Leonard Deane, though brought up in a God-fearing home, was incorrigible. At the tender age of seven he was hauled into the Police Court, and at ten was sent to a reform school. As a youth and young man, gambling and drink made him a wandering tramp; and finally, for brutally beating his wife, he was sentenced to prison.
Coming out of prison during World War 2, he at once enlisted and after "boot training" was sent to France. Through several engagements he courted death rather than feared it, hoping a sniper's bullet would end his miserable life; but, while comrades fell around him, he was spared.
One night behind the lines, he heard the singing of a hymn he had learned in his early years. It came from a hut where nightly services were held by the Christian Soldiers' Association. Soul sick, and his last penny gone in gambling, he went in and took a' back seat. The melody brought back memories of boyhood days, and stirred feelings long deadened by sin. He thought of his childhood with a saddened heart. The deep-toned voices of the massed men were not like the clear bright notes of long ago, but old memories crowded in upon his mind. He wished he could go back to the long ago and start afresh! But impossible—and any day he might be lying in some bullet-riddled spot in the front. The old hymn surely was not for such as he! Indeed, if these people only knew what he was, they would order him out! He wouldn't wait for that, and rose to leave. But just at that moment he caught the words of the hymn:
"Tell me the story softly, in earnest tones and grave,
Remember, I'm the sinner whom Jesus came to save,
Tell me the story always if you would really be,
In any time of trouble, a comforter to me."
He sank back in his corner and felt as though some kind friend had spoken; and he waited until the hymn was finished. Again he was at the point of leaving, but was held back as by an invisible hand.
The softly spoken word of the text was: "Come." The speaker seemed to be speaking to him, when he commented: "This is the mother word." Then he continued, "we think of her outstretched hands teaching us to walk, and inviting us to her comforting arms or to the embrace of her forgiveness. It is the voice of Jesus who speaks it now to you, whoever you may be. His is a greater love than ever a mother knew. He lived for you and died for you—COME! He will forgive and bless and make you a blessing. Though your sins be as scarlet they shall be as white as snow. COME!"
"Oh, dear Savior, I do come to Thee, just as I am." Could such a cry from his heart go unheeded? Had not the Savior said, "Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest"? There and then the soldier boy opened his heart to the Lord and passed from death to life.
In the large after-meeting Leonard was the first to raise his hand as a sign that he had responded to the Savior's "Come!"
"This is the happiest day of my life," he said. "Now I can write to my wife and my mother and tell them the good news. It will be the best they have ever heard."
From that moment he sought the same blessing for his comrades. That same night, putting his hand on the shoulder of another soldier, he urged him to turn to the Savior of sinners. Without a word the man followed him into the after-meeting.
"Here's a chum who wants to come, too," said Leonard. "I know he does."
Leonard was right, and soon he had the joy of clasping the hand of a brother in Christ, and of welcoming him into the family of God.
Dear reader, have you heard by faith the Savior's voice, "Come unto Me"? He is not asking you to DO anything. The work is DONE. Listen to His words—His dying words: "IT IS FINISHED." The work of redemption was completed upon the cross, and the Victim upon the cross is the VICTOR upon the throne.
Dear lost one, hopeless, delinquent, incorrigible, and bound for eternal doom, Jesus Christ "is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by Him." Heb. 7: 25.