A FEW years ago I was visiting one of our large London hospitals, and met with the following case. I had gone there to see a poor lady suffering from cancer, but found that she had already at her bedside the number of visitors allowed by the “rules.” Were not our steps ordered I thought? why had I gone that long way for nothing? Ah! what reasoning hearts we have! A friend then told me of a poor girl of about nineteen years nearing her end, and of her wild excited state when told that she could not live.
She had left her home, in the south of England, hoping to better herself, and had come up to London. There her life had been misspent; she had lived in so-called pleasures, and had brought herself to an untimely end.
Her poor old mother, who had been sent for, had taken the long sad journey to see the last of her poor child, as she thought, lost and dying without Christ. I hardly liked to intrude upon the mother’s grief, so spoke to some other poor sufferers, but none of them seemed to care to hear of Christ. They were taken up with the flowers and crosses which had been sent to them.
While speaking to these people the heartbroken mother came up to me, and asked if I were a Bible-woman, and would I come and speak to her poor child? Gladly, I said, though my heart failed me. There was such unrest about the poor girl’s face, and I felt that the power of Satan was there. Was there yet time to tell her of One stronger than he that could save her even then?
I bent over the poor girl, and told her of Christ, the Son of God, taking our place, and dying for our sake; told her that His blood could cleanse her sins away, however many or vile they might be. Her eyes were fixed upon me, but there was no response. She tried to speak at last, and this was what she was seeking comfort from—
“‘Tis religion that can give,
Peace and comfort while we live.”
Slowly and firmly I said, “No; peace and comfort only come when we know Christ as our Saviour; religion can do nothing for you now, and never could: it is Christ you need, a living Saviour.” Then, I saw a look of agony I can never forget, as if all was going from under her, and she felt lost.
They were awful moments. I wondered what she would say, as over and again I repeated, “The blood of Jesus Christ, God’s Son, cleanseth us from all sin,” and assured her that His blood could in a moment make a poor guilty sinner fit for the presence of God. These were her words “I see, I see the cross, but there is no one on it.”
“O God! show her Christ where He is,” was all I could say. I bent down to the poor girl, and said, “You are looking in the wrong place, Christ was on the cross for you and me, He finished the work there, and then God raised Him from the dead. Look up, and God grant you faith to see the Saviour, Jesus, on God’s right hand in glory.”
A peaceful change came over the poor troubled face; she took my hand and said, with great effort, “I see it; pray with me.” The poor mother blessed God, her Saviour, for she had now the joy of trusting that her child was resting on Christ, and believing in His finished work in answer to her fervent prayers.
There were crosses all about the walls of the ward, and the nurses also wore them at their sides. If they could only have heard the words of that poor dying girl, “I see, I see the cross, but there is no one on it,” how shallow and empty would all the outside show become to them. A child of God alone can understand the cross of Christ, and than God that it is a living Person at God’s right hand, who saves and cares for us till He has us with Himself—
“’Tis finished,” on the cross He said,
In agonies and blood;
“’Tis finished,” now He lives to plead
Before the face of God.
M. G. C. L.