Milo

THEY WHO TRUST THE LORD SHALL NOT WANT

Mrs. Mary Grant Cramer, whose husband is a member of the Cincinnati Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church, who was for many years U. S. Minister to Denmark, and afterwards to Switzerland, and has also filled the chair of Systematic Theology in Boston University, has related for us, by letter, several accounts of answers to prayer, among which are the following; “When Dr. George E. Shipman and wife, of Chicago, came to see us in Copenhagen, I was much impressed with the striking and interesting incidents Mrs. S. told us, in connection with their faith-work in the Foundlings’ Home. For instance, when they had put all they had in the Home, and there was a payment of six hundred dollars to be made, and it could no longer be postponed, for the man to whom it was owed said: ‘Business is business, and I must have my money, and I will send my son for it in the morning;’ they betook themselves to prayer, hoping the postman would bring them a letter containing the required amount; but he did not. Soon after he passed, a man rang the bell, and left an envelope containing a check for six hundred dollars, as a present from the mayor of the city, who was not a religious man; but his wife, who was then in Europe, was interested in the Home, and he sent the money on her account.

Directly after it came they handed the check for the amount to the man who was expected to call for it. In a similar way, Dr. Shipman on another occasion received four hundred dollars a little while before it was needed, and often got smaller sums in answer to prayer. “Mrs. Shipman told me of Mrs. Pithey, an invalid saint she knew in Chicago, who was supported by voluntary gifts in answer to prayer.

This made the closing years of her life a marvelous proof of God’s care for His helpless children who trust Him. “I might add another incident: Recently a saintly woman, who has consecrated all she has to the Lord, and who lives by faith, giving her services gratuitously to His cause, felt that after the fatiguing labors of the summer, a change would be beneficial to her; she kept this to herself. Soon after a lady sent for her to call upon her, her object being to inform Miss M. that she felt impressed that she ought to go away from home for awhile, and gave her fifty dollars. One day a co-worker of this good sister, told me that she asked a token of the Lord in money, and the same day she found it in an envelope in the table, directed to her, from one who had never before made her a present, and who at first intended this sum for some one else.

“I am acquainted with a minister in New York city, who gave up his church and a salary of five thousand a year, to establish a church where he could reach the masses, he met with much opposition, but has met also with great success in his work. He said that on various occasions he felt it his duty to give all he had away, and before he could reach his home it would be replaced fourfold. His wife was greatly opposed to his giving up a certainty for what she thought an uncertainty, especially as they had five children; but he told me that since they depend upon the Lord for their support, his wife has less solicitude about how they will be provided for, than she had when his salary was five thousand dollars a year. “Truly they who trust the Lord shall not want.”

THERE’S THE LORD’S ANSWER

Many years ago, when in my country charge, I returned one afternoon from a funeral, fatigued with the day’s work. After a long ride, I had accompanied the mourners to the churchyard. As I neared my stable door, I felt a strange prompting to visit a poor widow, who, with her invalid daughter, lived in a lonely cottage in an outlying part of the parish.

My natural reluctance to make another visit was overcome by a feeling I could not resist, and I turned my horse’s head toward the cottage. I was thinking only of the poor widow’s spiritual needs; but when I reached her little house, I was struck with its look of unwanted barreness and poverty. After putting a little money into her hand, I began to inquire into their circumstances and found that. their supplies had been utterly exhausted since the night before.

I asked them what they had done. “I just spread it before the Lord!” “Did you tell your case to any friend?” “Oh no, sir; nobody knows but Himself and me! He would not forget. He would help me, till I seen you come riding over the brae, and then I said: “There’s the Lord’s answer! ‘” Many a time has the recollection of this incident encouraged me to trust in the loving care of my heavenly Father. — New Testament Anecdotes.

THERE IS NO REST IN HELL

About ninety years ago, there was in Glasgow a club of gentlemen of the first rank in that city. They met professedly for card-playing, but the members were distinguished by such a fearless excess of profligacy, as to obtain for it the name of “The Hell Club.” They gloried in the name they had acquired for themselves, and nothing that could merit it was left untried. Beside their nightly or weekly meetings, they held a grand annual festival, at which each member endeavored to “outdo all his former outdoings” in drunkenness, blasphemy, and licentiousness.

Of all who shone on these occasions, none shone half so brilliantly as Archibald Boyle. But, alas! The light that dazzled in him was not “light from heaven,” but from that dread abode which gave name to the vile association which was to prove his ruin-ruin for time and eternity!

Archibald Boyle had been at one time a youth of the richest promise, being possessed of dazzling talents and fascinating manners. No acquirement was too high for his ability; but, unfortunately, there was none too low for his ambition. Educated by a fond and foolishly indulgent mother, he early met in society with members of “The Hell Club.” His elegance, wit, gaiety, and versatility of talent, united to the gifts of fortune, made him a most desirable victim for them; and a victim and a slave, glorying in his bondage, he quickly became.

Long ere he was five-and-twenty; he was one of the most accomplished black-guards it could number on its lists. To him, what were heaven, hell or eternity! Words, mere words, that served no purpose, but to point his blasphemous wit, or nerve his execrations! To him, what glory was there, equal to that of hearing himself pronounced “the very life of the club?” Alas! There was none; for as soon as man forgets God, who alone can keep him, his understanding becomes darkened, and he glories in that which is his shame.

Yet, while all within that heart was festering in corruption, he retained all his remarkable beauty of face and person, all his external elegance of manner; and continued an acknowledged favorite in the fairest female society of the day.

One night, on retiring to sleep, after returning from one of the annual meetings of the club, Boyle dreamed that he was still riding, as usual, upon his famous black horse, toward his own house — then a country seat, embowered by, ancient trees, and situated upon a hill now built over by the most fashionable part of Glasgow and that he was suddenly accosted by some one, whose personal appearance he could not, in the gloom of night, distinctly discern, but who, seizing the reins, said, in a voice apparently accustomed to command: “You must go with me.” “And who are you?” exclaimed Boyle, with a volley of blasphemous execrations, while he struggled to disengage his reins from the intruders grasp. “That you will see bye-and-bye,” replied the same voice, in a cold, sneering tone, that thrilled through his very heart. Boyle plunged his spurs into the panting sides of his steed.

The noble animal reared; and then suddenly darted forward with a speed that nearly deprived his rider of breath; but in vain, in vain! Fleeter than the wind he flew, the mysterious, half-seen guide, still before him! Agonized by, he knew not what, of indescribable horror and awe, Boyle again furiously spurred the gallant horse. It fiercely reared and plunged; he lost his seat, and expected at the moment to feel himself dashed to the earth. But not so; for he continued to fall – fall – fall — it appeared to himself with an ever-increasing velocity. At length, this terrific rapidity of motion abated, and, to his amazement and horror, he perceived that this mysterious attendant was close by his side.

“Where.” he exclaimed, in the frantic energy of despair, “Where are you taking me? Where am I? Where am I going?” “To hell,” replied the same iron voice; and from the depths below, the sound so familiar to his lips was suddenly re-echoed. “To hell,” onward, onward they hurried in darkness; rendered more horrible still by the conscious presence of his spectral conductor.

At length, a glimmering light appeared in the distance, and soon increased to a blaze. But as they approached it, in addition to the hideously discordant groans and yells of agony and despair, his ears were assailed with what seemed to be the echoes of frantic revelry. They soon reached an arched entrance, of such stupendous magnificence, that all the grandeur of this world seemed in comparison but as the frail and dingy labors of the mole. Within it, what a scene! Too awful to be described. Multitudes, gnashing their teeth in the hopelessness of mad despair, cursed the day that gave them birth; while memory, recalling opportunities lost and mercies despised, presented to their fevered mental vision the scenes of their past lives.

There fancy stilt pictured to them the young and lovely, moving up and down in the giddy mazes of the midnight dance; the bounding steed, bearing his senseless rider through the excitements of the goaded race; the intemperate, still drawling over the-midnight bowl, the wanton song, or maudlin blasphemy. There the slave of Mammon bemoaned his folly in bartering his soul for useless gold! While the gambler bewailed, alas! Too late, the madness of his choice.

Boyle at length perceived that he was surrounded by those whom he had known on earth, but were some time dead; each one of them betraying his agony at the bitter recollections of the vain pursuits that had engrossed his time here — time lent to prepare for a far different scene! Suddenly, observing that his unearthly conductor had disappeared, he felt so relieved by his absence, that he ventured to address his former friend, Mrs. D—-, whom he saw sitting with eyes fixed in intense earnestness, as she was wont on earth, apparently absorbed at her favorite game of loo. “Ha, Mrs. D—-! Delighted to see you; d’ye know a fellow told me tonight he was bringing me to hell! Ha, ha! If this be hell,” said he, scoffingly, “what a devilish pleasant place it must be! Ha, ha! Come, now, my good Mrs. D—-, for auld langsyne, do just stop for a moment, rest, and — show me through the pleasures of hell,” he was going, with reckless profanity, to add; but, with a shriek that seemed to cleave through his very soul, she exclaimed: “Rest! There is no rest in hell!” and from interminable vaults, voices, as loud as thunder, repeated the awful, the heart-withering sound: “THERE IS NO REST IN HELL”

She hastily unclasped the vest of her gorgeous robe, and displayed to his scared and shuddering eye, a coil of fiery living snakes –“the worm that never dies”– the worm accusing conscience, remorse, despair — wreathing, darting, stinging in her bosom; others followed her example, and in every bosom there was a self-inflicted punishment.

In some, he saw bare and throbbing hearts, on which distilled slow drops, as it were, of fiery molten metal, under which consuming, yet ever unconsumed, they writhed and palpitated in all the impotence of helpless, hopeless agony. And many a scalding drop was a tear of hopeless anguish, wrung by selfish, heartless villainy, from the eye of injured innocence on earth.

In every bosom he saw that which we have no language to describe, no idea horrid enough even to conceive; for in all he saw the full-grown fruit of the fiend-sown seed of evil passions, voluntarily nourished in the human soul, during its mortal pilgrimage here: and in all he saw them lashed and maddened by the serpent-armed hand of Despair; For hell were not hell; If Hope had ever entered there!

And they laughed, for they had laughed on earth at all there is of good and holy. And they sung-profane and blasphemous songs sang they! For they had often done so on earth, at the very hour God claims as his own, the still and midnight hour! And he who, in his vision, walked among them in a mortal frame of flesh and blood, felt how inexpressibly more horrible such sounds could be than ever was the wildest shriek of agony on earth.

“These are the pleasures of hell,” again assailed his ear, in the same terrific and interminable roll of unearthly sound.

He rushed away; but as he fled, he saw those whom he knew must have been dead for thousands of years, still absorbed in their recollections of their sinful pleasures on earth, and toiling on through their eternity of woe. The vivid reminiscences of their godlessness on earth inflicted on them the bitterest pang in their doom in hell. He saw Maxwell, the former companion of his own boyish profligacy, borne along in incessant movement, mocked by the creations of his frenzied mind, as if intent op still pursuing the headlong chase.

“Stop, Harry; Stop! Speak to me! Oh, rest one moment! ” Scarce had the words been breathed from his faltering lips, when again his terror-stricken ear was stunned with the same wild yell of agony, re-echoed by ten thousand voices: “THERE IS NO REST IN HELL!”

Boyle tried to shut his eyes. He found he could not. He threw himself down, but the pavement of hell, as with a living and instinctive movement, rejected him from its surface; and, forced upon his feet, he found himself compelled to gaze with still increasing intensity of horror, at the ever-changing, yet ever-steady torrent of eternal torment. And this was hell!

The scoffer’s jest-the by-word of the profligate! All at once he perceived that his unearthly conductor was once more by his side. “Take me,” shrieked Boyle, “take me from this place! By the living God, whose name I have so often outraged, I adjure you; take me from this place.””Can you still name His name?” said the fiend, with a hideous sneer; “go, then; but — in a year and a day WE meet, to part no more!” Boyle awoke; and he felt as if the last words of the fiend were traced in letters of living fire upon his heart and brain. Unable, from actual bodily ailment, to leave his bed for several days, the horrid vision had full time to take effect upon his mind; and many were the pangs of tardy remorse and ill-defined terror that beset his vice-stained soul, as he lay in darkness and seclusion, to him so very unusual.

He resolved, utterly and forever, to forsake “The Club.” Above all, he determined that nothing on earth should tempt him to join the next annual festival.The companions of his licentiousness soon flocked around him; and finding that his deep dejection of mind did not disappear with his bodily ailment, and that it arose from some cause which disinclined him from seeking or enjoying their accustomed orgies, they became alarmed with the idea of losing “the life of the club,” and bound themselves by an oath never to desist till they had discovered what was the matter with him, and had cured him of playing the Methodist. Their alarm as to losing “the life of the club” had been wrought up to the highest pitch, by one of their number declaring that, on unexpectedly entering Boyle’s room, he detected him in the act of hastily hiding a book, which he actually believed was the Bible.

Alas! Alas! Had poor Boyle possessed sufficient true moral courage, and dignity of character, not to have hidden the Bible, how different might have been his future! But like many a hopeful youth, he was ashamed to avow his convictions, and to take his stand for God, and his ruin was the result.After a time, one of his compeers, more deeply cunning than the rest, bethought himself of assuming an air of the deepest disgust with the world, the club, and the mode of life they had been pursuing. He affected to seek Boyle’s company in a mood of congenial melancholy, and to sympathize in all his feelings. Thus he succeeded in betraying him into a much misplaced confidence as to his dream, and the effect it had produced upon his mind. The result may readily be guessed.

His confidence was betrayed, his feelings of repentance ridiculed; and it will easily be believed, that he who “hid the Bible” had not nerve to stand the indecent jests of his corrupt companions.

We cannot trace the progress, and would not, if we could. Suffice it to say, that, virtuous resolutions once broken-prayers once offered, voluntarily called back by sin from the throne of heaven, all was lost! Yet not lost without such a fell struggle between the convictions of conscience and the spirit of evil, as wrung the color from his young cheek, and made him, ere the year was done, a haggard and gray-haired man. From the annual meeting he shrunk with an instinctive horror, and made up his mind utterly to avoid it.

Well aware of this resolve, his tempters determined he should have no choice. How potent, how active, is the spirit of evil! How feeble is unassisted, Christless, unprayerful man! Boyle found himself, he could not tell how, seated at that table on that very day, where he had sworn to himself a thousand and a thousand times nothing on earth should make him sit.

His ears tingled, and his eyes swam, as he listened to the opening sentence of the president’s address: ” Gentlemen, this is leap year; therefore, it is a year and a day since our last annual meeting.” Every nerve in Boyle’s body twanged in agony at the ominous, the well-remembered words. His first impulse was to rise and fly; but then, the sneers! The sneers! How many in this world, as well as poor Boyle, have sold their souls to the dread of a sneer, and dared the wrath of an almighty and eternal God, rather than encounter the sarcastic curl of a fellow-creature’s lip?

He was more than ever plied with wine, applause, and every other species of excitement, but in vain. His mirth, his wit, were like lurid flashes from the bosom of a brooding thunder-cloud, that pass and leave it darker than before; and his laugh sounded fiendish, even to the evil ears that heard it.

The night was gloomy, with frequent and fitful gusts of chill and howling wind, as Boyle, with fevered nerves and reeling brain, mounted his horse to return home. The following morning the well-known black steed was found, with saddle and bridle on, quietly grazing on the road-side, about half-way to Boyle’s country-house, and a few yards from it lay the stiffened corpse of its master. — An authentic narrative.

THE YOUNG MARTYR

On the afternoon of August 9, 1853, a little Norwegian boy, named Kund Iverson, who lived in the city of Chicago, Ill., was going to the pastures for his cow, as light-hearted, I suppose, as boys usually are when going to the pasture on a summer afternoon. He came at length to a stream of water, where there was a gang of idle, ill-looking, big boys, who, when they saw Kund, came up to him, and said they wanted him to go into Mr. Elston’s garden and steal some apples.”

“No,” said Kund promptly; “I cannot steal, I am sure.” “Well, but you’ve got to,” they cried!

They threatened to duck him, for these wicked big boys had often frightened little boys into robbing gardens for them. Little boys, they thought, were less likely to get found out.

The threat did not frighten Kund, so, to make their words good, they seized him and dragged him into the river, and, in spite of his cries and struggles, plunged him in. But the heroic boy, even with the water gurgling and choking in his throat, never flinched, for he knew that God had said; “Thou shalt not steal,” and God’s law he had made his law; and no cursing, or threats, or cruelty of the big boys would make him give up. Provoked by his firmness, I suppose, they determined to see if they could not conquer. So they ducked him again, but still it was, “No, no; ” and they kept him under water. Was there no one near to hear his distressing cries, and rescue the poor child from their cruel grip?

No; there was none to rescue him; and gradually the cries of the drowning child grew fainter and fainter, and his struggles less and less, and the boy was drowned. He could die, but would not steal.

A German boy who had stood near, much frightened by what he saw, ran home to tell the news. The agonized parents hastened to the spot, and all night they searched for the lifeless body of their lost darling. It was found the next morning; and who shall describe their feelings as they clasped the little form to their bosoms? Early piety had blossomed in his little life. He loved his Bible and his Savior. His seat was never vacant at Sunday-school, and so intelligent, conscientious and steadfast had he been, that it was expected that he would soon be received into the church of his parents.

Perhaps the little boy used often to think how when he grew up, be would like to be a preacher or a missionary, and do something for his Lord and Master. He did not know what post he might be called to occupy, even as a little child; and, as he left home that afternoon and looked his last look in his mother’s face, he thought he was only going after his cow; and other boys, and the neighbors, if they saw him, thought so too. They did not then know that instead of going to the pasture, he was going to preach one of the most powerful sermons of Bible law and Bible principles the country ever heard. They did not know that he was going to give an example of steadfastness of purpose and of unflinching integrity, such as should thrill the heart of this nation with wonder and admiration. He was then only a Norwegian boy, Kund Iverson, only thirteen years old, but his name was soon to be reckoned with martyrs and heroes. And as the story of his moral heroism winged its way from state to state, and city to city, and village to village, how many mothers cried, with full hearts: “May his spirit rest upon my boy! “And strong men have wept over it and exclaimed: “God be praised for the lad! ” And rich men put their hands in their pockets, and said: “Let us build him a monument let his name be perpetuated, for his memory is blessed.” May there be a generation of Kund Iverson’s, strong in their integrity, true to their Bibles, ready to die rather than do wrong. — The Cynosure.

THE WONDERFUL RESULTS OF A LITTLE PRAYING BAND

In the year 1874, a little band of humble Christians was formed in Chicago, having for its one object the salvation of souls. Four of the number had been local preachers in England, others were lay-workers. But alike, their hearts burned within them to spread abroad the knowledge of redeeming love.

Among them were Charles Cooke, now gone to join the innumerable company around the throne; W.G. Hanmer, now a chairman of the Free Methodist Church in Wisconsin; Richard S. Martin, at present pastor of Grace Methodist Episcopal Church, Chicago; Thomas Fluck, now preaching on the Pacific coast; Samuel Gittins, now in California; David Andrews, from that time to this out in the great harvest-field; and a Brother and Sister Jones, now working in Chicago. James Bird, now in glory, Henry Huck, and others, were engaged in business, but were with the band more or less throughout the great awakening of which we will speak.

They labored for a time in Chicago; but in answer to earnest prayer for God’s blessing and guidance, they were led out into North-Western Indiana.

Their first Macedonian cry from outside the city was from Hessville, a small, neglected place, where the teacher of the day-school, a Mrs. Price, had been trying, amidst much opposition, to commence a Sunday school. In such seemingly unfavorable surroundings the work broke out in great power. Other workers came to their aid, and soon the community was in a flame of revival. Great and glorious were the results. From Hessville the band were called to Gibson; and here, as before, the work spread in every direction.

They went from Gibson to Ross station, where we first saw them. At the latter place, the meetings were held in a school-house; but crowds flocked together from the country round. We were then unsaved, and the manifestations of God’s presence, and the working of His Spirit on hearts, were beyond anything we had previously witnessed, and were a great mystery to us. Such scenes cannot be described. It is enough to say, that sinners wept as if their hearts would break with sorrow for sin, and cried aloud for mercy, until their cries of penitence were changed to songs of praise for deliverance.

Of the experience of the workers, Sister Cooke writes us: “We journeyed from place to place, as surely guided as the children of Israel when led by the pillar of fire. How often as our every want was supplied would the Savior’s query come to our minds: ‘When I sent you forth without purse or scrip, lacked ye anything?’ and they said: “Nothing.” Our God did supply all our needs. When a call came, we only asked: “Are we needed in that place? Is this God’s call?” These questions satisfactorily answered, we went forward, dwelling with unspeakable delight upon the promise: ‘Lo! I am with you alway.’

Merrillville was their fourth point. Here a tent was donated by a Brother Morgan, who had been wonderfully blessed in the meetings. It was afterwards successively pitched at Wood’s Mill, Blachley’s Corners, Hebron, and other places, and at each place thousands thronged to the services. Under that tent, while it was located at Wood’s Mill, the prayers of our sainted mother, who died when we were but thirteen years old, were answered, and we were gloriously and marvelously converted to God; and since that day God has in His mercy given us thousands of souls.

In spite of opposition, the influence of the work was so great that it was felt in all that part of the state. In each place visited, the revival became the chief topic of conversation among all classes of society. In the very busiest seasons of the year, including the harvest-time, farmers might be seen all along the roads for miles, carrying loads of people to the meetings, and singing and praising God as they went. Truly those were days long to be remembered! In many cases people attended regularly, who lived eight or ten miles distant; and this interest continued, not only night after night, but week after week, and month after month. Sinners of every grade were saved, by scores and hundreds. Many of the converts were called to the ministry, and several labored with the band after their conversion; and many, to this day, are successful laborers in gospel fields.

But we have not space to follow the progress of the work definitely. Hobart, Wheeler, Crown Point, Porter Cross Roads, Valparaiso, North Judson, Knox, and other places, were, in their turn, visited by that little, humble, fire-anointed band. After the weather became too cold for the use of the tent, large halls were used; and in some cases, large tabernacles were built especially for their use. Everywhere the mighty power of God was revealed, and many were rescued from eternal death. No account was kept; but multitudes were numbered among the redeemed, as the direct result of that glorious work, and thousands more are already saved, as the indirect result of their labors.

But what was the secret of such abundant success? Most assuredly the work was not wrought by human might or wisdom, and no dependence was put in the arm of flesh. But it was wrought by the power of the Spirit, and that power was revealed in answer to earnest, constant) humble, prevailing prayer. Well has one of the workers said: “The work was cradled in prayer.” In every hour of need, prayer was their one recourse. Truly they lived at the foot of the cross, and so constantly manifested the mind of Christ. To our personal knowledge, it was their custom, before each service, to repair together to some secluded spot, and there together pour out their souls to God in pleading for His blessing, and a fresh outpouring of His Spirit. And when they entered the meeting, they were so anointed by the Holy Ghost that revival fires were kindled by their very presence.

Most of their preaching was in the form of burning exhortation. There were no prepared sermons. Just before the service, the question was asked “Who has the message?” and the one who felt it laid upon his heart, read the Word, and commented as he was led by the Spirit. They were also eminently given to secret prayer, and everywhere they went were called “The Praying Band.”

The second secret of their success was perfect unity in heart. Though members of different denominations, they never allowed mere differences of opinion to result in prejudice. By prayer and humility they were always able to see eye to eye concerning the work; and all who saw them were compelled to exclaim “Behold, how these love one another!”

To this day, our heart burns within us as we think of what God there wrought through those faithful, humble souls and we exclaim: “I would go all around the world to see another work so glorious.” — Editor.