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One hundred and fifty years ago, when this true story took place, the term “Gypsy”, though particularly denoting roving “Romani” or “Romany” folk, could have been applied to the many migrant people who roamed England and Europe, doing odd jobs, engaging in trading and various other means of income which suited their nomadic lifestyle. They were generally despised and distrusted. They commonly lived in tents and “caravans” (little house-wagons). This wonderful story has been lightly edited for modern readers.
Passing near a Gypsy camp, I went in among them. After buying some of the skewers they were making, I learned that one of their number was ill, and I begged to be allowed to see him. The father asked:
“Do you want to talk religion to him?
“No.”
“What then?”
“About Christ.”
“Oh, then, you may go; only if you talk religion, I’ll set the dog on you!”
In the caravan, I found a lad alone, and in bed, evidently at the far end of the last stage of tuberculosis. His eyes were closed, and he looked as one already dead. Very slowly, in his ear, I repeated the Scripture, “God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” I repeated it five times without any apparent response. He did not seem to hear even with the outward ear. On repeating the verse the sixth time, he opened his eyes and smiled. Then, to my delight, he whispered:
“And I never thanked Him! But nobody ever told me! I ’turn Him many thanks. Only a poor Gypsy chap! I see! I thank Him kindly!”
He closed his eyes with an expression of intense satisfaction. As I knelt beside him, I thanked God. His lips moved again, and I caught, “That’s it.” There were more words but I could not hear them.
On going the next day, I found that the dear lad had died, (or rather had fallen asleep in Christ) eleven hours after I left. His father said he had been very “peaceable” and had died a “tidy death.” There were no Bibles or Testaments in the camp. I left one of each. The poor man wished me “good luck,” and gave me a little bundle of skewers the boy “Jimmy” had made.
Reader, it was apparently the first time that this dear boy had ever heard of God’s wonderful salvation; and with unquestioning faith he took God at His word, and with his dying lips thanked Him that He so loved the world as to give His Son for him, “a poor Gypsy chap.” God is satisfied with the finished work of the Lord Jesus Christ. This poor lad was also satisfied; and this mutual satisfaction was instant and everlasting salvation. In eleven short hours he exchanged that forlorn, rickety caravan for the Paradise of God, where he is tasting that God is as good as His Word!
If you have not with your heart said “Amen” to God’s way of saving lost sinners, you are on the extreme verge of that death which God calls “eternal”; and He alone has the keys of death and hell. But “the grace of God that bringeth salvation” is brought before you today. Oh, will you refuse it and pass on to “the great white throne” lying ahead of you, and at last find your portion in the fire that “never can be quenched?” Or, will you pause and take it and “’turn Him many thanks?”
My fellow-believer, may none within your reach or mine ever have occasion to say, with regard to these everlasting realities, “Nobody ever told me.”
Author Unknown
Circa 1870
There is a sequel to this story:
Though this story apparently took place in England, it soon found its way to Fall River, Massachusetts in New England, where, Mary Slade, the wife of a gospel preacher, rewrote the story as a gospel hymn, now so familiar (and so precious) to so many:
Tell It Again!
Into the tent where a gypsy boy lay,
Dying alone, at the close of the day,
News of salvation we carried. Said he,
"Nobody ever has told it to me!"
Refrain:
Tell it again! Tell it again!
Salvation's story repeat o'er and o'er
Till none can say of the children of men,
"Nobody ever has told me before!"
"Did He so love me, a poor little boy?
Send unto me the good tidings of joy?
Need I not perish? My hand will He hold?
Nobody ever the story has told!"
Bending, we caught the last words of his breath,
Just as he entered the valley of death:
"God sent His Son—whosoever!" said he;
"Then I am sure that He sent Him for me!"
Smiling he said, as his last sigh was spent,
"I am so glad that for me He was sent!"
Whispered, while low sank the sun in the west,
"Lord, I believe; tell it now to the rest."
Shortly thereafter, Rigdon M. McIntosh composed the tune commonly associated with the hymn and included the hymn in Good News, or Songs and Tunes for Sunday Schools, Christian Associations and Special Meetings, edited by Rigdon M. McIntosh, 1876.
The words and music may be currently found together in the music edition of the Echoes of Grace Hymn Book (hymn #324, BTP #2535).
Sing it again!
Tell it again!
Tell it again! Tell it again!
Salvation's story repeat o'er and o'er
Till none can say of the children of men,
"Nobody ever has told me before!"
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