Saved as by Fire! CHAPTER 19.
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Striking cases of reformation, like the one related, yet varying as to the incidents, were of daily occurrence. Men who had been for years regarded as hopeless drunkards, made a new effort to struggle out of the swift waters which were bearing them to ruin, and caught eagerly at the new means of rescue that were offered. Families long separated, were united again; and men who had been dead weights and burdens upon society — became once more good and useful citizens.
"A glorious work!" was heard on all sides. But the men who were in the midst of it — who came into direct contact with the scores and hundreds of wretched creatures who had sounded the lowest depths of misery and degradation, who were homeless, friendless, penniless, and mentally, morally and physically so enervated as to be scarcely capable of an effort in the direction of self-recovery — found themselves confronted with a task of almost appalling magnitude. What was to be done with and for these men, whose idle hands were held out in piteous appeal for work, and whose hungry faces and dirty and tattered garments pleaded mutely for relief? Nightly the great meeting hall was crowded to overflowing, and nightly the increase went on.
"It is one thing," I said to Mr. Granger, as I walked home with him from one of these meetings, "to reap this great harvest, but quite another thing to garner and preserve the grain. I sadly fear that much of it will never be gathered out of the field. The work is too much en masse — and too little in detail. The numbers who sign the pledge every night cannot be regarded as a measure of the good that is being done."
"You must bear in mind," he replied, "that all who sign at these meetings are not the utterly destitute and homeless; nor of those who have lost the power to control their appetites. The larger proportion are men engaged in work or business, to whom so strong a conviction of danger has come, that they take the pledge for protection and safety. Most of these will find elements of strength and encouragement in their homes and among friends."
"True; but if it is as was said tonight, that there are from four to five hundred of the destitute and friendless class who have signed the pledge, and who must have something moreto rest upon than the singing, and talking, and exhortations to stand fast, which they get at these nightly meetings, is it not plain that the loss between the reaping and the garnering, is going to be very great?"
"You cannot feel the burden of that thought more heavily, than we who are in the heart of this work. But its growth has been more rapid than we had anticipated, and its proportions have already assumed a magnitude for which we were not prepared. The people are looking on and wondering. Crowds flock nightly to witness the progress of the movement; but how few come up to our help. What would it be for a score of our rich citizens to establish for our use, a depot of clothing from which we might draw at will, and so be able to take off the rags of such men as we found to be in earnest about reform, and send them forth in sightly garments, that they might be in a condition to apply for and get employment? Or what for the churches in our city — over four hundred in number — to do the same thing?"
"Is nothing really being done to help and save these poor creatures? When the last hymn is sung, and the benediction said, and the lights put out — does all care for them cease? Is there nothing more until tomorrow night — and then only this general work, which merely brings the individual to the front for a little season, and then lets him drift out of sight, his special needs unrecognized and unprovided for?"
"If you will come to my office at three o'clock tomorrow, I will try to give an answer to your question," Granger replied. "I must now take the next car that passes, and get home as quickly as I can, as it is growing late."
I called at his office at the hour mentioned.
"There is other Christian temperance work going on in our city, besides that remarkable exhibition of it which is known as the Murphy movement," he said. "Work about which the public knows little, but which, in its influence on that particular class about which we were speaking yesterday, is accomplishing a vast amount of good. I am going to answer your question of last evening by showing you a phase of this work — unobtrusive, yet very effective — and when you see it, you will know that, while the hands of the reapers are strong, and the harvest great — those who gather and garner are not idle."
I walked with Granger for a number of blocks, talking by the way. As we left his office he remarked: "You might have known that in a work like, this the hands of the womenwould not be idle; nor the spirit which moved the late 'Crusaders' dead. There has only been a change of front, with a more guarded movement upon the enemy, and less expenditure of war material. You do not find them so much in the noisy front of battle — as where the wounded are left on the field or gathered in tent and hospital."
"Do you mean," I asked, "that there is another movement, parallel to this one which is attracting so much attention, now going on in our city?"
"Yes; wholly independent, yet in complete harmony therewith. Two sets of reapers are in the same field; but with one, there are better facilities for gleaning and garnering than with the other. Women draw more closely to the individual than men; have more pity, and sympathy, and more practical trust in God, and a more absolute belief in the power and efficacy of prayer. There is a marked contrast between their meetings, and the vast assemblages you have attended. The sphere is quieter, and the services held closer to the order of religious worship. There are fewer spectators, and, I think, a more complete singleness of purpose with those who are giving themselves to the work. What we, as men, are doing, is outside of our common life-work. The largest part of our time and thought, is devoted to business or professional duties; and we can give only our odds and ends of leisure time to extra public service and the duties of charity. It is different with many of the women who are taking the lead in this Gospel temperance work. Heart and mind are absorbed in it. It is almost as much their daily thought and care, as business is to the merchant, or the interests of his clients to the lawyer. We can, by single strong efforts, move the masses in this or that direction; can influence and direct public sentiment, and even set great tidal waves of reform in motion; but for the gathering of results, we have little time, and, it may be, little inclination; and results are too often left to take care of themselves."
We talked until we came in front of a small church in a thickly populated part of the town, when Granger paused with the words, "In here," and we passed through a small vestibule to a room capable of holding from two to three hundred people. Nearly every seat was occupied. We were conducted to chairs set in the space fronting the reading-desk, and on being seated, I had an opportunity to look at the audience, which was composed of men and women; the men largely outnumbering the women. It took but a glance to tell who and from whence, most of these men were. Lives of sin and suffering; of degradation and crime; of abused and wasted manhood — had left their disfiguring tokens on nearly every countenance before me. Half a dozen women occupied the small platform, on which the reading desk stood. They were singing —
"Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to Your bosom fly,"
as we entered, most of the congregation taking part. My eyes ran over the strange assembly, looking from face to face, and trying to read each varied expression. With scarcely an exception, you saw a deep, and, in some cases, a most pathetic earnestness. At the close of the hymn, one of the women arose, and said, in an easy, familiar way, but with a tender, penetrating solemnity in her voice: "And with such a refuge, how safe! Jesus, lover of my soul. The love of Jesus! Of the all compassionate and the all-powerful. Think of it! Come to this Savior, His arms are open to receive you. Comfort, support, defense — all these shall be yours. Under the shadow of His wing you shall dwell in safety."
There was a deep hush in the assembly; a bending forward to hearken, and a profound solemnity on most of the faces. You saw eyes grow wet, and lips move in silent prayer.
"And now," said the gentle speaker, after a pause, "we want to hear from as many of you as can bear testimony to the saving power of Him who has taken your feet out of the miry clay, and set them upon a rock. Speak with brevity, that we may have a multitude of witnesses."
She sat down and a man, whose face had been holding my eyes for some moments, arose from his seat. What could one with such a countenance, have to say about the saving power of Christ, I thought. His voice trembled a little as he began:
"He has taken my feet out of the pit, and set them on solid ground; blessed be His name. I've been a dreadful hard drinker. Until six weeks ago, I don't think I had drawn a sober breath for ten years. My wife left me in despair more than three years ago; and then I didn't care for anything. When I heard about the Murphy meetings and what wonderful things were being done, I thought I'd go and see what it meant. Somehow, with the singing, and the way Mr. Murphy talked, I got all broken up, and when he told us that if we'd take the pledge and trust in God to help us keep it — we could stand just as well as he had stood. I said, I'll try. And I did try, and, blessed be God! I've been able to keep my pledge. I don't know how it might have been, if I hadn't come to these meetings. I've found work, and I'm trying to make another home. It isn't much of a home as yet — only a single room — but my wife is so happy. And we've got something in that home, we never had before. Shall I tell you what it is?"
He paused for a moment, then in a lower voice said: "Our Savior!"
As he sat down, the leader of the music touched the organ keys, and a single verse from a well-known hymn was sung:
"Savior, like a shepherd lead us,
Much we need Your tender care;
In Your pleasant pastures feed us,
For our use Your folds prepare;
Blessed Jesus! Blessed Jesus!
You have bought us, Yours we are.'"
As the singing ceased, I heard the voice of a woman in the audience, and turned in the direction from which it came. I saw a worn and sallow face, and a slender form, plainly but cleanly attired.
"I want to tell you," said the speaker, "that I've got my husband again, after having lost him because of drink for years and years. And this time I'm going to keep him, for God hasconverted his soul. Oh, bless the Lord! Bless the Lord!" her voice rising into almost a passionate outburst.
"Yes, bless the Lord, my sister," responded the lady who had direction of the meeting. "For when He finds the lost ones — He can keep their feet from wandering any more."
Another hymn, and then another short speech. And so for an hour, the speaking and the singing went on, the interest not flagging for a moment. Men told of the awful slaveryfrom which they had escaped through the power of God, and of the new strength which had come to them in answer to prayer, with a positiveness that had in it an element of conviction for the intently listening hearers. Some had been standing safe in the midst of temptation for only a few days, some for weeks, and some for months. Many had already united themselves with one or another religious society, and were receiving that protection and strength which comes from Christian fellowship.
"A good Christian brother has been holding on to me ever since I took the pledge," said one. "May God reward him! If he hadn't held so tightly, I don't know what might have happened; I was so miserable and helpless. But I'm getting stronger and stronger, and now I'm trying to help the weak ones."
Said another: "Thank God for these good Christian women. One of them found me not long ago in the hands of a policeman. I'd been drinking in a saloon, and got into a quarrel with the barkeeper, who called an officer. Just as I was dragged out upon the pavement, a woman came by, and she stopped and said to the policeman: 'What's the matter? What's this man been doing?' She spoke so gently, and yet with something so like authority in her voice, that he let go of my collar. 'Drunk and quarrelsome,' he answered, gruffly. 'Oh, I see,' she returned. 'They've made him crazy with drink, and then turned him over to you.' 'Something of that sort,' said the policeman, speaking more respectfully. Then she said, 'Suppose you let me have this case. I wouldn't wonder if I could do a great deal better with it, than you can.' The officer stood for a little while looking puzzled; and I was puzzled, too, for the liquor was beginning to go out of my head. 'What will you do with him?' he asked. 'Try to make a sober man out of him.' At this he laughed, and said, 'If you can make a sober man out of Jack Brady, all right. Go ahead and try. It'll be the hardest job you ever took!' But she didn't find it so. I don't know how it was, but the very minute I heard her say that, I made up my mind to stop drinking. The policeman went on, and she stood and talked to me for a good while, and told me about these meetings, and how easy it would be to lead a better life, if I would come and try to get help from above. I'd never been talked to like that before. It seemed so strange to have anybody care for me, and to seem so anxious about me. 'O God, I'll come,' said I. And I did come. It seemed as if I couldn't wait for the hour next day. And when I entered that door, there stood the lady, just where she's standing now, by the reading-desk. She was speaking, and as her voice fell on my ears like the voice of an old friend, my heart began to beat heavy, and I got all into a tremble. Would she know me? I saw her eyes go searching about the room as she talked, but if she was looking for me, she didn't make me out. I went up as close to the desk as I could get, and sat there while the singing and talking and praying went on. Not for a minute did I take my eyes away from her. All at once, as she looked at me hard, I saw her face brighten up, and I knew that she had seen me. In a little while she came and sat down by my side and took my hand, and said, just for my ear alone, 'I'm so glad to see you here, Mr. Brady.' You see she hadn't forgotten my name. 'I've been looking for you ever since the meeting opened. You're going to sign the pledge, of course; and, better still, give your heart to Jesus. And then what a happy man you will be!' And I did sign the pledge, and I did give my heart to Jesus. And I'm one of the happiest men in this room today!"
As the meeting drew to a close, requests for prayer were sent up in writing, or asked for verbally. A mother asked for prayers for an intemperate son; a wife for an intemperate husband; a sister for two brothers who were in great danger of becoming drunkards; a reformed man that he might find his wife and children, from whom he had not heard for two years; the wife of a tavern-keeper, that her husband might be convicted of sin, and led to abandon his dreadful business; for a sick wife with a drunken husband; for a daughter whose father was intemperate.
While these requests were being made, a young woman — she did not look over twenty-six or seven years of age — arose and said: "My heart is so full, Christian friends, that I can't keep silent. I want to tell what great things prayer can do. I've got a husband and two little children. My husband took to drinking, and it almost killed me. He was so good and kind before; but now he got cross and ugly, and wouldn't hear a word from me. It was getting worse and worse. He'd stay out late at night and come home so much in liquor, that he didn't know anything. One day I said to his mother, 'If Tom keeps on in this way, I shall have to leave him and go home to father.' And then she cried, and said, 'Don't do that, Mary. He'll go all to ruin if you do.' And we both sat and cried forever so long. While we were crying, a neighbor came in; and she said, 'Why don't you go around to the women's temperance meeting and ask them to pray for him?' I didn't see what good that was going to do; but she talked so much about it, that I said to myself, 'It can't do any harm, that's sure.' So I put on my things and came around here, and Tom's mother came with me. I wrote on a piece of paper, 'Prayers wanted for a young husband and father who is being ruined by drink,' and sent it up. And when, singling this out from all the rest, Mrs. West said in her prayer, 'This young husband and father, Lord, who is being ruined by drink, oh, hear the pitiful cry of his wife, and the cry that we are all sending up to You now. Let Your Spirit prevail with him. Quicken in him the desire for a better life; turn him from the evil of his ways,' — it seemed as if the Lord had come down into this room, and as if I had got right hold of Him.
"After the meeting was over we went home, and my husband's mother waited until he came in to supper. He didn't have much to say; looked kind of troubled about something, I thought. He usually went out directly after supper; but this time he sat for, maybe, half an hour, reading a newspaper. Then he took up his hat and went away. 'Don't stay out late, Tom, please,' said I, as pleasantly as I could speak. But he didn't answer me a word. His mother had gone home by this time, and I was alone with my two little children, and they were both asleep. I had a strange feeling, as if something was going to happen. It might be bad or it might be good — I couldn't tell. My heart was trembling and startled. I couldn't sew; I couldn't do anything, but kept going about, up and down-stairs, so restless and troubled that I didn't know what to do with myself. At last I got down on my knees and began to pray for my husband. And then it seemed as if the blessed Lord and Savior had come into my little room; and I talked to Him as a friend, and pleaded for my husband, and begged Him to save him from the dreadful appetite that was ruining him soul and body. I felt better after that. But I couldn't settle down to doing anything. Then I got the Bible and read two or three chapters. Tired at last, I laid my face down upon the open book, and fell asleep. I had a sweet dream, but a sweeter waking up, for my husband's arms were around me, and I heard his voice saying, 'Mary, dear!' in the old, loving way. 'Oh, what is it, Tom?' I cried out, as I started up. And then he kissed me, and said, 'It's going to be all right again, Mary. I've been down to the Murphy meeting, and signed the pledge, and, God helping me, I'm going to keep it.' And he has kept it so far; and what's better, he's given his heart to Christ, and we've both joined the church. Oh, I'm so happy!"
My eyes were full of tears, when this happy young wife sat down.
Then the lady to whom she had referred, made a few impressive comments on the incident just related, adding two or three others as strikingly illustrative of the value of prayer. One of these was quite remarkable, and I was not able to trace, except remotely, the relation between cause and effect. She said: "At one of the Thursday evening meetings at which I was present, a gentleman arose and said, 'I want to ask your prayers for the drunken son of a poor old mother. I don't know who he is — not even his name, nor where he lives. Tonight, as I was coming here, I saw an old woman standing on a corner, and she seemed to be in trouble. I stopped and asked what was the matter, and she said, "Oh, dear sir, I'm in great distress. I'm old and poor, and have nothing to depend on but one son, and he's taken to bad habits, and spends nearly everything he earns in drink; and if I say a word to him, he goes on dreadfully. He hasn't been home all day; and there's nothing in the house to eat, and I've been going all about trying to find him." And the poor old mother wrung her hands and moaned so piteously, that it made my heart ache.
"I could do nothing for her but give her a little money and tell her to go home and pray for her son. And now I ask the prayers of all here tonight for the son of this aged mother.' The case was very blind. We did not know even the man's name, nor the name of his mother; how then were we to present him to God? But it was not for us to put limits to the Divine power of saving. So we laid this unknown mother's sorrow, and this unknown man's sin and desolation — before the Lord and left the case with Him. Well, on the next Thursday evening the gentleman arose again, and said, 'I have good news from the man whom I asked you to pray for at our last meeting. He has been saved!' What a thrill of joy went through me! 'On the very evening afterwards, I met his old mother again. It seemed almost as if she had dropped down in the street before me; and she told me this glad story: "After I saw you," she said, "I went home and waited for my son, crying and praying, and in great distress of mind. It was about half-past ten o'clock when I heard him come in — he never got home much before twelve — and it gave me a startle. Upstairs he came; not stumbling nor unsteady, but every step distinct and firm. When he opened the door, I saw something strange in his face. I didn't know what it meant. Such a light in his eyes, and such a soft, gentle look about his mouth. 'O John!' I cried out, almost catching my breath. Then he said, 'Mother, I've been to one of those great meetings, and I've signed the pledge, and if God will only give me the strength to keep it, I'll live and die a sober man!' Oh, dear, how my poor old heart did leap for joy. Then I got him around the neck, and I said, 'Let us kneel right down here, John, and pray that God will give you all the strength you need.' And down we knelt; and such a prayer-meeting as we had together; it lasted till almost morning."'
"With such instances of the power of prayer for our encouragement," continued the speaker, "and I could give many more that have come under my own observation quite as remarkable, let us not hesitate in our petitions, but come confidently to God. Among the written requests for prayer which I now hold in my hand, is one that has moved me deeply. Three young wives ask your prayers for their intemperate husbands. Three young wives."
Her voice falling on the words in low, pitying cadences. "Think of it! Three young wives; happy brides a little while ago, and with the sweet grace and charm of girlhood still about them! What an outlook upon life for these dear young souls. They have met together, and each has told to the others, her sorrow and her fear. They have seen their young husbands drifting, and drifting, and drifting away, every effort to hold them back in vain. They will be lost if some influence, greater than it is their power to exercise, if not brought to bear upon them. And now they ask our prayers. Let us offer them in loving faith; and not for these only, but for all the special cases which have been brought to us this day."
I had heard at one of the revival meetings, a year or two before, a long list of requests for prayer read off very much in the routine way of an entry clerk reading off the items of an invoice; and then the prayers were offered up in a kind of wholesale fashion that struck me as almost irreverent and quite useless.
But the prayer that I now heard affected me very differently. There was in it nothing of routine or dead formality. Mrs. West, to whom the duty of offering these requests to God had been assigned, felt, it was plain, the troubled heart-beat of those whom she represented in her petitions. Not a single request, written or verbal, was forgotten. Each, in turn, was offered before the Lord, and with such feeling and earnestness and individuality of need and condition, that I was not only surprised at the singular clearness with which she had apprehended each case, but deeply moved by the sphere of her trusting and reverent piety.
At the close of this prayer and the singing that followed, the pledge was offered to those who had not signed, and all who felt the need of spiritual counsel and comfort were invited to go into the inquiry-room.
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