THERE once lived in one of our large cities a poor colored woman, named Betty, who had been confined by sickness for nearly twenty years. By the few friends who knew her she was familiarly called poor Betty. She had seen comfortable days, but had long been blind, and was said to be one hundred and five years old.
Mr. B. was a man of wealth and business in the same city. His signature was better than silver on the exchange, because it was more easily transferred. His sails whitened the ocean, his charity gladdened many hearts, and his family gave impulse to many benevolent operations. Notwithstanding the pressure of business, Mr. B. often found time to drop in and see what became of poor Betty. His voice and even his step had become familiar to her, and always lighted up a smile on her dark wrinkled face, as he often said some pleasant things to cheer this lonely pilgrim on her way to Zion.
One day, Mr. B. took a friend from the country to see Betty. As he stopped and entered the cottage, he said, “Ah, Betty, you are alive yet.”
“Yes, tank God,” said Betty.
“Betty,” said he, “why do you suppose God keeps you so long in this world, poor and sick and blind, when you might go to heaven and enjoy so much?”
While Mr. B.’s tone and manner were half sportive, he yet uttered a serious thought which had more than once come over his mind. Now comes the sermon.
Betty assumed her most serious and animated tone, and replied, “Ah, massa, you no understand it. Dare be two great things to do for the Church, one be to pray for it, toder be to act for it. Now, massa, God keep me alive to pray for the Church, and he keep you alive to act for it. Your great gifts no do much good, massa, without poor Betty’s prayers.”
For a few moments Mr. B. and his friend stood silent, thrilled and astonished. They felt the knowledge, the dignity, the moral sublimity of this short sermon. It seemed to draw aside the veil a little, and let them into heaven’s mysteries.
“Yes, Betty,” replied Mr. B., in the most serious and subdued tones; “your prayers are of more importance to the Church than my alms.”
This short sermon, preached by poor Betty, was never forgotten by Mr. B. and his friend. It made them more prayerful, more submissive in afflictions.