WHILE on my way to a little Gospel meeting in the village of C—, I was asked by a Christian person to visit a young woman, who was evidently dying, and whose state of soul she was anxious to ascertain.
Following her directions I mounted an outside stair, and entered a small attic room where the signs of deepest poverty were manifest in every direction. The only occupants of the room were a middle-aged woman, on whose face care and toil had left indelible traces, and her daughter, a girl of twenty summers. It was just sunset, and the little window facing in that direction, permitted a full stream of golden light to enter the apartment, which only made more visible the squalor and dirt which reigned supreme.
The evening rays fell full on the recess containing the bed whereon lay the one whom I sought. She had evidently been a tall and handsome girl, but now the fell destroyer, Consumption, had left nothing save skin and bones. Her hair, jet black, lay in tangled quantities scattered over the pillow, in striking contrast with the pallid pinched face which was turned towards me, the brow covered with a cold dew, while the lips and eyelids were firmly closed. I saw at a glance that death was near at hand, which a touch of the pulseless wrist confirmed.
Having addressed a few inquiries as to her illness to the mother, who seemed pleased to see me, I turned to the dying one and said, "Are you in pain?" Receiving no reply I repeated my query in a louder tone. Again there was no response, and then the mother put in, "I don't think she can hear you, sir she’s too far gone now to hear." It almost seemed so, but I determined to try again, so bending over her I said, "Do you know Jesus?" Oh the power of that Name on the heart that knows its meaning! Immediately the departing spirit seemed to be called back from the border land; the eyelids lifted to permit a lustrous pair of eyes to fix themselves a moment on the stranger who put this simple query, the lips parted, a smile of unutterable sweetness lit up the dying countenance, and then faintly and with effort she whispered, "He is my Savior." "Thank God," I rejoined; "and how long have you known Him as your Savior?”
Her eyes filled with tears at the remembrance of His mercy, as she replied: "Not long, only since I lay down. I have been a terrible sinner, but Jesus loved me, and died for me, and I know He has washed all my sins away in His precious blood.”
“And you are quite ready, and happy to go?”
"Quite happy," was her answer, while the smile of joy again brightened up her moistened cheek, and then, her strength exhausted, she relapsed into the soporous state from which the mention of the Name of Jesus alone could recall her.
I left, and she passed away a few hours after.
Rarely have I seen a more touching instance of the power of the Name of Jesus. "Thou shalt call His Name JESUS, for He shall save His people from their sins." To the believer's ear that Name is fragrant beyond description. Reader, may I ask, has it any fragrance for your heart? Do you know Jesus? Can you say “He is my Savior?”
Rest not merely in saying He is a Savior. The devils know that. You are not right till you can say, “He is my Savior.”
It is really a most blessed thing to be able to truly say those words. And who can say them? Every poor guilty sinner who trusts in Jesus' precious Name. He likes to hear the sinner say, "My Savior." All the world will sooner or later own that He is a Savior, but what He prizes is the simple confidence of the heart that simply yet boldly says, "He is my Savior." Would you not like to be able to say it? Well, then, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." W. T. P. W.