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THE ANGEL OF MERCY

The following pathetic story of our late war is told by a Christian writer:

“At the close of the first bloody day of the battle of Fredericksburg, hundreds of the Union wounded were left lying on the ground, and the road ascending Mary’s Heights. All night and most of the next day, the open space was swept by artillery shot from both the opposing lines, and no one could venture to the sufferers’ relief. All that time their agonized cries went up for “Water! Water!” But there was no one to help them, and the roar of the guns mocked their distress. At length, however, one brave fellow, behind the stone ramparts where the Southern forces lay, gave way to his sympathy, and rose superior to his love for life. He was a sergeant in a South Carolina regiment, and his name was Richard Kirkland. In the afternoon he hurried to General Kershaw’s headquarters, and finding the commanding officer, said to him excitedly: “General, I can’t stand this any longer. Those poor souls out there have been praying and crying all night and all day, and it’s more than I can bear. I ask your permission to go and give them water?”

“But, do you know,”‘ said the general, admiring the soldier’s noble spirit, “do you know that as soon as you show yourself to the enemy you will be shot?” “Yes, sir; I know it; but to carry a little comfort to those poor dying men, I’m willing to run the risk.”

“The general hesitated for a moment, but finally said, with emotion: “Kirkland, it’s sending you to your death, but I cannot oppose such a motive as yours. For the sake of it I hope God will protect you. Go.”

Furnished with a supply of water, the brave sergeant immediately stepped over the wall, and applied himself to his work of Christ Like mercy. Wondering eyes looked on as he knelt by the nearest sufferer, and, tenderly raising his head, held the cooling cup to his parched lips. Before his first service of love was finished, every one in the Union lines understood the mission of the noble soldier in gray, and not a man fired a shot. He staid there on that terrible field an hour and a half, giving drink to the thirsty and dying, straightening their cramped and mangled limbs, pillowing their heads on their knapsacks, and spreading their army coats and blankets over them, as mother would cover her child; and all the while he was so engaged, until his gentle ministry was finished, the fusilade of death was hushed.”

So it is on life’s battlefield. The cannonade of sin and wickedness is hushed and powerless before the fearless Christian soldier who dares to do right, even though his life hangs in the balance. — N.W. Christian Advocate.

Testimony Of An Infidel That Was Saved

He had been given up by some as a hopeless case. One man, however, prayed for him until he prevailed, and the infidel was saved. A revival was in progress, and in the midst of a melting meet mg he arose and to the surprise of many, “with face shining as did the face of Moses when he saw God,” he gave the following striking and suggestive testimony: “I stand,” said Mr. R—-, “to tell you the story of my conversion.” His lips trembled slightly as he spoke, and his bosom heaved with suppressed emotion. “I am as a brand plucked out of the burning. The change in me is an astonishment to myself; and all brought about by the grace of God, and that unanswerable argument. It was a cold morning in January, and I had just begun my labor at the anvil in my shop, when I looked out and saw Mr. B—- approaching. He dismounted quickly and entered. As he drew near I saw he was agitated. His look was full of earnestness; his eyes were dimmed with tears; he took me by the hand; his chest heaved with emotion, and with indescribable tenderness he said: ‘Mr. R—-, I am greatly concerned for your salvation-greatly concerned for your salvation,’ and he burst into tears. He stood with my hand grasped in his; he struggled to regain self-possession; he often tried to speak, but not a word could he utter; and finding that he could say no more, he turned, went out of the shop, got on his horse, and rode slowly away. “‘Greatly concerned for my salvation,’ said I, audibly, and I stood and forgot to bring my hammer down. There I stood with it upraised – ‘greatly concerned for my salvation.’ Here is a new argument for the truth of religion, which I have never heard before, and which I do not know how to answer.

Had the aged man reasoned with me I could have confounded him; but here is no threadbare argument for the truth of religion. Religion must be truth or this man would not feel as he does ‘Greatly concerned for my salvation, it rung through my ears like a thunderclap in a clear sky Greatly concerned I ought, for my own salvation, I said “What shall I do? “I went to my house. My poor pious wife, whom I had always ridiculed for her religion, exclaimed: ‘Why, Mr. R—- what is the matter with you?’ ‘Matter enough,’ said I, filled with agony and overwhelmed with a sense of sin. ‘Old Mr. B—- has rode two miles this cold morning to tell me he was greatly concerned for my salvation. What shall I do? What shall I do?’ “‘I do not know what you can do, said my astonished wife; I do not know what better you can do than to get on your horse, and go and see him.

He can give you better counsel than I, and tell you what you must do to be saved.’ “I mounted my horse, and pursued after him. I found him alone in that same little room where he had spent the night in prayer for my poor soul, where he had shed many tears over such a reprobate as I, and had besought God to have mercy upon me. “I am come,’ said I to him, ‘to tell you that I am greatly concerned for my own salvation’ “‘Praised be God,’ said the aged man. ‘It is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptance, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners,’ even the chief: and he began at that same scripture, and preached to me Jesus. On that same floor we knelt, and together we prayed, and we did not separate that day till God spoke peace to my soul. “I have often been requested to look at the evidence of the truth of religion, but blessed be God, I have evidence for its truth here,” laying his hand upon his heart, “which nothing can gainsay or resist. I have often been led to look at this, and that argument for the truth of Christianity; but I could overturn and, as I thought, completely demolish and annihilate them all.

But I stand here tonight, thankful to acknowledge that God sent an argument to my conscience and heart, which could not the answered or resisted, when a weeping Christian came to tell me how greatly concerned he was for my salvation. God taught him that argument when he spent the night before him in prayer for my soul! Now I can truly say, I am a happy man. My peace flows like a river. My consistent, uncomplaining wife, who so long bore with my impiety and unbelief, now rejoices with me, that, by the grace of God, I am what I am — that whereas I was blind, now I see. And here permit me to say if you would wish to reach the heart of such a poor sinner as I, you must get your qualifications where he did, in your closet and on your knees; So it shall be with me. I will endeavor to reach the hearts of my infidel friends through the closet and by prayer. He sat down overcome with emotion, amid the tears and the suppressed sobs of the assembly. All were touched; for all knew what he once was, all saw what he had now become.

SUPERHUMAN CONTROL OF THE LOCOMOTIVE

The following instance is given in the experience of a correspondent of The Christian, which occurred in the latter part of November 1864, while traveling with her aged father and two small girls

“We started from New Hampshire on Thursday morning, expecting to have ample time to get through to Indiana before Saturday night; but, after we crossed the St. Lawrence River, the next day, I think, there was a smashup on a freight train which hindered our train about two hours. I began to feel anxious, as I knew our limited means would not permit us to stop long on the way. After the cars had started again I inquired of the conductor what time we should get to Toledo, fearing we should not reach there in time for the down train. He said it would be impossible to gain the time:

Soon they changed conductors, and I made a similar inquiry, getting about the same answer. Still I hoped, till we reached the Detroit River. Here I found that, though they had put on all the steam they dared to, they were almost an hour be-hind time, so I should have to stay over till Sunday night.

“After getting seated in the cars on the other side, I ventured to ask the conductor if we should get to Toledo in time for the down train. He readily said: ‘No, madam; impossible! If we put on all the steam we dare to, we shall be more than half an hour behind time. If we were on some trains, we might hope they would wait; but on his, never! He is the most exact conductor you ever saw. He was never known to wait a second, say nothing about a minute, beyond the time.’ I then inquired if we could not stay at the depot. Me said: ‘No; you would all freeze to death, for the fire is out till Sunday evening.’

“A gentleman sitting in front of us said he would show us a good hotel near by, as he was acquainted there. I thanked him, but sunk back on my seat. Covering my eyes with my hand, and raising my heart to God, I said: ‘O God, if thou art my Father, and I am thy child, put it into the heart of that conductor to wait till we get there.’

“Soon I became calm, and fell asleep, not realizing that God would answer my poor prayer; but, when we reached Toledo, to the astonishment of us all, there stood the conductor, wanting to know the reason why he had to wait; when our conductor told him there was a lady with her crippled father and two little daughters, who were going down on that train.

Soon as all were out of the car, both conductors came with their lanterns, and gave their aid in helping my father to the other train, where they had reserved seats by keeping the door locked. All was hurry and confusion to me, as I had my eye on father, fearing he might fall, it being very slippery, when the baggage master said: “Your checks, madam!” I handed them to him, and rushed into the car; but, before I got seated, the car started, and I had no checks for my baggage. Again my heart cried out: “O Thou that hearest prayer, take care of my baggage!” believing He could do that as well as make the conductor wait. In a few moments the conductor came to me with a face radiant with smiles, saying: “Madam, I waited a whole half hour for you; a thing I never did before since I was a conductor, so much as to wait one minute after my time.” He said: “I know it was your father that I was waiting for, because there was nothing else on the train for which I could have waited.” I exclaimed, in a half-suppressed tone, “Praise the Lord!” I could not help it; it gushed out. Then he said: “At the very moment all were on board, and I was ready to start, such a feeling came over me as I had never had in my life before. I could not start. Something kept saying to me, you must wait; for there is something pending on that train you must wait for. I waited, and here you are, all safe.” Again my heart said, Praise the Lord! And he started to leave me, when I said: “But there is one thing.” “What is it?” was his quick reply. “I gave the baggage-master my checks, and have none in return.” “What were the numbers?” I told him. “I have them,” he said, handing them to me; “but your baggage will not be there till Monday morning. We had no time to put it on, we had waited so long.” — Selected.

SPECIAL ANSWERS TO PRAYER

Our old friend, J. Baker, now preaching at Hartford, Mich., who has for years trusted the Lord for all things, both temporal and spiritual, sends us the following:

At the Raisin Center campground, August, 1886, a brother came to me on Saturday evening, requesting that I should come to his tent on Sunday morning, and anoint him for the cure of his deafness. He was a man between forty and fifty years of age. He had been deaf ever since a boy; his deafness being caused by scarlet fever. At the time appointed, in company with Clara Rouch and Carrie Kimball, I went to his tent, and anointed him with oil, we laying our hands upon his head. He was instantly healed, and shouted and rolled on the ground, calling on those standing around to help him praise the Lord. He declared he could hear the faintest whisper.

When I lived in Detroit, in the winter of 1883 I had a house in view which I desired to use as a home for friendless women. The rent was $20 per month. I asked the Lord for the amount to be given me inside of six days, if it was his will I should have the house. In a few days I received a check for $25, from Chicago. Some years afterward, I met the individual who sent the money, and he told me he was very forcibly impressed to send me the money. He never knew what it was for until I told him the circumstance.

SHE WAS A GOOD WIFE TO ME

“She-was-a-good-wife-to-me. A good wife, God bless her!” The words were spoken in trembling accents over a coffin-lid. The woman asleep there had borne the heat and burden of life’s long day, and no one had ever heard her murmur, her hand was quick to reach out a helping grasp to those who fell by the wayside; and her feet were swift on errands of mercy; the heart of her husband had trusted in her; he had left her to long hours of solitude, while he amused himself in scenes in which she had no part. When boon companions deserted him, when fickle affect selfishly departed, when pleasure palled, he went home and found her waiting for him.

“Come from your long, long roving,
On life’s sea so bleak and rough;
Come to me tender and loving,
And I shall be blessed enough.”

That had been her love-song – always on her lips or in her heart. Children had been born to them. She had reared them almost alone – they were gone! Her hand had led them to the uttermost edge of the morning that had no noon. The she had comforted hom, sent him out strong and whole-hearted, while she stayed at home and – cried. What can a woman do but cry – and trust? Well, she is at rest now. But she could not die until he had promised to “bear up;” not to fret but to remember how happy they had been.

They? Yes, it is even so. For she was blest in giving and he in receiving. It was an equal partnership after all! “She – was – a – good – wife – to – me.” O man! Man! Why not have told her so, when her ears were not dulled by death? Why wait to say these words over a coffin wherein lies a wasted, weary, gray-haired woman, whose eyes have so long held that pathetic story of loss and suffering and patient yearning which so many women’s eyes reveal – to those who read. Why not have made the wilderness in her heart blossom like the rose with the prodigality of your love? Now you would give worlds – were they yours to give – to see the tears of joy your words would have once caused, bejeweling the closed windows of her soul. It is too late.

“We have careful thoughts for the stranger,
And smiles for the sometimes guest;
But oft for our own, the bitter tone,
Though we love our own the best.” – Sel.