Mr. Dwight L. Moody, the well-known evangelist, was holding meetings in Baltimore, Maryland. A number of these meetings were for men only. Mr. Moody was very fond of the hymn 'Come, written by Mrs. J. G. Johnson. He often had the choir sing the chorus over and over again until the whole congregation could join in the singing.
At one of the meetings "for men only" a man attended only because of personal pressure brought to bear upon him. As he entered the hall, the audience was singing the chorus of the hymn, and the words rang out, "Come! Come! Come!”
"What fools," he said to himself. "Never have I seen so many fools together in all my life. The idea of men standing up and repeating, 'Come! Come! Come!'”
Though disgusted, he remained until the end of the meeting. When he started for home, to his further disgust he could not get the little word' "Come" out of his head! It came back again and again. What should he do He went into a tavern and called for whiskey. Still the word persisted, "Come." He went into a saloon, and ordered more whiskey. Still, back came the words, "Come! Come! Come!”
Now he said to himself, "What a fool I was to go to that meeting and allow myself to, be troubled, in this way!”
Still the little word persisted in his mind: "Come! Come! Come!" He visited another saloon, and had more liquor, and finally reached home. He went off to bed but could not sleep. It seemed that the very pillow whispered the words, "Come, Come, Come." Angry with himself for going to the meeting, he thought: "What a fool I was forever going to that meeting at all!”
He then got up, found a hymn book, read the hymn through; and thought again: "What a fool I was forever going to that place at all!" Still the voice persisted, "Come! Come! Come!”
"The idea of a rational man being disturbed by that hymn," he thought. Still the words came back to his mind. Again he got up. He threw the book in the fire and watched it burn. Now the word, "Come," burned into his mind! He declared he would never go to those meetings again nor to any other. However, the next night he was drawn irresistibly there; and, just as he arrived, they were singing the same hymn. Again he heard the pleading words: "Come, Come, Come," and he thought to himself: "There's that miserable hymn again; what a fool I am for coming!”
"But," said D. L. Moody, "when the Spirit of God lays hold of a man he does a good many things he did not intend to do." "And," continued Mr. Moody, "that man rose up in a meeting of young converts and told his story. Pulling out of his pocket a little hymn book, he had just bought, he opened it at this hymn. In humble penitence he said of the hymn that he at first had despised: 'This is the best, and sweetest hymn in the English language. God has blest it to the saving of my soul.’”
Dear scoffer, listen to the voice that calls you, "Come"!
"All things are ready, Come.”