Moody in Prison.


I have good news to tell you—Christ is come after you. I was at the Fulton-street prayer-meeting, a good many years ago, one Saturday night, and when the meeting was over, a man came to me and said, “I would like to have you go down to the city prison to-morrow, and preach to the prisoners. I said I would be very glad to go. There was no chapel in connection with that prison, and I was to preach to them in their cells. I had to stand at a little iron railing and talk down a great, long narrow passageway, to some three or four hundred of them, I suppose, all out of sight. It was pretty difficult work; I never preached to the bare walls before. When it was over I thought I would like to see to whom I had been preaching, and how they had received the gospel. I went to the first door, where the inmates could have heard me best, and looked in at a little window, and there were some men playing cards. I suppose they had been playing all the while. “How is it with you here?” I said. “Well, stranger, we don’t want you to get a bad idea of us. False witnesses swore a lie, and that is how we are here.” “Oh,” I said, “Christ cannot save anybody here; there is nobody lost.” I went to the next cell. “Well, friend, how is it with you?” “Oh,” said the prisoner, “the man that did the deed looked very much like me, so they caught me and I am here.” He was innocent, too! I passed along to the next cell. “How is it with you?’” “Well, we got into bad company, and the man that did it got clear, and we got taken up, but we never did anything.” I went along to the next cell “How is it with you?” “Our trial comes on next week, but they have nothing against us, and we’ll get free.” I went round to nearly every cell but the answer was always the same—they had never done anything. Why, I never saw so many innocent men together in my life. There was nobody to blame but the magistrates, according to their way of it. These men were wrapping their filthy rags of self-righteousness about them. And that has been the story for six thousand years. I got discouraged as I went through the prison, on, and on, and on, cell after cell, and every man had an excuse. If he hadn’t one, the devil helped him to make one. I had got almost through the prison, when I came to a cell and found a man with his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands. Two little streams of tears were running down his cheeks; they did not come by drops that time.


“What’s the trouble?” I said. He looked up, the picture of remorse and despair. “Oh, my sins are more than I can bear.” “Thank God for that,” I replied. “What,” said he, “you are the man that has been preaching to us, ain’t you?” “Yes.” “I think you said you were a friend?” “I am.” “And yet you are glad that my sins are more than I can bear!” “I will explain,” I said “If your sins are more than you can bear, won’t you cast them on One who will bear them for you?” “Who’s that?” “The Lord Jesus.” “He won’t bear my sins.” “Why not?” “I have sinned against Him all my life.” “I don’t care if you have; the blood of Jesus Christ, God’s Son, cleanses from all sin.” Then I told him how Christ had come to seek and save that which was lost; to open the prison doors and set the captives free. It was like a cup of refreshment to find a man who believed he was lost, so I stood there, and held up a crucified Saviour to him. “Christ was delivered for our offenses, died for our sins, rose again for our justification.” For a long time the man could not believe that such a miserable wretch could be saved. He went on to enumerate his sins, and I told him that the blood of Christ could cover them all. After I had talked with him I said, “Now let us pray.” He got down on his knees inside the cell, and I got down outside, and I said, “You pray.” “Why,” he said, “it would be blasphemy for me to call on God.” “You call on God,” I said. He knelt down, and, like the poor publican, he lifted up his voice and said, “God be merciful to me, a vile wretch!” I put my hand through the window, and as I shook hands with him a tear fell on my hand that burned down into my soul. It was a tear of repentance. He believed he was lost. Then I tried to get him to believe that Christ had come to save him. I left him still in darkness. “I will be at the hotel,” I said, “between nine and ten o’clock, and I will pray for you.” Next morning, I felt so much interested, that I thought I must see him before I went back to Chicago. No sooner had my eye lighted on his face, than I saw that remorse and despair had fled away, and his countenance was beaming with celestial light; the tears of joy had come into his eyes, and the tears of despair were gone. The sun of Righteousness had broken out across his path; his soul was leaping within him for joy; he had received Christ as Zaccheus did—joyfully. “Tell me about it,” I said. “Well, I do not know what time it was; I think it was about midnight. I had been in distress a long time, when all at once my great burden fell off, and now, I believe I am the happiest man in New York.” I think he was the happiest man I saw from the time I left Chicago till I got back again. His face was lighted up with the light that comes from the celestial hills. I bade him good-by, and I expect to meet him in another world.


Can you tell me why the Son of God came down to that prison that night, and, passing cell after cell, went to that one, and set the captive free? It was because the man believed he was lost.

Moody in Prison.


I have good news to tell you—Christ is come after you. I was at the Fulton-street prayer-meeting, a good many years ago, one Saturday night, and when the meeting was over, a man came to me and said, “I would like to have you go down to the city prison to-morrow, and preach to the prisoners. I said I would be very glad to go. There was no chapel in connection with that prison, and I was to preach to them in their cells. I had to stand at a little iron railing and talk down a great, long narrow passageway, to some three or four hundred of them, I suppose, all out of sight. It was pretty difficult work; I never preached to the bare walls before. When it was over I thought I would like to see to whom I had been preaching, and how they had received the gospel. I went to the first door, where the inmates could have heard me best, and looked in at a little window, and there were some men playing cards. I suppose they had been playing all the while. “How is it with you here?” I said. “Well, stranger, we don’t want you to get a bad idea of us. False witnesses swore a lie, and that is how we are here.” “Oh,” I said, “Christ cannot save anybody here; there is nobody lost.” I went to the next cell. “Well, friend, how is it with you?” “Oh,” said the prisoner, “the man that did the deed looked very much like me, so they caught me and I am here.” He was innocent, too! I passed along to the next cell. “How is it with you?’” “Well, we got into bad company, and the man that did it got clear, and we got taken up, but we never did anything.” I went along to the next cell “How is it with you?” “Our trial comes on next week, but they have nothing against us, and we’ll get free.” I went round to nearly every cell but the answer was always the same—they had never done anything. Why, I never saw so many innocent men together in my life. There was nobody to blame but the magistrates, according to their way of it. These men were wrapping their filthy rags of self-righteousness about them. And that has been the story for six thousand years. I got discouraged as I went through the prison, on, and on, and on, cell after cell, and every man had an excuse. If he hadn’t one, the devil helped him to make one. I had got almost through the prison, when I came to a cell and found a man with his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands. Two little streams of tears were running down his cheeks; they did not come by drops that time.


“What’s the trouble?” I said. He looked up, the picture of remorse and despair. “Oh, my sins are more than I can bear.” “Thank God for that,” I replied. “What,” said he, “you are the man that has been preaching to us, ain’t you?” “Yes.” “I think you said you were a friend?” “I am.” “And yet you are glad that my sins are more than I can bear!” “I will explain,” I said “If your sins are more than you can bear, won’t you cast them on One who will bear them for you?” “Who’s that?” “The Lord Jesus.” “He won’t bear my sins.” “Why not?” “I have sinned against Him all my life.” “I don’t care if you have; the blood of Jesus Christ, God’s Son, cleanses from all sin.” Then I told him how Christ had come to seek and save that which was lost; to open the prison doors and set the captives free. It was like a cup of refreshment to find a man who believed he was lost, so I stood there, and held up a crucified Saviour to him. “Christ was delivered for our offenses, died for our sins, rose again for our justification.” For a long time the man could not believe that such a miserable wretch could be saved. He went on to enumerate his sins, and I told him that the blood of Christ could cover them all. After I had talked with him I said, “Now let us pray.” He got down on his knees inside the cell, and I got down outside, and I said, “You pray.” “Why,” he said, “it would be blasphemy for me to call on God.” “You call on God,” I said. He knelt down, and, like the poor publican, he lifted up his voice and said, “God be merciful to me, a vile wretch!” I put my hand through the window, and as I shook hands with him a tear fell on my hand that burned down into my soul. It was a tear of repentance. He believed he was lost. Then I tried to get him to believe that Christ had come to save him. I left him still in darkness. “I will be at the hotel,” I said, “between nine and ten o’clock, and I will pray for you.” Next morning, I felt so much interested, that I thought I must see him before I went back to Chicago. No sooner had my eye lighted on his face, than I saw that remorse and despair had fled away, and his countenance was beaming with celestial light; the tears of joy had come into his eyes, and the tears of despair were gone. The sun of Righteousness had broken out across his path; his soul was leaping within him for joy; he had received Christ as Zaccheus did—joyfully. “Tell me about it,” I said. “Well, I do not know what time it was; I think it was about midnight. I had been in distress a long time, when all at once my great burden fell off, and now, I believe I am the happiest man in New York.” I think he was the happiest man I saw from the time I left Chicago till I got back again. His face was lighted up with the light that comes from the celestial hills. I bade him good-by, and I expect to meet him in another world.


Can you tell me why the Son of God came down to that prison that night, and, passing cell after cell, went to that one, and set the captive free? It was because the man believed he was lost.

A Child Looking for its Lost Mother.


A little child, whose mother was dying, was taken away to live with some friends because it was thought she did not understand what death is. All the while the child wanted to go home and see her mother. At last, when the funeral was over, and she was taken home, she ran all over the house, searching the sitting room, the parlor, the library, and the bedrooms. She went from one end of the house to the other, and when she could not find her mother, she wished to be taken back to where they brought her from. Home had lost its attractions for the child when her mother was not there. My friends, the great attraction in heaven will not be its pearly gates, its golden streets, nor its choir of angels, but it will be Christ. Heaven would be no heaven if Christ were not there. But we know that He is at the right hand of the Father, and these eyes shall gaze on Him by-and-by; and we shall be satisfied when we awake with his likeness.

A Child Looking for its Lost Mother.


A little child, whose mother was dying, was taken away to live with some friends because it was thought she did not understand what death is. All the while the child wanted to go home and see her mother. At last, when the funeral was over, and she was taken home, she ran all over the house, searching the sitting room, the parlor, the library, and the bedrooms. She went from one end of the house to the other, and when she could not find her mother, she wished to be taken back to where they brought her from. Home had lost its attractions for the child when her mother was not there. My friends, the great attraction in heaven will not be its pearly gates, its golden streets, nor its choir of angels, but it will be Christ. Heaven would be no heaven if Christ were not there. But we know that He is at the right hand of the Father, and these eyes shall gaze on Him by-and-by; and we shall be satisfied when we awake with his likeness.

The Finest Looking Little Boy Mr. Moody ever Saw.


A few years ago I was in a town down in our state, the guest of a family that had a little boy about thirteen years, who did not bear the family name, yet was treated like the rest. Every night when he retired, the lady of the home kissed him and treated him in every respect like all the other children. I said to the lady of the house, “I don’t understand it.” I think he was the finest looking boy I have ever seen. I said to her, “I don’t understand it.” She says, “I want to tell you about that boy. That boy is the son of a missionary. His father and mother were missionaries in India, but they found they had got to bring their children back to this country to educate them. So they gave up their mission field and came back to educate their children and to find some missionary work to do in this country. But they were not prospered here as they had been in India, and the father said, “I will go back to India;” and the mother said, “If God has called you to go I am sure it will be my duty to go and my privilege to go, and I will go with you.” The father said, “you have never been separated from the children, and it will be hard for you to be separated from them; perhaps you had better stay and take care of them.”

But after prayer they decided to leave their children to be educated, and they left for India. This lady heard of it and sent a letter to the parents, in which she stated if they left one child at her house she would treat it like one of her own children. She said the mother came and spent a few days at her house, and being satisfied that her boy would receive proper care, consented to leave him, and the night before she was to leave him, the missionary said to the Western lady: “I want to leave my boy tomorrow morning without a tear;” said she, “I may never see him again.” But she didn’t want him to think she was weeping for anything she was doing for the Master. The lady said to herself, “She won’t leave that boy without a tear.” But the next day when the carriage drove up to the door, the lady went up stairs and she heard the mother in prayer, crying, “Oh God, give me strength for this hour. Help me to go away from my boy without a tear.” When she came down there was a smile upon her face. She hugged him and she kissed him, but she smiled as she did it. She gave up all her five or six children without shedding a tear, went back to India and in about a year there came a voice, “Come up hither.” Do you think she would be a stranger in the Lord’s world? Don’t you think she will be known there as a mother that loved her child?

 

 

The Finest Looking Little Boy Mr. Moody ever Saw.


A few years ago I was in a town down in our state, the guest of a family that had a little boy about thirteen years, who did not bear the family name, yet was treated like the rest. Every night when he retired, the lady of the home kissed him and treated him in every respect like all the other children. I said to the lady of the house, “I don’t understand it.” I think he was the finest looking boy I have ever seen. I said to her, “I don’t understand it.” She says, “I want to tell you about that boy. That boy is the son of a missionary. His father and mother were missionaries in India, but they found they had got to bring their children back to this country to educate them. So they gave up their mission field and came back to educate their children and to find some missionary work to do in this country. But they were not prospered here as they had been in India, and the father said, “I will go back to India;” and the mother said, “If God has called you to go I am sure it will be my duty to go and my privilege to go, and I will go with you.” The father said, “you have never been separated from the children, and it will be hard for you to be separated from them; perhaps you had better stay and take care of them.”

But after prayer they decided to leave their children to be educated, and they left for India. This lady heard of it and sent a letter to the parents, in which she stated if they left one child at her house she would treat it like one of her own children. She said the mother came and spent a few days at her house, and being satisfied that her boy would receive proper care, consented to leave him, and the night before she was to leave him, the missionary said to the Western lady: “I want to leave my boy tomorrow morning without a tear;” said she, “I may never see him again.” But she didn’t want him to think she was weeping for anything she was doing for the Master. The lady said to herself, “She won’t leave that boy without a tear.” But the next day when the carriage drove up to the door, the lady went up stairs and she heard the mother in prayer, crying, “Oh God, give me strength for this hour. Help me to go away from my boy without a tear.” When she came down there was a smile upon her face. She hugged him and she kissed him, but she smiled as she did it. She gave up all her five or six children without shedding a tear, went back to India and in about a year there came a voice, “Come up hither.” Do you think she would be a stranger in the Lord’s world? Don’t you think she will be known there as a mother that loved her child?

 

 

The Dying Child.


A lady had a little child that was dying. She thought it was resting sweetly in the arms of Jesus. She went into the room and the child asked her: “What are those clouds and mountains that I see so dark?” “Why, Eddy,” said his mother, “there are no clouds or mountains, you must be mistaken.” “Why, yes, I see great mountains and dark clouds, and I want you to take me in your arms and carry me over the mountains.” “Ah,” said the mother, “you must pray to Jesus, He will carry you safely,” and, my friends, the sainted mother, the praying wife, may come to your bedside and wipe the damp sweat from your brow, but they cannot carry you over the Jordan when the hour comes. This mother said to her little boy, “I am afraid that it is unbelief that is coming upon you, my child, and you must pray that the Lord will be with you in your dying moments.” And the two prayed, but the boy turned to her and said: “Don’t you hear the angels, mother, over the mountains, and calling for me, and I cannot go?” “My dear boy, pray to Jesus, and He will come; He only can take you.” And the boy closed his eyes and prayed, and when he opened them a heavenly smile overspread his face as he said, “Jesus has come to carry me over the mountains.”


Dear sinner, Jesus is ready and willing to carry you over the mountains of sin, and over your mountains of unbelief. Give yourself to Him.

A lady had a little child that was dying. She thought it was resting sweetly in the arms of Jesus. She went into the room and the child asked her: “What are those clouds and mountains that I see so dark?” “Why, Eddy,” said his mother, “there are no clouds or mountains, you must be mistaken.” “Why, yes, I see great mountains and dark clouds, and I want you to take me in your arms and carry me over the mountains.” “Ah,” said the mother, “you must pray to Jesus, He will carry you safely,” and, my friends, the sainted mother, the praying wife, may come to your bedside and wipe the damp sweat from your brow, but they cannot carry you over the Jordan when the hour comes. This mother said to her little boy, “I am afraid that it is unbelief that is coming upon you, my child, and you must pray that the Lord will be with you in your dying moments.” And the two prayed, but the boy turned to her and said: “Don’t you hear the angels, mother, over the mountains, and calling for me, and I cannot go?” “My dear boy, pray to Jesus, and He will come; He only can take you.” And the boy closed his eyes and prayed, and when he opened them a heavenly smile overspread his face as he said, “Jesus has come to carry me over the mountains.”


Dear sinner, Jesus is ready and willing to carry you over the mountains of sin, and over your mountains of unbelief. Give yourself to Him.

A Boy’s Mistake—A Sad Reconciliation.     There was an Englishman who had an only son; and only sons are often petted, and humored, and ruined. This boy became very headstrong, and very often he and his father had trouble. One day they had a quarrel and the father was very angry, and so was the son; and the father said he wished the boy would leave home and never come back. The boy said he would go, and would not come into his father’s house again till he sent for him. The father said he would never send for him. Well, away went the boy. But when a father gives up a boy, a mother does not. You mothers will understand that, but the fathers may not. You know there is no love on earth so strong as a mother’s love. A great many things may separate a man and his wife; a great many things may separate a father from his son; but there is nothing in the wide world that can ever separate a true mother from her child. To be sure, there are some mothers that have drank so much liquor that they have drunk up all their affection. But I am talking about a true mother; and she would never cast off her boy.     Well, the mother began to write and plead with the boy to write to his father first, and he would forgive him; but the boy said, “I will never go home till father asks me.” Then she pled with the father, but the father said, “No, I will never ask him.” At last the mother came down to her sick-bed, broken-hearted, and when she was given up by the physicians to die, the husband, anxious to gratify her last wish, wanted to know if there was nothing he could do for her before she died. The mother gave him a look; he well knew what it meant. Then she said, “Yes, there is one thing you can do. You can send for my boy. That is the only wish on earth you can gratify. If you do not pity him and love him when I am dead and gone, who will?” “Well,” said the father, “I will send word to him that you want to see him.” “No,” she says, “you know he will not come for me. If ever I see him you must send for him.”     At last the father went to his office and wrote a dispatch in his own name, asking the boy to come home. As soon as he got the invitation from his father he started off to see his dying mother. When he opened the door to go in he found his mother dying, and his father by the bedside. The father heard the door open, and saw the boy, but instead of going to meet him, he went to another part of the room, and refused to speak to him. His mother seized his hand—how she had longed to press it! She kissed him, and then said, “Now, my son, just speak to your father. You speak first, and it will all be over.” But the boy said, “No, mother, I will not speak to him until he speaks to me.” She took her husband’s hand in one hand and the boy’s in the other, and spent her dying moments in trying to bring about a reconciliation. Then just as she was expiring—she could not speak—so she put the hand of the wayward boy into the hand of the father, and passed away! The boy looked at the mother, and the father at the wife, and at last the father’s heart broke, and he opened his arms, and took that boy to his bosom, and by that body they were reconciled. Sinner, that is only a faint type, a poor illustration, because God is not angry with you.     I bring you to-night to the dead body of Christ. I ask you to look at the wounds in his hands and feet, and the wound in his side. And I ask you, “Will you not be reconciled?”

A Boy’s Mistake—A Sad Reconciliation.


There was an Englishman who had an only son; and only sons are often petted, and humored, and ruined. This boy became very headstrong, and very often he and his father had trouble. One day they had a quarrel and the father was very angry, and so was the son; and the father said he wished the boy would leave home and never come back. The boy said he would go, and would not come into his father’s house again till he sent for him. The father said he would never send for him. Well, away went the boy. But when a father gives up a boy, a mother does not. You mothers will understand that, but the fathers may not. You know there is no love on earth so strong as a mother’s love. A great many things may separate a man and his wife; a great many things may separate a father from his son; but there is nothing in the wide world that can ever separate a true mother from her child. To be sure, there are some mothers that have drank so much liquor that they have drunk up all their affection. But I am talking about a true mother; and she would never cast off her boy.


Well, the mother began to write and plead with the boy to write to his father first, and he would forgive him; but the boy said, “I will never go home till father asks me.” Then she pled with the father, but the father said, “No, I will never ask him.” At last the mother came down to her sick-bed, broken-hearted, and when she was given up by the physicians to die, the husband, anxious to gratify her last wish, wanted to know if there was nothing he could do for her before she died. The mother gave him a look; he well knew what it meant. Then she said, “Yes, there is one thing you can do. You can send for my boy. That is the only wish on earth you can gratify. If you do not pity him and love him when I am dead and gone, who will?” “Well,” said the father, “I will send word to him that you want to see him.” “No,” she says, “you know he will not come for me. If ever I see him you must send for him.”


At last the father went to his office and wrote a dispatch in his own name, asking the boy to come home. As soon as he got the invitation from his father he started off to see his dying mother. When he opened the door to go in he found his mother dying, and his father by the bedside. The father heard the door open, and saw the boy, but instead of going to meet him, he went to another part of the room, and refused to speak to him. His mother seized his hand—how she had longed to press it! She kissed him, and then said, “Now, my son, just speak to your father. You speak first, and it will all be over.” But the boy said, “No, mother, I will not speak to him until he speaks to me.” She took her husband’s hand in one hand and the boy’s in the other, and spent her dying moments in trying to bring about a reconciliation. Then just as she was expiring—she could not speak—so she put the hand of the wayward boy into the hand of the father, and passed away! The boy looked at the mother, and the father at the wife, and at last the father’s heart broke, and he opened his arms, and took that boy to his bosom, and by that body they were reconciled. Sinner, that is only a faint type, a poor illustration, because God is not angry with you.


I bring you to-night to the dead body of Christ. I ask you to look at the wounds in his hands and feet, and the wound in his side. And I ask you, “Will you not be reconciled?”

A Father’s Mistake. There is a little story that has gone the round of the American press that made a great impression upon me as a father. A father took his little child out into the field one Sabbath, and, it being a hot day, he lay down under a beautiful shady tree. The little child ran about gathering wild flowers and little blades of grass, and coming to its father and saying, “Pretty! pretty!” At last the father fell asleep, and while he was sleeping the little child wandered away. When he awoke, his first thought was, “Where is my child?” He looked all around, but he could not see him. He shouted at the top of his voice, but all he heard was the echo of his own voice. Running to a little hill, he looked around and shouted again. No response! Then going to a precipice at some distance, he looked down, and there, upon the rocks and briars, he saw the mangled form of his loved child. He rushed to the spot, took up the lifeless corpse, and hugged it to his bosom, and accused himself of being the murderer of his child. While he was sleeping his child had wandered over the precipice. I thought as I heard that, what a picture of the church of God! How many fathers and mothers, how many Christian men, are sleeping now while their children wander over the terrible precipice right into the bottomless pit. Father, where is your boy to-night?

A Father’s Mistake.


There is a little story that has gone the round of the American press that made a great impression upon me as a father. A father took his little child out into the field one Sabbath, and, it being a hot day, he lay down under a beautiful shady tree. The little child ran about gathering wild flowers and little blades of grass, and coming to its father and saying, “Pretty! pretty!” At last the father fell asleep, and while he was sleeping the little child wandered away. When he awoke, his first thought was, “Where is my child?” He looked all around, but he could not see him. He shouted at the top of his voice, but all he heard was the echo of his own voice. Running to a little hill, he looked around and shouted again. No response! Then going to a precipice at some distance, he looked down, and there, upon the rocks and briars, he saw the mangled form of his loved child. He rushed to the spot, took up the lifeless corpse, and hugged it to his bosom, and accused himself of being the murderer of his child. While he was sleeping his child had wandered over the precipice. I thought as I heard that, what a picture of the church of God!


How many fathers and mothers, how many Christian men, are sleeping now while their children wander over the terrible precipice right into the bottomless pit. Father, where is your boy to-night?

A Little Boy’s Experience. One day as a young lady was walking up the street, she saw a little boy running out of a shoemaker’s shop, and behind him was the old shoemaker chasing him with a wooden last in his hand. He had not run far until the last was thrown at him, and he was struck in the back. The boy stopped and began to cry. The Spirit of the Lord touched that young lady’s heart, and she went to where he was. She stepped up to him, and asked him if he was hurt. He told her it was none of her business. She went to work then to win that boy’s confidence. She asked him if he went to school. He said, “No.” “Well, why don’t you go to school?” “Don’t want to.” She asked him if he would not like to go to Sunday school. “If you will come,” she said, “I will tell you beautiful stories and read nice books.” She coaxed and pleaded with him, and at last said that if he would consent to go, she would meet him on the corner of a street which they should agree upon. He at last consented, and the next Sunday, true to his promise, he waited for her at the place designated. She took him by the hand and led him into the Sabbath-school “Can you give me a place to teach this little boy?” she asked of the superintendent. He looked at the boy, but they didn’t have any such looking little ones in the school. A place was found, however, and she sat down in the corner and tried to win that soul for Christ. Many would look upon that with contempt, but she had got something to do for the Master. The little boy had never heard anybody sing so sweetly before. When he went home he was asked where he had been. “Been among the angels,” he told his mother. He said he had been to the Protestant Sabbath-school, but his father and mother told him he must not go there any more or he would get a flogging. The next Sunday he went, and when he came home he got the promised flogging. He went the second time and got a flogging, and also a third time with the same result. At last he said to his father, “I wish you would flog me before I go, and then I won’t have to think of it when I am there.” The father said, “If you go to that Sabbath-school again I will kill you.” It was the father’s custom to send his son out on the street to sell articles to the passers-by, and he told the boy that he might have the profits of what he sold on Saturday. The little fellow hastened to the young lady’s house and said to her, “Father said that he would give me every Saturday to myself, and if you will just teach me, then I will come to your house every Saturday afternoon.” I wonder how many young ladies there are that would give up their Saturday afternoons just to lead one boy into the kingdom of God. Every Saturday afternoon that little boy was there at her house, and she tried to tell him the way to Christ. She labored with him, and at last the light of God’s spirit broke upon his heart. One day while he was selling his wares at the railroad station, a train of cars approached unnoticed and passed over both his legs. A physician was summoned, and the first thing after he arrived, the little sufferer looked up into his face and said, “Doctor, will I live to get home?” “No,” said the doctor, “you are dying.” “Will you tell my mother and father that I died a Christian?” They bore home the boy’s corpse and with it the last message that he died a Christian. Oh, what a noble work was that young lady’s in saving that little wanderer! How precious the remembrance to her! When she goes to heaven she will not be a stranger there. He will take her by the hand and lead her to the throne of Christ. She did the work cheerfully. Oh, may God teach us what our work is that we may do it for His glory.

A Little Boy’s Experience.


One day as a young lady was walking up the street, she saw a little boy running out of a shoemaker’s shop, and behind him was the old shoemaker chasing him with a wooden last in his hand. He had not run far until the last was thrown at him, and he was struck in the back. The boy stopped and began to cry. The Spirit of the Lord touched that young lady’s heart, and she went to where he was. She stepped up to him, and asked him if he was hurt. He told her it was none of her business. She went to work then to win that boy’s confidence. She asked him if he went to school. He said, “No.” “Well, why don’t you go to school?” “Don’t want to.” She asked him if he would not like to go to Sunday school. “If you will come,” she said, “I will tell you beautiful stories and read nice books.” She coaxed and pleaded with him, and at last said that if he would consent to go, she would meet him on the corner of a street which they should agree upon. He at last consented, and the next Sunday, true to his promise, he waited for her at the place designated. She took him by the hand and led him into the Sabbath-school “Can you give me a place to teach this little boy?” she asked of the superintendent.


He looked at the boy, but they didn’t have any such looking little ones in the school. A place was found, however, and she sat down in the corner and tried to win that soul for Christ. Many would look upon that with contempt, but she had got something to do for the Master. The little boy had never heard anybody sing so sweetly before. When he went home he was asked where he had been. “Been among the angels,” he told his mother. He said he had been to the Protestant Sabbath-school, but his father and mother told him he must not go there any more or he would get a flogging. The next Sunday he went, and when he came home he got the promised flogging. He went the second time and got a flogging, and also a third time with the same result. At last he said to his father, “I wish you would flog me before I go, and then I won’t have to think of it when I am there.” The father said, “If you go to that Sabbath-school again I will kill you.” It was the father’s custom to send his son out on the street to sell articles to the passers-by, and he told the boy that he might have the profits of what he sold on Saturday. The little fellow hastened to the young lady’s house and said to her, “Father said that he would give me every Saturday to myself, and if you will just teach me, then I will come to your house every Saturday afternoon.” I wonder how many young ladies there are that would give up their Saturday afternoons just to lead one boy into the kingdom of God. Every Saturday afternoon that little boy was there at her house, and she tried to tell him the way to Christ. She labored with him, and at last the light of God’s spirit broke upon his heart.


One day while he was selling his wares at the railroad station, a train of cars approached unnoticed and passed over both his legs. A physician was summoned, and the first thing after he arrived, the little sufferer looked up into his face and said, “Doctor, will I live to get home?” “No,” said the doctor, “you are dying.” “Will you tell my mother and father that I died a Christian?” They bore home the boy’s corpse and with it the last message that he died a Christian. Oh, what a noble work was that young lady’s in saving that little wanderer! How precious the remembrance to her! When she goes to heaven she will not be a stranger there. He will take her by the hand and lead her to the throne of Christ. She did the work cheerfully. Oh, may God teach us what our work is that we may do it for His glory.

The Fettered Bird Freed. A friend in Ireland once met a little Irish boy who had caught a sparrow. The poor little bird was trembling in his hand, and seemed very anxious to escape. The gentleman begged the boy to let it go, as the bird could not do him any good; but the boy said he would not; for he had chased it three hours before he could catch it. He tried to reason it out with the boy, but in vain. At last he offered to buy the bird; the boy agreed to the price, and it was paid. Then the gentleman took the poor little thing and held it out on his hand. The boy had been holding it very fast, for the boy was stronger than the bird, just as Satan is stronger than we, and there it sat for a time, scarcely able to realize the fact that it had got liberty; but in a little while it flew away, chirping, as if to say to the gentleman, “Thank you! thank you! you have redeemed me.” That is what redemption is—buying back and setting free. So Christ came back to break the fetters of sin, to open the prison doors and set the sinner free. This is the good news, the gospel of Christ—”Ye are not redeemed with corruptible things, as silver and gold, but with the precious blood of Christ.”

The Fettered Bird Freed.


A friend in Ireland once met a little Irish boy who had caught a sparrow. The poor little bird was trembling in his hand, and seemed very anxious to escape. The gentleman begged the boy to let it go, as the bird could not do him any good; but the boy said he would not; for he had chased it three hours before he could catch it. He tried to reason it out with the boy, but in vain. At last he offered to buy the bird; the boy agreed to the price, and it was paid. Then the gentleman took the poor little thing and held it out on his hand. The boy had been holding it very fast, for the boy was stronger than the bird, just as Satan is stronger than we, and there it sat for a time, scarcely able to realize the fact that it had got liberty; but in a little while it flew away, chirping, as if to say to the gentleman, “Thank you! thank you! you have redeemed me.” That is what redemption is—buying back and setting free. So Christ came back to break the fetters of sin, to open the prison doors and set the sinner free. This is the good news, the gospel of Christ—”Ye are not redeemed with corruptible things, as silver and gold, but with the precious blood of Christ.”

A Mother Dies that her Boy may Live. When the California gold fever broke out, a man went there, leaving his wife in New England with his boy. As soon as he got on and was successful he was to send for them. It was a long time before he succeeded, but at last he got money enough to send for them. The wife’s heart leaped for joy. She took her boy to New York, got on board a Pacific steamer, and sailed away to San Francisco. They had not been long at sea before the cry of “Fire! fire!” rang through the ship, and rapidly it gained on them. There was a powder magazine on board, and the captain knew the moment the fire reached the powder, every man, woman, and child must perish. They got out the life-boats, but they were too small! In a minute they were overcrowded. The last one was just pushing away, when the mother pled with them to take her and her boy. “No,” they said, “we have got as many as we can hold.” She entreated them so earnestly, that at last they said they would take one more. Do you think she leaped into that boat and left her boy to die? No! She seized her boy, gave him one last hug, kissed him, and dropped him over into the boat. “My boy,” she said, “if you live to see your father, tell him that I died in your place.” That is a faint type of what Christ has done for us. He laid down his life for us. He died that we might live. Now will you not love Him? What would you say of that young man if he should speak contemptuously of such a mother! She went down to a watery grave to save her son. Well, shall we speak contemptuously of such a Saviour? May God make us loyal to Christ! My friends, you will need Him one day. You will need Him when you come to cross the swellings of Jordan. You will need Him when you stand at the bar of God. May God forbid that when death draws nigh it should find you making light of the precious blood of Christ

A Mother Dies that her Boy may Live.


When the California gold fever broke out, a man went there, leaving his wife in New England with his boy. As soon as he got on and was successful he was to send for them. It was a long time before he succeeded, but at last he got money enough to send for them. The wife’s heart leaped for joy. She took her boy to New York, got on board a Pacific steamer, and sailed away to San Francisco. They had not been long at sea before the cry of “Fire! fire!” rang through the ship, and rapidly it gained on them. There was a powder magazine on board, and the captain knew the moment the fire reached the powder, every man, woman, and child must perish. They got out the life-boats, but they were too small! In a minute they were overcrowded. The last one was just pushing away, when the mother pled with them to take her and her boy. “No,” they said, “we have got as many as we can hold.” She entreated them so earnestly, that at last they said they would take one more. Do you think she leaped into that boat and left her boy to die? No! She seized her boy, gave him one last hug, kissed him, and dropped him over into the boat. “My boy,” she said, “if you live to see your father, tell him that I died in your place.” That is a faint type of what Christ has done for us. He laid down his life for us. He died that we might live. Now will you not love Him? What would you say of that young man if he should speak contemptuously of such a mother! She went down to a watery grave to save her son. Well, shall we speak contemptuously of such a Saviour? May God make us loyal to Christ! My friends, you will need Him one day. You will need Him when you come to cross the swellings of Jordan. You will need Him when you stand at the bar of God. May God forbid that when death draws nigh it should find you making light of the precious blood of Christ

Money Blind.


I heard of a man who had accumulated great wealth, and death came upon him suddenly, and he realized, as the saying is, that “there was no bank in the shroud,” that he couldn’t take anything away with him; we may have all the money on earth, but we must leave it behind us. He called a lawyer in and commenced to will away his property before he went away. His little girl couldn’t understand exactly where he was going, and she said: “Father, have you got a home in that land you are going to?” The arrow went down to his soul. “Got a home there?” The rich man had hurled away God and neglected to secure a home there for the sake of his money, and he found it was now too late. He was money mad, he was money blind.

Money Blind. I heard of a man who had accumulated great wealth, and death came upon him suddenly, and he realized, as the saying is, that “there was no bank in the shroud,” that he couldn’t take anything away with him; we may have all the money on earth, but we must leave it behind us. He called a lawyer in and commenced to will away his property before he went away. His little girl couldn’t understand exactly where he was going, and she said: “Father, have you got a home in that land you are going to?” The arrow went down to his soul. “Got a home there?” The rich man had hurled away God and neglected to secure a home there for the sake of his money, and he found it was now too late. He was money mad, he was money blind.

“Pull for the Shore.” Look at that man in a boat on Niagara River. He is only about a mile from the rapids. A man on the bank shouts to him, “Young man, young man, the rapids are not far away; you’d better pull for the shore.” “You attend to your own business; I will take care of myself,” he replies. Like a great many people here, and ministers, too, they don’t want any evangelist here—don’t want any help, however great the danger ahead. On he goes; sitting coolly in his boat. Now he has got a little nearer, and a man from the bank of the river sees his danger, and shouts: “Stranger, you’d better pull for the shore; if you go further, you’ll be lost. You can be saved now if you pull in.” “Mind your business, and you’ll have enough to do; I’ll take care of myself.” Like a good many men, they are asleep to the danger that’s hanging over them while they are in the current. And I say, drinking young man, don’t you think you are standing still. You are in the current, and if you don’t pull for a rock of safety you will go over the precipice. On he goes. I can see him in the boat laughing at the danger. A man on the bank is looking at him, and he lifts up his voice and cries, “Stranger, stranger, pull for the shore; if you don’t you’ll lose your life;” and the young man laughs at him—mocks him. That is the way with hundreds in Chicago. If you go to them and point out their danger, they will jest and joke at you. By and by he says: “I think I hear the rapids—yes, I hear them roar;” and he seizes his oars and pulls with all his strength, but the current is too great, and nearer and nearer he is drawn on to that abyss, until he gives one unearthly scream, and over he goes. Ah, my friends, this is the case with hundreds in this city. They are in the current of riches of pleasure, of drink, that will take them to the whirlpool.

“Pull for the Shore.”


Look at that man in a boat on Niagara River. He is only about a mile from the rapids. A man on the bank shouts to him, “Young man, young man, the rapids are not far away; you’d better pull for the shore.” “You attend to your own business; I will take care of myself,” he replies. Like a great many people here, and ministers, too, they don’t want any evangelist here—don’t want any help, however great the danger ahead. On he goes; sitting coolly in his boat. Now he has got a little nearer, and a man from the bank of the river sees his danger, and shouts: “Stranger, you’d better pull for the shore; if you go further, you’ll be lost. You can be saved now if you pull in.” “Mind your business, and you’ll have enough to do; I’ll take care of myself.” Like a good many men, they are asleep to the danger that’s hanging over them while they are in the current. And I say, drinking young man, don’t you think you are standing still. You are in the current, and if you don’t pull for a rock of safety you will go over the precipice. On he goes. I can see him in the boat laughing at the danger. A man on the bank is looking at him, and he lifts up his voice and cries, “Stranger, stranger, pull for the shore; if you don’t you’ll lose your life;” and the young man laughs at him—mocks him. That is the way with hundreds of people. If you go to them and point out their danger, they will jest and joke at you. By and by he says: “I think I hear the rapids—yes, I hear them roar;” and he seizes his oars and pulls with all his strength, but the current is too great, and nearer and nearer he is drawn on to that abyss, until he gives one unearthly scream, and over he goes. Ah, my friends, this is the case with hundreds in this city. They are in the current of riches of pleasure, of drink, that will take them to the whirlpool.

BLIND. A Mother’s Mistake. While I was attending a meeting in a certain city sometime ago a lady came to me and said: “I want you to go home with me; I have something to say to you.” When we reached her home, there were some friends there; After they had retired, she put her arms on the table, and tears began to come into her eyes, but with an effort she repressed her emotion. After a struggle she went on to say that she was going to tell me something which she had never told any other living person. I should not tell it now; but she has gone to another world. She said she had a son in Chicago, and she was very anxious about him. When he was young he got interested in religion at the rooms of the young Men’s Christian Association. He used to go out in the street and circulate tracts. He was her only son, and she was very ambitious that he should make a name in the world, and wanted him to get into the very highest circles. Oh, what a mistake people make about these highest circles. Society is false; it is a sham. She was deceived like a good many more votaries of fashion and hunters after wealth at the present time. She thought it was beneath her son to go down and associate with those young men who hadn’t much money. She tried to get him away from them, but they had more influence than she had, and, finally, to break his whole association, she packed him off to a boarding-school. He went soon to Yale College, and she supposed he got into one of those miserable secret societies there that have ruined so many young men; and the next thing she heard was that the boy had gone astray. She began to write letters urging him to come into the Kingdom of God, but she heard that he tore the letters up without reading them. She went to him to try and regain whatever influence she possessed over him, but her efforts were useless, and she came home with a broken heart. He left New Haven, and for two years they heard nothing of him. At last they heard he was in Chicago, and his father found him and gave him $30,000 to start in business. They thought it would change him, but it didn’t. They asked me when I went back to Chicago to try and use my influence with him. I got a friend to invite him to his house one night, where I intended to meet him, but he heard I was to be there, and did not come near, like a good many other young men, who seem to be afraid of me. I tried many times to reach him, but could not. While I was traveling one day on the New Haven Railroad, I bought a New York paper, and in it I saw a dispatch saying he had been drowned in Lake Michigan. His father came on to find his body, and, after considerable searching, they discovered it. All his clothes and his body were covered with sand. The body was taken home to that broken-hearted mother. She said “If I thought he was in heaven I would have peace.” Her disobedience of God’s law came back upon her. So, my friends, if you have a boy impressed with the gospel, help him to come to Christ. Bring him in the arms of your faith, and He will unite you closer to him.

BLIND.


A Mother’s Mistake.


While I was attending a meeting in a certain city sometime ago a lady came to me and said: “I want you to go home with me; I have something to say to you.” When we reached her home, there were some friends there; After they had retired, she put her arms on the table, and tears began to come into her eyes, but with an effort she repressed her emotion. After a struggle she went on to say that she was going to tell me something which she had never told any other living person. I should not tell it now; but she has gone to another world. She said she had a son in Chicago, and she was very anxious about him. When he was young he got interested in religion at the rooms of the young Men’s Christian Association. He used to go out in the street and circulate tracts. He was her only son, and she was very ambitious that he should make a name in the world, and wanted him to get into the very highest circles. Oh, what a mistake people make about these highest circles. Society is false; it is a sham. She was deceived like a good many more votaries of fashion and hunters after wealth at the present time. She thought it was beneath her son to go down and associate with those young men who hadn’t much money. She tried to get him away from them, but they had more influence than she had, and, finally, to break his whole association, she packed him off to a boarding-school. He went soon to Yale College, and she supposed he got into one of those miserable secret societies there that have ruined so many young men; and the next thing she heard was that the boy had gone astray.


She began to write letters urging him to come into the Kingdom of God, but she heard that he tore the letters up without reading them. She went to him to try and regain whatever influence she possessed over him, but her efforts were useless, and she came home with a broken heart. He left New Haven, and for two years they heard nothing of him. At last they heard he was in Chicago, and his father found him and gave him $30,000 to start in business. They thought it would change him, but it didn’t. They asked me when I went back to Chicago to try and use my influence with him. I got a friend to invite him to his house one night, where I intended to meet him, but he heard I was to be there, and did not come near, like a good many other young men, who seem to be afraid of me. I tried many times to reach him, but could not. While I was traveling one day on the New Haven Railroad, I bought a New York paper, and in it I saw a dispatch saying he had been drowned in Lake Michigan. His father came on to find his body, and, after considerable searching, they discovered it. All his clothes and his body were covered with sand. The body was taken home to that broken-hearted mother. She said “If I thought he was in heaven I would have peace.” Her disobedience of God’s law came back upon her.


So, my friends, if you have a boy impressed with the gospel, help him to come to Christ. Bring him in the arms of your faith, and He will unite you closer to him.

A Child at its Mother’s Grave.


I remember seeing a story some time ago in print. It has been in the papers, but it will not hurt us to hear it again. A family in a Southern city were stricken down with yellow fever. It was raging there, and there were very stringent sanitary rules. The moment anybody died, a cart went around and took the coffin away. The father was taken sick and died and was buried, and the mother was at last stricken down. The neighbors were afraid of the plague, and none dared go into the house. The mother had a little son and was anxious about her boy, and afraid he would be neglected when she was called away, so she called the little fellow to her bedside, and said, “My boy, I am going to leave you, but Jesus will come to you when I am gone.” The mother died, the cart came along and she was laid in the grave. The neighbors would have liked to take the boy, but were afraid of the pestilence. He wandered about and finally started up to the place where they had laid his mother and sat down on the grave, and wept himself to sleep. Next morning he awoke and realized his position—alone and hungry. A stranger came along and seeing the little fellow sitting on the ground, asked him what he was waiting for. The boy remembered what his mother had told him, and answered, “I am waiting for Jesus,” and told him the whole story. The man’s heart was touched, tears trickled down his cheeks and he said, “Jesus has sent me,” to which the boy replied, “You have been a good while coming, sir.” He was provided for. So it is with us. To wait for results, we must have courage and patience and God will help us.

A Child at its Mother’s Grave.


I remember seeing a story some time ago in print. It has been in the papers, but it will not hurt us to hear it again. A family in a Southern city were stricken down with yellow fever. It was raging there, and there were very stringent sanitary rules. The moment anybody died, a cart went around and took the coffin away. The father was taken sick and died and was buried, and the mother was at last stricken down. The neighbors were afraid of the plague, and none dared go into the house. The mother had a little son and was anxious about her boy, and afraid he would be neglected when she was called away, so she called the little fellow to her bedside, and said, “My boy, I am going to leave you, but Jesus will come to you when I am gone.” The mother died, the cart came along and she was laid in the grave. The neighbors would have liked to take the boy, but were afraid of the pestilence. He wandered about and finally started up to the place where they had laid his mother and sat down on the grave, and wept himself to sleep. Next morning he awoke and realized his position—alone and hungry. A stranger came along and seeing the little fellow sitting on the ground, asked him what he was waiting for. The boy remembered what his mother had told him, and answered, “I am waiting for Jesus,” and told him the whole story. The man’s heart was touched, tears trickled down his cheeks and he said, “Jesus has sent me,” to which the boy replied, “You have been a good while coming, sir.” He was provided for. So it is with us. To wait for results, we must have courage and patience and God will help us.

BELIEVE.


Moody and the Dying Soldier.


After the battle of Pittsburgh Landing and Murfreesboro’ I was in a hospital at Murfreesboro’. And one night after midnight, I was woke up and told that there was a man in one of the wards who wanted to see me. I went to him and he called me “chaplain!”—I wasn’t a chaplain—and he said he wanted me to help him die. And I said, “I’d take you right up in my arms and carry you into the kingdom of God if I could; but, I can’t do it; I can’t help you to die.” And he said, “Who can?” I said: “The Lord Jesus Christ can—He came for that purpose.” He shook his head and said, “He can’t save me; I have sinned all my life.” And I said, “But He came to save sinners.” I thought of his mother in the North, and I knew that she was anxious that he should die right, and I thought I’d stay with him. I prayed two or three times, and repeated all the promises I could, and I knew that in a few hours he would be gone. I said I wanted to read him a conversation that Christ had with a man who was anxious about his soul. I turned to the third chapter of John. His eyes were riveted on me, and when I came to the 14th and 15th verses, he caught up the words, “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up; that whosoever believeth on Him should not perish, but have eternal life.” He stopped me and said, “Is that there?” I said “Yes,” and he asked me to read it again, and I did so. He leaned his elbows on the cot and clasped his hands together and said, “That’s good; won’t you read it again.”


I read it the third time, and then went on with the rest of the chapter. When I finished, his eyes were closed, his hands were folded, and there was a smile on his face. Oh! how it was lit up! What a change had come over it! I saw hits lips quivering, and I leaned over him and heard, in a faint whisper; “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whosoever believeth on Him should not perish, but have eternal life.” He opened his eyes and said, “That’s enough; don’t read any more.” He lingered a few hours and then pillowed his head on those two verses, and then went up in one of Christ’s chariots and took his seat in the Kingdom of God.


You may spurn God’s remedy and perish; but I tell you God don’t want you to perish. He says, “As I live I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked.” “Turn ye, turn ye, for why will ye die?”

BELIEVE.


Moody and the Dying Soldier.


After the battle of Pittsburgh Landing and Murfreesboro’ I was in a hospital at Murfreesboro’. And one night after midnight, I was woke up and told that there was a man in one of the wards who wanted to see me. I went to him and he called me “chaplain!”—I wasn’t a chaplain—and he said he wanted me to help him die. And I said, “I’d take you right up in my arms and carry you into the kingdom of God if I could; but, I can’t do it; I can’t help you to die.” And he said, “Who can?” I said: “The Lord Jesus Christ can—He came for that purpose.” He shook his head and said, “He can’t save me; I have sinned all my life.” And I said, “But He came to save sinners.” I thought of his mother in the North, and I knew that she was anxious that he should die right, and I thought I’d stay with him. I prayed two or three times, and repeated all the promises I could, and I knew that in a few hours he would be gone. I said I wanted to read him a conversation that Christ had with a man who was anxious about his soul. I turned to the third chapter of John. His eyes were riveted on me, and when I came to the 14th and 15th verses, he caught up the words, “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up; that whosoever believeth on Him should not perish, but have eternal life.” He stopped me and said, “Is that there?” I said “Yes,” and he asked me to read it again, and I did so. He leaned his elbows on the cot and clasped his hands together and said, “That’s good; won’t you read it again.”


I read it the third time, and then went on with the rest of the chapter. When I finished, his eyes were closed, his hands were folded, and there was a smile on his face. Oh! how it was lit up! What a change had come over it! I saw hits lips quivering, and I leaned over him and heard, in a faint whisper; “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whosoever believeth on Him should not perish, but have eternal life.” He opened his eyes and said, “That’s enough; don’t read any more.” He lingered a few hours and then pillowed his head on those two verses, and then went up in one of Christ’s chariots and took his seat in the Kingdom of God.


You may spurn God’s remedy and perish; but I tell you God don’t want you to perish. He says, “As I live I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked.” “Turn ye, turn ye, for why will ye die?”

“He Will Not Rest.”


Suppose a man is going to Cincinnati, and he gets on the cars, but he feels uneasy lest, the train will take him to St. Louis instead of his destination. He will not rest till he knows he is on the right road, and the idea that we are on the road to eternity as fast as time can take us, and do not know our destination, is contrary to Scripture. If we want peace we must know it, and we can know it; it is the Word of God. Look What Peter says: “We know we have an incorruptible dwelling.” Then in Paul’s epistle to the Colossians, i., 12, “Giving thanks unto the Father which hath made us meet”—hath made us, not going to—”to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light. Who hath delivered us”—not going to deliver us, but He hath delivered us: this is an assurance—”from the power of darkness, and hath translated us into the kingdom of His dear Son.”

“He Will Not Rest.”


Suppose a man is going to Cincinnati, and he gets on the cars, but he feels uneasy lest, the train will take him to St. Louis instead of his destination. He will not rest till he knows he is on the right road, and the idea that we are on the road to eternity as fast as time can take us, and do not know our destination, is contrary to Scripture. If we want peace we must know it, and we can know it; it is the Word of God. Look What Peter says: “We know we have an incorruptible dwelling.” Then in Paul’s epistle to the Colossians, i., 12, “Giving thanks unto the Father which hath made us meet”—hath made us, not going to—”to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light. Who hath delivered us”—not going to deliver us, but He hath delivered us: this is an assurance—”from the power of darkness, and hath translated us into the kingdom of His dear Son.”

“He Will Not Rest.”


Suppose a man is going to Cincinnati, and he gets on the cars, but he feels uneasy lest, the train will take him to St. Louis instead of his destination. He will not rest till he knows he is on the right road, and the idea that we are on the road to eternity as fast as time can take us, and do not know our destination, is contrary to Scripture. If we want peace we must know it, and we can know it; it is the Word of God. Look What Peter says: “We know we have an incorruptible dwelling.” Then in Paul’s epistle to the Colossians, i., 12, “Giving thanks unto the Father which hath made us meet”—hath made us, not going to—”to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light. Who hath delivered us”—not going to deliver us, but He hath delivered us: this is an assurance—”from the power of darkness, and hath translated us into the kingdom of His dear Son.”

ASSURANCE.


Napoleon and the Private.


It is said of Napoleon that while he was reviewing his army one day, his horse became frightened at something, and the Emperor lost his rein, and the horse went away at full speed, and the Emperor’s life was in danger. He could not get hold of the rein, and a private in the ranks saw it, and sprang out of the ranks towards the horse, and was successful in getting hold of the horse’s head at the peril of his own life. The Emperor was very much pleased. Touching his hat, he said to him, “I make you Captain of my Guard.” The soldier didn’t take his gun, and walk up there. He threw it away, stepped out of the ranks of the soldiers, and went up to where the body-guard stood. The captain of the body-guard ordered him back into the ranks, but he said “No! I won’t go!” “Why not?” “Because I am Captain of the Guard.” “You Captain of the Guard?” “Yes;” replied the soldier. “Who said it?” and the man, pointing to the Emperor; said, “He said it.” That was enough. Nothing more could be said. He took the Emperor at his word. My friends, if God says anything, let us take Him at His word. “He that believeth on the Lord Jesus Christ shall not perish, but have everlasting life.” Don’t you believe it? Don’t you believe you have got everlasting life? It can be the privilege of every child of God to believe and then know that you have got it.

ASSURANCE.


Napoleon and the Private.


It is said of Napoleon that while he was reviewing his army one day, his horse became frightened at something, and the Emperor lost his rein, and the horse went away at full speed, and the Emperor’s life was in danger. He could not get hold of the rein, and a private in the ranks saw it, and sprang out of the ranks towards the horse, and was successful in getting hold of the horse’s head at the peril of his own life. The Emperor was very much pleased. Touching his hat, he said to him, “I make you Captain of my Guard.” The soldier didn’t take his gun, and walk up there. He threw it away, stepped out of the ranks of the soldiers, and went up to where the body-guard stood. The captain of the body-guard ordered him back into the ranks, but he said “No! I won’t go!” “Why not?” “Because I am Captain of the Guard.” “You Captain of the Guard?” “Yes;” replied the soldier. “Who said it?” and the man, pointing to the Emperor; said, “He said it.” That was enough. Nothing more could be said. He took the Emperor at his word. My friends, if God says anything, let us take Him at His word. “He that believeth on the Lord Jesus Christ shall not perish, but have everlasting life.” Don’t you believe it? Don’t you believe you have got everlasting life? It can be the privilege of every child of God to believe and then know that you have got it.

No matter how low down you are; no matter what your disposition has been; you may be low in your thoughts, words, and actions; you may be selfish; your heart may be overflowing with corruption and wickedness; yet Jesus will have compassion upon you. He will speak comforting words to you; not treat you coldly or spurn you, as perhaps those of earth would, but will speak tender words, and words of love and affection and kindness. Just come at once. He is a faithful friend—a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.

No matter how low down you are; no matter what your disposition has been; you may be low in your thoughts, words, and actions; you may be selfish; your heart may be overflowing with corruption and wickedness; yet Jesus will have compassion upon you. He will speak comforting words to you; not treat you coldly or spurn you, as perhaps those of earth would, but will speak tender words, and words of love and affection and kindness. Just come at once. He is a faithful friend—a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.

The Place of Safety.


My friends, there is one spot on earth where the fear or Death, of Sin, and of Judgment, need never trouble us, the only safe spot on earth where the sinner can stand—Calvary. Out in our western country, in the autumn, when men go hunting, and there has not been rain for many months, sometimes the prairie grass catches fire. Sometimes, when the wind is strong, the flames maybe seen rolling along, twenty feet high, destroying man and beast in their onward rush. When the frontiersmen see what is coming, what do they do to escape? They know they cannot run as fast as that fire can run. Not the fleetest horse can escape it. They just take a match and light the grass around them. The flames sweep onwards; they take their stand in the burnt district and are safe. They hear the flames roar as they come along; they see death bearing down upon them with resistless fury, but they do not fear. They do not even tremble as the ocean of flame surges around them, for over the place where they stand the fire has already past and there is no danger. There is nothing for fire to burn. And there is one spot all earth that God has swept over. Eighteen hundred years ago the storm burst on Calvary; the Son of God took it into his own bosom, and now, if we take our stand by the Cross, we are safe for time and eternity.

The Place of Safety. My friends, there is one spot on earth where the fear or Death, of Sin, and of Judgment, need never trouble us, the only safe spot on earth where the sinner can stand—Calvary. Out in our western country, in the autumn, when men go hunting, and there has not been rain for many months, sometimes the prairie grass catches fire. Sometimes, when the wind is strong, the flames maybe seen rolling along, twenty feet high, destroying man and beast in their onward rush. When the frontiersmen see what is coming, what do they do to escape? They know they cannot run as fast as that fire can run. Not the fleetest horse can escape it. They just take a match and light the grass around them. The flames sweep onwards; they take their stand in the burnt district and are safe. They hear the flames roar as they come along; they see death bearing down upon them with resistless fury, but they do not fear. They do not even tremble as the ocean of flame surges around them, for over the place where they stand the fire has already past and there is no danger. There is nothing for fire to burn. And there is one spot all earth that God has swept over. Eighteen hundred years ago the storm burst on Calvary; the Son of God took it into his own bosom, and now, if we take our stand by the Cross, we are safe for time and eternity.

“Father, Father, Come This Way.” I remember a number of years ago I went out of Chicago to try to preach. I went down to a little town where was being held a Sunday-school convention. I was a perfect stranger in the place, and when I arrived a man stepped up to me and asked me if my name was Moody. I told him it was, and he invited me to his house. When I got there he said he had to go to the convention, and asked me to excuse his wife, as she, not having a servant, had to attend to her household duties. He put me into the parlor, and told me to amuse myself as best I could till he came back. I sat there, but the room was dark and I could not read, and I got tired. So I thought I would try and get the children and play with them. I listened for some sound of childhood in the house, but could not hear a single evidence of the presence of little ones. When my friend came back I said: “Haven’t you any children?” “Yes,” he replied, “‘I have one, but she’s in Heaven, and I am glad she is there, Moody.” “Are you glad that your child’s dead?” I inquired. He went on to tell me how he had worshiped that child; how his whole life had been bound up in her to the neglect of his Saviour. One day he had come home and found her dying. Upon her death he accused God of being unjust. He saw some of his neighbors with their children around them. Why hadn’t He taken some of them away? He was rebellious. After he came home from her funeral he said: “All at once I thought I heard, her little voice calling me, but the truth came to my heart that she was gone. Then I thought I heard her feet upon the stairs; but I knew she was lying in the grave. The thought of her loss almost made me mad. I threw myself on my bed and wept bitterly. I fell asleep, and while I slept I had a dream, but it almost seemed to me like a vision. “I thought I was going over a barren field, and I came to a river so dark and chill-looking that, I was going to turn away, when all at once I saw on the opposite bank the most beautiful sight I ever looked at. I thought death and sorrow could never enter into that lovely region. Then I began to see beings all so happy looking, and among them I saw my little child. She waved her little angel hand to me and cried, ‘Father, Father, come this way.’ I thought, her voice sounded much sweeter than it did on earth. In my dream I thought I went to the water and tried to cross it, but found it deep and the current so rapid that I thought if I entered it would carry me away from her forever. I tried to find a boatman to take me over, but couldn’t, and I walked up and down the river trying to find a crossing, and still she cried: ‘Come this way.’ All at once I heard a voice come rolling down, ‘I am the way, the truth, and the life; no man cometh unto the Father but by Me.’ The voice awoke me from my sleep,’ and I knew it was my Saviour calling me, and pointing the way for me to reach my darling child. “I am now superintendent of a Sunday-school; I have made many converts; my wife has been converted, and we will, through Jesus as the way, see one day our child

“Father, Father, Come This Way.”


I remember a number of years ago I went out of Chicago to try to preach. I went down to a little town where was being held a Sunday-school convention. I was a perfect stranger in the place, and when I arrived a man stepped up to me and asked me if my name was Moody. I told him it was, and he invited me to his house. When I got there he said he had to go to the convention, and asked me to excuse his wife, as she, not having a servant, had to attend to her household duties. He put me into the parlor, and told me to amuse myself as best I could till he came back. I sat there, but the room was dark and I could not read, and I got tired. So I thought I would try and get the children and play with them. I listened for some sound of childhood in the house, but could not hear a single evidence of the presence of little ones. When my friend came back I said: “Haven’t you any children?” “Yes,” he replied, “‘I have one, but she’s in Heaven, and I am glad she is there, Moody.” “Are you glad that your child’s dead?” I inquired.


He went on to tell me how he had worshiped that child; how his whole life had been bound up in her to the neglect of his Saviour. One day he had come home and found her dying. Upon her death he accused God of being unjust. He saw some of his neighbors with their children around them. Why hadn’t He taken some of them away? He was rebellious. After he came home from her funeral he said: “All at once I thought I heard, her little voice calling me, but the truth came to my heart that she was gone. Then I thought I heard her feet upon the stairs; but I knew she was lying in the grave. The thought of her loss almost made me mad. I threw myself on my bed and wept bitterly. I fell asleep, and while I slept I had a dream, but it almost seemed to me like a vision.


“I thought I was going over a barren field, and I came to a river so dark and chill-looking that, I was going to turn away, when all at once I saw on the opposite bank the most beautiful sight I ever looked at. I thought death and sorrow could never enter into that lovely region. Then I began to see beings all so happy looking, and among them I saw my little child. She waved her little angel hand to me and cried, ‘Father, Father, come this way.’ I thought, her voice sounded much sweeter than it did on earth. In my dream I thought I went to the water and tried to cross it, but found it deep and the current so rapid that I thought if I entered it would carry me away from her forever. I tried to find a boatman to take me over, but couldn’t, and I walked up and down the river trying to find a crossing, and still she cried: ‘Come this way.’ All at once I heard a voice come rolling down, ‘I am the way, the truth, and the life; no man cometh unto the Father but by Me.’ The voice awoke me from my sleep,’ and I knew it was my Saviour calling me, and pointing the way for me to reach my darling child.


“I am now superintendent of a Sunday-school; I have made many converts; my wife has been converted, and we will, through Jesus as the way, see one day our child

Love’s Triumph in John Wannamaker’s Sunday School. Mr. John Wannamaker, superintendent of probably one of the largest Sunday schools in the world, had a theory that he would never put a boy out of his school for bad conduct. He argued if a boy misbehaved himself, it was through bad training at home, and that if he put him out of the school no one would take care of him. Well, this theory was put to the test one day. A teacher came to him and said, “I’ve got a boy in my class that must be taken out; he breaks the rules continually, he swears and uses obscene language, and I cannot do anything with him.” Mr. Wannamaker did not care about putting the boy out, so he sent the teacher back to his class. But he came again and said that unless the boy was taken from his class, he must leave it. Well, he left, and a second teacher was appointed. The second teacher came with the same story, and met with the same reply from Mr. Wannamaker. And he resigned. A third teacher was appointed, and he came with the same story as the others. Mr. Wannamaker then thought he would be compelled to turn the boy out at last. One day a few teachers were standing about, and Mr. Wannamaker said: “I will bring this boy up and read his name out in the school, and publicly excommunicate him.” Well, a young lady came up and said to him: “I am not doing what I might for Christ, let me have the boy; I will try and save him.” But Mr. Wannamaker said: “If these young men cannot do it, you will not.” But she begged to have him, and Mr. Wannamaker consented. She was a wealthy young lady, surrounded with all the luxuries of life. The boy went to her class, and for several Sundays he behaved himself and broke no rule. But one Sunday he broke one; and, in reply to something she said, spit in her face. She took out her pocket- handkerchief and wiped her face, but she said nothing. Well, she thought upon a plan, and she said to him; “John,”—we will call him John,—”John, come home with me.” “No,” says he, “I won’t; I won’t be seen on the streets with you.” She was fearful of losing him altogether if he went out of the school that day, and she said to him, “Will you let me walk home with you?” “No; I won’t,” said he, “I won’t be seen on the street with you.” Then she thought upon another plan. She thought on the “Old Curiosity Shop,” and she said, “I won’t be at home tomorrow or Tuesday, but if you will come round to the front door on Wednesday morning there will be a little bundle for you.” “I don’t want it; you may keep your own bundle.” She went home, but made the bundle up. She thought that curiosity might make him come. Wednesday morning arrived and he had got over his mad fit, and thought he would just like to see what was in that bundle. The little fellow knocked at the door, which was opened, and he told his story. She said: “Yes; here is the bundle.” The boy opened it and found a vest and a coat and other clothing, and a little note written by the young lady, which read something like this: “DEAR JOHNNIE:—Ever since you have been in my class I have prayed for you every morning and evening, that you might be a good boy and I want you to stop in my class. Do not leave me.” The next morning, before she was up, the servant came to her and said there was a little boy below who wished to see her. She dressed hastily, and went downstairs, and found Johnnie on the sofa weeping. She put her arms around his neck, and he said to her, “My dear teacher, I have not had any peace since I got this note from you. I want you to forgive me.” “Won’t you let me pray for you to come to Jesus?” replied the teacher. And she went down on her knees and prayed. And now Mr. Wananamaker says that boy is the best boy in his Sunday-school. And so it was love that broke that boy’s heart.

Mr. John Wannamaker, superintendent of probably one of the largest Sunday schools in the world, had a theory that he would never put a boy out of his school for bad conduct. He argued if a boy misbehaved himself, it was through bad training at home, and that if he put him out of the school no one would take care of him. Well, this theory was put to the test one day. A teacher came to him and said, “I’ve got a boy in my class that must be taken out; he breaks the rules continually, he swears and uses obscene language, and I cannot do anything with him.” Mr. Wannamaker did not care about putting the boy out, so he sent the teacher back to his class. But he came again and said that unless the boy was taken from his class, he must leave it. Well, he left, and a second teacher was appointed. The second teacher came with the same story, and met with the same reply from Mr. Wannamaker. And he resigned. A third teacher was appointed, and he came with the same story as the others. Mr. Wannamaker then thought he would be compelled to turn the boy out at last. One day a few teachers were standing about, and Mr. Wannamaker said: “I will bring this boy up and read his name out in the school, and publicly excommunicate him.” Well, a young lady came up and said to him: “I am not doing what I might for Christ, let me have the boy; I will try and save him.” But Mr. Wannamaker said: “If these young men cannot do it, you will not.” But she begged to have him, and Mr. Wannamaker consented.

 

 

She was a wealthy young lady, surrounded with all the luxuries of life. The boy went to her class, and for several Sundays he behaved himself and broke no rule. But one Sunday he broke one; and, in reply to something she said, spit in her face. She took out her pocket- handkerchief and wiped her face, but she said nothing. Well, she thought upon a plan, and she said to him; “John,”—we will call him John,—”John, come home with me.” “No,” says he, “I won’t; I won’t be seen on the streets with you.” She was fearful of losing him altogether if he went out of the school that day, and she said to him, “Will you let me walk home with you?” “No; I won’t,” said he, “I won’t be seen on the street with you.” Then she thought upon another plan. She thought on the “Old Curiosity Shop,” and she said, “I won’t be at home tomorrow or Tuesday, but if you will come round to the front door on Wednesday morning there will be a little bundle for you.” “I don’t want it; you may keep your own bundle.” She went home, but made the bundle up. She thought that curiosity might make him come.

 

 

Wednesday morning arrived and he had got over his mad fit, and thought he would just like to see what was in that bundle. The little fellow knocked at the door, which was opened, and he told his story. She said: “Yes; here is the bundle.” The boy opened it and found a vest and a coat and other clothing, and a little note written by the young lady, which read something like this:

 

 

“DEAR JOHNNIE:—Ever since you have been in my class I have prayed for you every morning and evening, that you might be a good boy and I want you to stop in my class. Do not leave me.”

 

 

The next morning, before she was up, the servant came to her and said there was a little boy below who wished to see her. She dressed hastily, and went downstairs, and found Johnnie on the sofa weeping. She put her arms around his neck, and he said to her, “My dear teacher, I have not had any peace since I got this note from you. I want you to forgive me.” “Won’t you let me pray for you to come to Jesus?” replied the teacher. And she went down on her knees and prayed. And now Mr. Wananamaker says that boy is the best boy in his Sunday-school. And so it was love that broke that boy’s heart.