Listen, sinner, you, her boy.
You have ofttimes heard this warning, In your heart conviction"s deep; G.o.d is calling to the wanderer Who asks mercy at his feet.
NOT LONELY NOW.
I am not lonely, mother, now, Though far from me you roam.
One dried my tears and smoothed my brow, And stilled the sob and groan.
I am not lonely, mother, dear, For Jesus dwells with me, e"en here.
All day I feel Him by my side; And when betimes would come The Evil One, I quickly hide Behind my Precious One.
Think you I"m lonely, mother, dear, When Jesus thus is ever near?
And when at night I think of thee, As in my cell I sit, Bright vision of thy form I see By His own presence lit.
Can I be lonely, mother, dear, When thy pure spirit is so near?
Farewell, my darling mother-friend, And if for aye, Oh! fare thee well!
Whate"er betide, unto the end, Christ"s love for me I"ll gladly tell.
The following was written by a young brother who, with his wife, were with me for a time in my work. In thanking them for a kindness done me I used the words, "Jesus is looking on," implying that He would reward them. Only an hour or so afterward the young brother handed me these lines, suggested by my words:
Little did I think when I spoke the words that they would make so deep an impression upon his mind. How little we realize what a word may do.
JESUS IS LOOKING ON.
"The eyes of the Lord are upon the righteous and his ears are open unto their cry." Ps. 34.
[TUNE, "ARE YOU WITHIN THE FOLD TONIGHT?"]
1. While traveling as a pilgrim Across life"s desert drear, My feet ofttimes are weary, Mine eyes oft drop a tear; But when I look to Jesus, All weariness is gone, My heart then joys within me To know He"s looking on.
CHORUS.
Yes, He is ever looking on, With anxious ear our cry to hear.
He hears each sigh, He sees each tear; He knows each heart "with sorrow riven,"
He hears each word of joy or moan, And whispers gently in our ear, I"m looking, looking on.
2. When troubles rage around me, And trials fiery come, My thoughts are then directed To my eternal home.
Though walking on the mountain, Or on the verdant lawn, This is the thought that cheers me, He"s always looking on.
3. When friends do turn against me, And frown and persecute, I"m then brought nearer Jesus, Than when my foes are mute.
While Jesus walks beside me, His arm I"ll lean upon, And ne"er forget the promise, He"s always looking on.
4. Take courage, brother pilgrim, And let us journey on, For soon life"s many trials Will all have pa.s.sed and gone; Then sweeping up to glory We"ll join the ransomed throng, And sing G.o.d"s endless praises, While He is looking on.
HOW G.o.d CALLS MISSIONARIES OUT OF PRISON CELLS.
S. H. HADLEY.
_Superintendent of the Old McAuley Mission._
Some of the best missionaries this world ever knew are men who have been sentenced to long terms in prison. Wholly shut away from the world and its dreadful temptations, G.o.d had a chance to speak to them.
Jerry McAuley was a wonderful example of this, and that drunken loafer and thief was finally used so wonderfully by the Lord G.o.d that his name has gone all over this world and has been an inspiration to millions. He was sent to prison from the Fourth Ward of New York for fifteen years at the age of nineteen.
One Sunday morning in the chapel the speaker was old "Awful" Gardener, an old-time ruffian and prize-fighter in New York, but G.o.d had got hold of him and he had been wonderfully saved. With tears streaming down his face, he told of the love of Christ, and he said, "Boys, I ought to be wearing the stripes the same as you are, and I feel a deep sympathy for you."
He also quoted some verses from the Scriptures, and after the boys had gone back to their cells Jerry found a Bible in the ventilator of his cell, and, looking it over aimlessly, tried to find the text that "Awful" Gardener had quoted, but instead he found that Christ came to save sinners, and the Holy Spirit showed him his dreadful past life.
As the day grew into night, Jerry got down on his knees and began to pray. He had never prayed before, but now he cried to G.o.d for help and mercy. How long he was there he does not know, but some time during the night a glorious light dispelled the deep darkness of his soul, and he cried out, "Oh, praise G.o.d, I found Jesus, and He gives peace to my soul." The unusual sound brought the keeper, who asked, "What is the matter with you?"
Jerry answered, "I found Jesus, that"s what"s the matter with me."
He found some opportunities to breathe out the new-found hopes of his soul and the love of Jesus to the prisoners about him. Soon a revival broke out in the prison such as never had been seen before or since, and Jerry was the center of it all. He was pardoned in 1864, but when he got home he had no friends, no money, and he soon fell into bad company, and got to be a worse scoundrel than he ever was before. It was after this he became known as the dangerous East River pirate. He was reclaimed in 1868, and although he fell five times after that during the first eight or nine months, he was finally anch.o.r.ed to Christ.
Do you know that every drunkard uses tobacco? Jerry was no exception.
Some faithful friends said to him. "Jerry, give up your tobacco for Jesus" sake," and he gave it up, and then he never fell afterward.
He was afterward married to Maria, his faithful wife, who also was redeemed from a drunkard"s life, and in 1872 opened the world-renowned McAuley Mission, at 316 Water Street, down on the East Side, nearly under the Brooklyn Bridge.
He stayed here ten years, and then opened the Cremorne Mission, Thirty-second Street and Sixth Avenue, where he died in 1884, and had the largest funeral of any private citizen who was ever buried in New York.
The writer succeeded Jerry McAuley down there, and the work is going on night and day. Drunkards and thieves come in by the thousand, and, thank G.o.d, many of them are saved unto life eternal. The writer is also a convert of Jerry McAuley Mission.--_The Life Boat._
OUTSIDE THE PRISON WALLS.
Free, free at last he left the dreary jail, And stepped into the dewy April night; Once more he breathed, untainted, G.o.d"s pure air, And saw the evening star"s sweet trembling light.
How strange! how strange! and yet how strangely dear The old familiar turf beneath his feet!
How wonderful once more to be alone Unwatched, unguarded, "neath the sky"s broad sweep.
Free! free again--but O, so old and worn-- So weary with his wasted, ruined life-- Full twenty years the cell, his only home-- Full twenty years with hopeless misery rife!
His thoughts sped backward till they reached that day When he had entered that grim house, a boy-- Naught but a boy in stature and in years, But with a heart all bare of hope and joy.
For in a dreadful moment, crazed with rum, His hand had laid a fellow creature low, And for that gla.s.s of brandy in his brain Full twenty years of wretchedness and woe.
And now, a gray-haired man, he walked again The very path his boyish feet had pressed So many, many years ago; And now he wandered lonely, seeking rest.
Where should he go? Where now his footsteps turn?
No living soul was there to welcome him!
No friend of all his youthful days he knew Would greet again this wanderer in sin.
Unconsciously, he sought his boyhood"s home, The low, white cottage he had held so dear; "Twas standing in its old accustomed place, But strangers had dwelt there for many a year.
Where next? The tears stood in his mournful eyes; His breath came thick and fast--he could not stir, But leaned upon the old familiar gate With thoughts of mother--O, could he find her?
Where was she now--that mother, sweet and good, Who tried with tears and prayers to save her boy, Who knelt alone at midnight"s solemn hour And mourned for him who should have been her joy.
His faltering steps at last he vaguely turned Unto the silent churchyard near the sea, And stood alone while pitying moonbeams spread Around his form a veil of charity.
Alone with G.o.d in that still, solemn place, Alone with hundreds of the silent dead, The outcast stood with lowly, sin-sick heart, The cold night dew upon his drooping head.
At last he found her in a place apart, Where moonbeams sparkled through the willow boughs, And shone upon her simple headstone white That marked the limit of her narrow house.
"Twas but a snowy marble, simple, plain, That bore her name, her age, and just below-- "Died of a broken heart"--alas! he knew The cause of all that life and death of woe.