LET THEM ABIDE TILL THE MORROW
The beautiful valley of Wyoming, on the banks of the Susquehanna river, in Luzerne Co., Pa., has long been known alike to the student of history and the lovers of poetry and song. Dr. W. H. Van Doren records, in The Evangelist, an incident which recalls the calamities that overwhelmed Wyoming, and illustrates the gracious care of an everpresent God, for those who trust in Him.
It was in the beginning of July, 1778, that an aged saint, who with his four sons, lived on a mountain overlooking the valley, found that his barrel of meal was nearly exhausted, and bade his sons fill their sacks with grain, and early in the morning descend the long road to the mill in the valley. As requested, before daylight each of the boys had fed his horse, and they were all prepared by sunrise for their journey. And as the day would be too far spent to have their grain ground, they were accustomed at such times to spend the night near the mill in Wyoming. As the patriarch came forth in the morning from the closet of prayer, and said to the waiting sons, “Not today! the young men were greatly surprised. “But, father, our supply is used up, and why should we delay?” they said, as they turned and gazed over the valley, which lay in calm and quiet peacefulness before them. “Not today, my sons,” repeated with emphasis by the man of prayer, satisfied the youths that the father meant what he said. He added: “I know not what it means, but in my prayer my mind was deeply impressed with this word “Let them abide till the morrow.”
Without charging their venerated parent with superstition or ignorance, the obedient sons yielded to his, unladed their beasts, placed them in their stalls, and waited for another morning to come.
That memorable night a horde of savages, with torch and tomahawk, entered Wyoming Valley, and commenced their work of destruction; and it is said that before the bloody drama ended, not a house, barn, church, school, or mill, escaped the flames; and few of the inhabitants escaped the sudden but deadly blows of the savages. From one end of the valley to the other the settlers were butchered or burned with remorseless fury.
In the morning at sunrise, the father and sons were standing on the highest point, and lo! the valley was filled with volumes of ascending smoke and flames. The awful truth flashed on their minds. The aged saint kneeled down with his sons on the mountain-top, and in humble, adoring prayer thanked God for the promise: “The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him.” — Guiding Hand.
Milo 