IT was a lovely winter morning, no cloud was in the sky, and the sun shone brightly upon the gleaming earth. “Let us skate, let us skate,” cried a party of young people, as they looked out upon the frosty scene. “Hurray, the ice will bear!” and very soon they had left the country house that was their home, and were running gaily over the crisp snow to the frozen pond. It was a lovely morning; the hedges and the rushes were glittering with ice gems, and every tree wore a special frosted phantasy of its own. Who would not be merry on such a morning? But there was one amidst that gay group who could not enter into the fun at all; she grew silent and sad, and often paused to cast a troubled gaze upon the snow-covered hill which lay between her and a little common, to which her thoughts that morning were constantly taking their way. A voice— “a still, small voice”—heard only by those who have escaped through the Door, was urging her to leave her idle sport, and go to visit the cottage upon the common. Why did she linger? She wanted “just for once” to spend her precious hours upon the ice; and Satan whispered, “The path is eighteen inches deep in snow; you cannot go, you will take cold.” How careful Satan is sometimes over the health of the Lord’s people. But only when he wants to hinder their service. She did not know that, there was any one ill there, but the Lord did, and He knew, too, how that poor, terrified girl was crying out for a place of safety. How wonderful is the love of Christ. That poor girl had never thought about Him while she was well and strong, but now that she was dying, and felt the need of Him, He was not going to let her perish. It may be that she had never been shown the right way of escape; for though she had been to the Sunday-school, those who taught in it were those who thought that a soul could build a bridge of good works for its own salvation.
The Lord who loved the poor girl, loved His idle servant too, and He wanted to teach her that her time was too precious to be spent in amusements, however innocent they might be. He wanted her to serve Him, and not to live unto herself; she must not act like a caddis anymore but live in a new sphere. At last her lingering was over; she took off her skates, left her companions, fetched her Bible from her room, and started for the common. She was an unwilling servant that day, but still she went. She crossed the hill, and reached the cottages, passing from door to door with hasty steps, till suddenly her progress was arrested by the exclamation, “Oh, I an so thankful you have come; my girl is dying, and she do so want to see some one; we fetched the clergyman, but he only read a prayer or two, and went away; he seemed afraid to stay.”
“Afraid to stay!” said the visitor; “what is the matter?”
“The doctor says it’s typhoid fever, Miss; but you will come in, she can’t last long, and she’s afraid to die, and she do so want to see some one.”
For one moment the young lady hesitated, but that sad appeal, “dying, and afraid to die,” brooked of no delay, and the step was quickly taken out of the fresh, frosty air into that house of death. It was typhoid, indeed, in its worst and deadliest form, and such was the atmosphere of the whole cottage, that she no longer wondered that the clergyman had fled as if for his life. But who that knew the rest and peace of the place of safety, could leave a poor soul to sink in the deep waters, unaided? She was quickly in the sick chamber, gazing on the form that lay stretched upon the old-fashioned four post bedstead. The flush of fever was on the fair young face, and its light gleamed in the fine dark eyes that were turned so eagerly upon her as she entered. Masses of chestnut hair streamed over the white pillow, and but for the blackened lips and the soul anguish that the whole countenance expressed, you might have cried, “How beautiful!”
“Your mother tells me you are dying” said the lady, gently, “and you are afraid to die!”
A look of deepened agony gathered on the face, and with infinite difficulty the parched lips uttered a short assent.
“Her throat is so bad, “said the mother, “she cannot speak.”
Yes; it was easy to see that there was no time to be lost in pointing that perishing one to the only place of safety. And what did the visitor speak about? She spoke of One who has said:
“I am the door, by Me, if any man enter in he shall be saved.” John 10: 9.
It was of a tender, loving Person that she spoke, who was waiting and ready to save her to the uttermost; she told of the blood He had shed, that all her sins and iniquities might be “remembered no more”. Heb. 10:1717And their sins and iniquities will I remember no more. (Hebrews 10:17). She pointed out that, through what He had done, the sinner could be completely forgiven; that Christ was the way to the Father’s heart. But speak as she would, the anguish was still upon that brow, and terror shone out of those glistening eyes. What was she to do? She was little accustomed to scenes like this; she fell upon her knees, and cried to God Himself to save this passing soul, then rising, she turned again to the sufferer and slowly repeated these few lines:—
I will believe, I do believe,
That Jesus died for me;
That on the cross He shed His blood,
From sin to set me free.
Slowly and with difficulty the stiffened lips of the dying girl followed the words. Again and again the lady repeated them, for she saw that the poor sufferer was learning her last lesson upon earth; then, unable to bear the tainted atmosphere any longer, she hurried away. Away from that scene of soul-terror and storm, and turmoil, into the bright cheery sunshine of the winter’s morning; but oh, with what altered feelings she took her homeward path; things seen and temporal had faded from her view, and “things which are not seen, eternal,” had taken their rightful place in her thoughts.
ML 12/31/1899