"I lost twenty years religion here," so the old lady said, as she took a farewell look around the little cottage that had been her home for many years. "And here," she said, "I was born again after twenty years of a religious life." We ventured to ask how she came to sustain such a loss, or if she had received anything instead. So she told me the story.
"I live quite near your hall—so near that I could hear you folks singing. I sometimes raised my window to hear the hymns. I wondered what sort of folks you were—everybody seemed so happy.
"I was a member of the established church, and lived a religious life; yet it was evident that you had something that I had not. Half through curiosity, half through anxiety, I finally ventured in one Sunday night. I sat down near the door so I would not be noticed.
"The preacher spoke of 'being born again.' He said that one might be 'religious' and 'pray,' and 'do the best he could,' and yet be outside heaven at last. I felt that was me, for I never had been 'born again.'
“The Word of God stripped me of my false religion; and there I sat, conscious for the first time that I was a lost and ruined sinner. Then came the gospel—the story of the brazen serpent, and that there was life in a look to Jesus. I looked and I live. I thought I could not leave here in peace until I told you, and now that burden is off my mind.”