IT was within a building where people meet
To hear the blessed news of what the Lord
Has done for sinful men. A preacher,
Whose tongue seemed to be touched “with a live coal
From off the altar,” preached to those around
The power and love of God. Loud he proclaimed
HIS grace, His wisdom, and His faithfulness,
Mighty to save, and steadfast to redeem.
“Mine own arm brought salvation,” were the words
He made his text. The silent throng around
Sat, steady listeners to the words, that told
Of justice satisfied, and sinners saved:
But one the preacher marked, whose countenance
Betrayed an interest so intense, that all
The rest seemed blanks. It was a stranger,
Whose years, though few, seemed to have passed in want;
His dress was soiled and torn, and on his face
Were written wretchedness and pain; yet as
He stood, leaning against a pillar there,
And his ear caught the words of inspiration,
A ray of truth within appeared to light
His haggard face, and kindle in his eye.
None knew from whence he came, or where he went;
But, Lord’s day after Lord’s day, for some weeks,
He took his wonted place within those doors.
Weeks passed away, and he had been forgotten,
When one cold, stormy night, the preacher
Received a message, begging him to come
And see a dying one. The man of God
Needed no second invitation
To fulfill the work of love; and, with a guide,
Threaded the noisome streets, until he came
Where a damp cellar showed its broken door.
Here the guide left him, and he entered in.
The place was almost dark, no sign was here
Of human dwelling; and he half resolved
To go again the way by which he came;
When, looking through the gloom, at farthest end.
He saw a heap of straw, and heard a sound,
As though some hand had moved it. In a moment
He stood beside that heap, for on it lay
A dying son of earth, soon to be made
A living light in heaven. The damp, cold dew
Of death stood on his brow; the sunk, pale cheek,
And glaring eye, foretold the parting hour,
When, to its kindred dust, dust shall return,
And the freed spirit mount to Him who gave it.
He, for a moment, lay quite motionless,
Then, with an effort almost superhuman,
Sat himself up, and, looking round, exclaimed,
“His own arm brought salvation!” and expired.
Here mark the hand of God; this outcast creature,
Wretched and vile, in the world’s estimation,
Was, in the eye of Him who knoweth all,
An heir of glory and a child of heaven!
Go, then, ye wise and learned, God hath chosen
The weak things of the earth, to shame the mighty;
It is His own high arm, not man’s vain works,
That gains the victory over sin and death.