PHIL ROBSON was a carpenter in a faraway New England village. His neighbors had called him “singing Phil,” for at work or at play his merry voice might always be heard. Unfortunately it was too often heard in the tavern, where he would sit for hours with wild and noisy companions. This, however, was not much to be wondered at, for in that village there were four taverns, and not one gospel hall or mission or chapel!
But God had not forgotten or forsaken even that benighted place; still less had He forgotten Phil and his gift of song.
One beautiful summer evening Phil and his companions were sitting in their usual haunt, drinking and singing, when suddenly they heard someone outside in the road singing also.
They stopped their own song to listen; then as the voice came nearer, Phil threw up the window and leaned out.
Walking up the village street was a plain-looking man with his hat in his hand, singing the refrain of the hymn: “Canaan, bright Canaan, we’re bound for the land of Canaan.”
As he came opposite the young men he looked up with a pleasant smile and said, “I am going to preach in the park, to tell you all of Jesus, and pardon, and happiness, and heaven. Come and hear the good news.”
And then he went on singing:
“Come, sinner, turn and go with me,
For Jesus waits in Canaan;
With angels bright to welcome thee
To all the joys of Canaan;
Come freely to salvation’s streams,
They sweetly flow in Canaan;
There everlasting spring abides
Around His throne in Canaan.”
As Phil listened, something made him feel as he had never felt before. His heart seemed as if it would burst. He got up, took the brown jug of ale that he had paid for, emptied it all in the road, set the jug on the doorstep, and followed the preacher.
He found him standing under an oak tree, singing,
“Come, sinners, to Jesus, no longer delay,
A free, full salvation is offered today.”
Phil stood among the little crowd that had gathered, trembling and wretched. When the hymn was fished, and the preacher kneeled down and began to pray with great earnestness that God would awaken and save them, he was glad to kneel too, for he could hardly stand. Scarcely was the prayer ended when it began to rain, and the preacher asked, “Will any of you good people lend me your kitchen to preach in?” Nobody replied, except one big, rough fellow, Bob, the blacksmith, who gave a mocking laugh.
The prayer had made Phil feel worse than ever, but at last he managed to say, pointing to a wooden shed, “You may preach in my shop.”
“Thank you, friend, that will do very nicely,” said the preacher, and putting his arm through Phil’s he marched him across the grass, singing as he went:
Your friends may desert you, and leave you alone;
The joys of salvation will more than atone.
With God for your portion, and heaven for your home,
The angels in glory invite you to come.
The text chosen was, “Be ye reconciled to God.”
“And oh, sir!” said Phil, telling the story to a gentleman years afterward, “what a sermon that was! He set before us our sins as though he knew us all. And then he exclaimed, ‘But Jesus died for you — died for you, for you,’ pointing his finger so that he made us feel as though each of us had been the cause of all the Saviour’s woe. I stood beside him all the time listening for my life. So did others; aye, even Bob, the blacksmith, was broken-hearted, and when we kneeled down to pray, Bob said, " ‘Do pray for me!’
" ‘Thank God!’ said the preacher. He prayed for Bob; and then he suddenly began to pray for me. Then I prayed for myself; and as I prayed, light, freedom, peace, and joy came to me; and I cried out — I couldn’t help it ‘Lord, I am saved!’ and from that hour, sir, I have sung the sweet songs of Zion. It does me good to sing; it cheers me, and makes life pleasant.”
“What became of the preacher, Phil?” asked the gentleman.
“I took him into my house, sir, and my wife made him welcome. He stayed with us two days, and led my wife and my dear old granny to the Saviour, and then he went away. Not long after I heard that he had taken a fever, and had died rejoicing in God.”
Phil lived on for many years in his native village, and was the means of much blessing in that dark place. His joyous voice, lifted up in a psalm or hymn, found its way to many a hard, sad heart, opening it to his Master’s message.
Dear friends, do come to the Saviour now, and let the gladness of the Lord fill your lives. You will be happy yourselves, and will be a blessing to others.
ML-05/15/1960