THE important manufacturing town of R―, situated in a beautiful hilly district in the north of Germany, has a world-wide reputation for its small hardware, such as skates, coffee-mills, files, &c., and is the acknowledged center of steel and iron industries.
But we are writing of a time when. R― was but a village, and the trade of today was in its infancy. Small factories and workshops gave occupation to the inhabitants. God had visited the place with the glad tidings of His grace, and the voice of rejoicing and salvation was heard in many a dwelling. The war with France was just ended, as also the two years of suffering and privation through which the hard-working poor had passed.
Into one of the workshops of R — we will conduct our reader. From eight to ten workmen and a few apprentices were under the godly master, Jacob, working at anvil and turning-lathes from morning to night.
This workshop differed in one respect from many others in the village. Neither swearing nor drinking was allowed. It was the master’s custom in moments when work was somewhat slack, to sing hymns with his men, himself taking his place in the middle of the room, and raising the tune, in which any who desired it might join. The German translation of
“There is a fountain filled with blood,”
and
“Jesus, Thy boundless love to me,
were special favorites.
About this time a new apprentice named Henry arrived. He had been blessed with Christian parents and surroundings. But we will let him tell his own history.
When I entered into apprenticeship with Jacob, I was not as yet sure of my own salvation, though earnestly desiring to know it. It was therefore not surprising that I became attached to my Christian employer, and gladly accompanied him to the weekly meetings for reading the Scriptures. Every day after breakfast he read the Bible and prayed with us.
The years of my apprenticeship came to an end, and I was promoted to be a workman. But still I had not peace with God. I knew that I was a lost sinner, not fit for heaven. Nevertheless I was looked upon by others as a Christian, on the side of the master, and was, with him, the object of the mockery and scorn of many of my fellow-workmen. Among these was a terrible man, Albert R —, who was only allowed to remain because of his good qualities as a workman. When his blood was up, he behaved like a madman. He rushed round the place, foaming at the mouth. All work was stopped; the men fled before him. But the Lord was, even at that time, awakening anxious thoughts in his soul.
One day he appeared suddenly in the master’s room, and asked him if it were true that a man could know even now that he were saved and would go to heaven. On being assured that he could, Albert further asked, “Are you then quite sure that you will go to heaven?” “Quite sure,” was the joyful reply. “God Himself assures me in His Word. And you too, Albert, may know it for yourself, if you will. When a poor repentant sinner comes to the Saviour, he receives the assurance that his sins are forgiven, and that he will be in heaven at the end.” “Then I will ask Henry the same accordingly he came to me in the workshop with the same words: “Tell me, Henry, do you know for certain that you are going to heaven? “For so direct a question I was not prepared. I stood there confounded and silent. If I said “yes,” I should be a liar. If I said “no,” I should bring discredit on Christianity, and on the Word of God, in the eyes of Albert. Dare I lie? No. I tremblingly answered that I could not say I was sure. “Then the master is a liar, and all Christians are hypocrites. If you are not sure of being saved, neither can the master be.” From that day he would hear nothing about conversion, and followed his own evil ways worse than ever.
On myself that short interview made a very deep impression. At the first quiet moment I shut myself in my room, and in an agony of distress cried to the Lord. He heard my cry, and in His great mercy gave me to see, by faith, that Jesus had borne my sins, and had forever put them away. I knew that I was saved. A little tract which had for title, “Do you wish to be saved? Then why are you not saved?” was greatly blessed to me at that time. I saw that all the hindrance was in myself, and that all the work was God’s. “By grace are ye saved, through faith.”
Now I could praise the Saviour who shed His blood for me on the cross. I hastened to Albert to tell him how sure I now was that I was saved. He only laughed me to scorn, and said he was certain that I said so only to please the master. But I went on my way rejoicing.
Not long after this Albert left for work at another place. I did not remain long after him, but moved to Essen, where I had suitable employment in railway works. Many of the incidents of my life at R― faded gradually from my memory.
Fifteen years passed. I was still at Essen. I had a fellow workman named Peter, the strongest man in the works. I remember once proving his strength in a remarkable way. Four of us were trying to lift a very heavy iron bar to take to the workshop. Peter saw our difficulty, and called to us to stop. He lifted the iron bar alone, put it on his shoulder, and carried it to its place. He was a Romanist, lived a dissolute life, and was a hard drinker. All warnings and friendly counsel were lost upon him. Then came a report that a certain crime was laid to his charge, for which he was taken up, tried, and condemned to five years’ imprisonment with hard labor.
Five years later I was, early one Sunday morning, on the high road from Essen to B —, when I saw before me an apparently aged man, bowed, leaning on a stick, and walking with much difficulty. I soon overtook him, and saw that I was mistaken. He was not old, but evidently weak and suffering. When quite close, he turned towards me. The features were not unfamiliar, yet my astonishment was great to recognize in that picture of misery my old companion Peter. Yes, it was himself. He had at once recognized me, putting out his hand with “Good morning, Henry.”
“But what are you doing here, Peter?” I asked. “Where do you come from?”
“From W —, from the prison. Don’t you remember that five years ago I was sentenced to five years’ hard labor? My time is up today.”
“I do indeed remember; but how changed you are! you who were the strongest amongst us, now an old, broken-down man! And what will you do now? You cannot work; you are not fit for it.”
“I am going to the workhouse; and then, to die.”
“What!” I cried; “out of prison to the workhouse; and then, to die. And, Peter, what then?”
He quietly replied, a gleam of joy overspreading his poor, wan features, “Then I shall be with the Lord Jesus!”
We had stopped in the road, and spoke face to face. Had I heard aright? Could it be possible? Was that wretched man, once shunned by all who knew him, one of the Lord’s redeemed ones? Recovered from my surprise, I asked him where he had learned to know the Lord Jesus.
“In the prison,” he replied; “the Lord Jesus is there too. There I found Him; there He found me. Oh, how good it was for me to be in that place! Perhaps I should not otherwise have known Him. I have lost my health and strength, but my soul is saved.” After a pause he added: “I have a message to you from Albert R —, whom you knew at R —.”
“What!” I exclaimed, “is he, too, where you have been?”
“Yes, he is there. In one of his frenzies he attacked a merchant in his own house, and smashed windows and furniture. He was condemned for this to ten years’ penal servitude, and has still two years to finish the sentence. But he is a blessing to the whole place. All the hymns which used to be sung at R—with our old master are sung in the prison at W —. He has told his fellow-prisoners of you, and of your conversations together there. He found his Saviour in the prison.”
Peter related to me much besides, as we slowly went our way along the road. My heart was filled with joy. How wonderful are the ways of God! The seed of the Word, which had so long lain dormant in that poor, hopeless heart, had by His grace sprung up; and not only for the salvation of one soul, but for that of others, to whom he was the messenger of the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ.
On taking leave of Peter, I promised to go and see him in the workhouse; but before I could fulfill my promise, the tidings reached me that he had been taken Home — from the prison to the workhouse, and from the workhouse to Jesus.
Dear readers, young and old, what shall we say to this? How rich is the mercy of God, how great and unfathomable His love! Yes; where sin abounded, grace much more abounds. What will it be when all the saved ones — many of whom had been thieves and murderers, drunkards and swearers — are gathered together to praise the Lamb who bore all their sins on the cross, and put them forever away — themselves made clean and without spot by His precious blood, and changed into His very image who loved them and gave Himself for them.
Dear reader, will you be there with that blessed company?