Boys and girls, is not this a wonderful story? Get your Bibles, and look in the sixth chapter of the book of Daniel and the twenty-second verse.
Wicked men had laid a trap for King Darius, and because they were envious of Daniel, they caused the king to order Daniel to be thrown into the lions" den. This made King Darius very unhappy, for he loved Daniel. But though he was a heathen king, he had such faith in Daniel"s G.o.d, that he felt sure the lions would not be allowed to hurt him.
King Darius could not sleep all night, for thinking of Daniel all alone in the den of those wild beasts; so he got up very early in the morning, and went to the den and called to Daniel to know if he were alive. And from inside that dismal den with hungry beasts prowling round and round, came the bright, cheering voice of the G.o.d-protected man: "My G.o.d hath sent His angel, and hath shut the lions" mouths, that they have not hurt me."
John Wesley was as much among wild beasts at Wednesbury, as ever Daniel was in the den of lions, for when men"s pa.s.sions are roused they are no better than the beasts. But the arm that was raised to strike, gently stroked his hair; the blow that was meant to kill, fell upon an invisible head; the leaders of all that was cruel and wicked, were struck tender and quiet, and became personal protectors.
Truly Mr. Wesley could have said with Daniel: "My G.o.d hath sent His angel, and hath shut the lions" mouths, that they have not hurt me."
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CHAPTER XXVIII.
The lion-hearted Wesleys.--And their brave, long-suffering followers.--What Munchin thought of John Wesley.--Hymn 276 and how it came to be written.--The mischievous schoolboy becomes the sweet singer of Methodism.--The wall that sat down.--And the people who sat down with it.
THE troubles in Wednesbury were not yet ended. The very magistrates who had refused to see Mr. Wesley that night when the mob dragged him to the door, a few days later gave orders for the police to search everywhere for "those Methodist preachers who go about raising riots."
Even this failed to frighten the brave-hearted Wesleys, for when John left Wednesbury his brother Charles took his place. He found the poor Methodists still suffering terrible persecutions, but patient and forgiving to their enemies. Christ"s own words were their help and comfort: "_Blessed are they that are persecuted for righteousness" sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven_" (Matt. v. 10).
Munchin, the man who had been one of the leaders of the mob and afterwards protected Mr. Wesley, had joined the Methodists and become a member of society. One day Mr. Charles said to him: "What did you think of my brother?"
"Think of him?" said Munchin; "I think he is a man of G.o.d; and G.o.d was surely by his side when so many of us could not kill one man."
The persecutions of the Methodists in Wednesbury continued for a long time. The windows of their houses were broken, their tables, chairs, and other furniture were smashed to pieces, and their feather-beds were torn into shreds. No craven-hearted man would have dared to go into such a place of danger, and preach to such fiends in human form; but the Wesleys knew no fear when duty called, and again and again they visited their poor, persecuted followers. Christ-like men, indeed, they were, for, like their Holy Leader, "when they were reviled they reviled not again; when they suffered they threatened not."
Mr. Charles composed a hymn after one of the dreadful rows, which shows how entirely they trusted in Jesus, and how sure they were that no harm could come to them except what He allowed.
Look at number 276 in your Wesley"s Hymn-Book, and you will find this very hymn. This is the first verse:--
"Worship and thanks and blessing, And strength ascribe to Jesus!
Jesus alone defends His own, When earth and h.e.l.l oppress us.
"Jesus with joy we witness Almighty to deliver, Our seals set to, that G.o.d is true, And reigns a King for ever."
That reminds me that I must not forget to tell you, by far the greater number of the hymns we sing every Sunday in chapel were written by Mr.
Charles Wesley. Yes, the little mischievous Westminster schoolboy became the sweet singer of Methodism. Not only among Methodists are his beautiful hymns sung to-day, but in almost every Christian hymn-book in the world some of his verses will be found.
You must not think all places were like Wednesbury. Mr. Wesley had often very attentive congregations, and the people listened to him gladly.
Indeed, at an open-air service he once held, the people behaved better than I fear we should have done. Part of the congregation sat on a low wall built of loose stones; all at once, in the middle of the sermon, down came the wall and all the people with it. I think we should have burst out laughing, it must have looked so funny. Instead of which, there was no laughing and no screaming; the people just kept their places, only instead of sitting on the top of the wall they sat at the bottom. There was no interruption of the service at all; Mr. Wesley went on with his sermon, and the people continued reverent and attentive.
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CHAPTER XXIX.
The Magic Mirror again.--Sycamore Farm.--Annie"s good news.--A chorister up in a tree.--A long, long journey.--Sixty miles a day on horseback.--A Chapel out of doors.--A hard bed and a funny pillow.--Thanksgiving Street.--Ripe Blackberries.
WHY, I do believe that Magic Mirror has mended itself, for here it is, showing us such a lovely picture--nay, two, I declare. Look at that dear old farmhouse; it must surely be called Sycamore Farm, for there are great sycamore trees all round the front and the side. At the back, and only one field away from the house, are the green slopes of the mountain, with a little waterfall tumbling merrily down a crack in its side. In front of the farm, shimmering through the leaves of the trees, you can see the sunlit waters of a calm lake. The farm is a low whitewashed building, and we can see the cows in the distant meadows coming home to be milked. No one is with them; but there is a little group of people standing at the farmyard gate. The farmer and his wife and all the family and servants seem to be there.
Whatever is the matter?
Oh, see! there is a little girl in the middle of the group, and they are all listening to what she is saying. Let us listen too.
"Yes, it is quite true; Mr. Wesley _is_ coming. I went to the village for mother, and old Downs the cobbler told me, and so did Mrs. Wilson at the shop. Everybody is talking about it."
"Ay, but that"s good news, la.s.sie!" the old farmer says. "I wonder now if he"d come and preach at Sycamore Farm."
The picture has gone.
Oh, but here"s the other one. Why, it is the same old farmhouse, and the sun is shining on the whitewashed walls and funny little windows. There is a great crowd gathered under the shade of the leafy sycamores. See, there is the kind-looking farmer, with his sunburnt face, and sitting on his knee is Annie, the little girl that brought the good news from the village. Right in the midst of the crowd is Mr. Wesley, telling these country-people the story of the Cross.
Now that picture has gone too.
Should we not have liked to have been at that service?
I will tell you what Mr. Wesley said about it.
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"It was a hot summer day, and we could see the blue, blue sky through the leaves of the old sycamores, which shaded us from the heat. Just as I began to preach, a little bird perched on a branch close by and began to sing. I went on preaching, but its song did not end, it sang on and on, and not until the service was quite over did it cease. It was the best music for such a church and such a congregation, no harp or organ ever sounded half so sweet."
From Westmoreland, where this happened, to Cornwall is a long way, but not too far for Mr. Wesley and his horse. He used often to ride sixty miles a day; and most of his reading, and the composing of his sermons was done while he was on horseback. He travelled in this way for more than forty years, and must have gone over 100,000 miles.
In Gwennap, a place in Cornwall, Mr. Wesley found a lovely out-of-doors sort of chapel. Some of my readers will have seen the Happy Valley at Llandudno; I think the Gwennap chapel must have been something like that, only a great deal bigger. This is what Mr. Wesley wrote about his first service there:
"I stood on a wall, in the calm, still evening, with the setting sun behind, and a great, great mult.i.tude before, behind, and on either hand, sitting on the hills all round. All could hear quite distinctly, when I read to them Christ"s own words: "The disciple is not above his Master,"
and "He that taketh not his cross and followeth after Me is not worthy of Me.""
Must it not have been a wonderful sight?
Like other places, Cornwall did not always give a kind welcome to the Methodists; indeed, they had sometimes to put up with very rough treatment. Often they had to go without food, and the hard floor was their only bed.
Once, at a place called St. Ives, Mr. Wesley and his helper, Mr. Nelson, slept on the floor for a whole fortnight. One of them had an overcoat rolled up for a pillow, and the other a big book. They used to get very sore, and sometimes could not sleep for the pain in their poor aching bones. But these Methodists had never heard of Grumble Corner,--they only knew Thanksgiving Street; and so, instead of murmuring and complaining, one night, when the floor seemed harder than ever, Mr.