour in whom she trusted.
Waiting only to ask permission from the superintendent to pay all
necessary expenses, and to learn when the funeral services would be
attended, her friend gazed for the last time on the marble
countenance, so peaceful in its calm repose, then, taking from the
nurse a package directed to her care, passed quietly from the room.