"PLEASE, teacher, Polly Moran says she is very poorly. Will you go to see her?" Of course I said I would, but rather wondered at such a message from the dull, uninteresting child, whose absence from the ragged school I had scarce noted. I here would say to all teachers whose eyes this may meet, do not gauge your work by apparent results, but patiently sow beside all waters, for, it may be, the good seed of the kingdom is taking root where you least expect it.
I accordingly set out to look for Court, in the centre of a labyrinth of streets, in one of the most disreputable parts of Manchester, and, going to No. 3, found the door ajar and heard a terrible oath uttered within. With a silent prayer for protection and guidance, I timidly knocked, and was bidden “Come in."
I stepped in, and saw three rough-looking men seated at a table, on which stood a gallon jug of beer and a pack of dirty cards. They looked up in surprise at my entrance, so I said, “Does Polly Moran live here? I am her Sunday-school teacher."
"If you're our Polly's teacher, go upstairs; nobody shall hurt a hair of your head whilst I'm here," replied one of the men, holding on to the table to steady himself.
On reaching the top of the stairs, I found myself in the one bedroom of the house—a more comfortless place it would be impossible to describe—entirely destitute of furniture, with several heaps of dirty rags upon the floor, upon one of which lay poor Polly.
As I advanced towards her, she tried to raise herself, but the effort brought on a fit of coughing, which, with the sunken cheeks and hectic flush, told its own tale of another life sacrificed by parents to the demon drink.
“My poor child, I am sorry to find you so ill," I said.
“Yes, I cannot get up now, teacher," she answered,” or I should come to school."
“I am afraid you will not come to school again for a long time, Polly."
“I shall not come any more, but I am going to heaven ; for the doctor said this morning, when Mrs. O’Neal brought him, that it was no use moving me to the hospital, as I was dying."
“Are you afraid to die, dear?” I asked.
“Oh! no, teacher ; I am so glad, for people don't get drunk in heaven, do they ? "
Wishing to test the ground of her confidence, I enquired, “Why do you expect to go to heaven, Polly? Because you have always been a good girl? "
“No, oh, no! I have been a very bad girl, I used to say bad words and all sorts once, before—" Here the sentence, which had only been spoken in gasps, was interrupted by a fit of coughing.
My heart was lifted up in prayer as I administered the nourishment I had brought with me, and soon she recovered her breath.
“Why did you give up saying bad words?" I asked.
“One Sunday night you told us that Jesus loved us so much that, though He was a great rich King, yet He came to be poor like us, and I thought that means that He loves nice, well-dressed people like teacher; and just when I was thinking that, you turned right round, and looking straight at me you said, Jesus loves you.’”
“Yes, dear Polly," I said,” Jesus does love you dearly, quite as dearly as if you were rich or great."
“When I got outside," continued the child,” I did say thank you ' to Jesus for loving me, and promised Him I would do everything He wanted; for nobody ever cared for me before, only you, teacher."
“Why did you not tell me this sooner?" I asked.
"I didn't like, but it made me so happy that, when father got mad drunk and beat me, I just whispered Jesus loves me,' and then I didn't care a bit."
I prayed with the dear girl, and, with my heart full of praise, went away feeling that "His ways are past finding out."
Twice more I visited her, and read to her of the Savior whom she loved, and prayed with her. Each time she was weaker in body, but strong in faith.
“When I get to heaven, I shall just say I am Polly Moran, that Jesus 'died on purpose to save,' and then they will let me in quick, won't they?”
Oh that everyone who reads these lines may have like simple faith! “Being justified by faith, we have peace with God." He died to save you, even you; whether you be poor or rich, learned or ignorant, young or old. He loves you, and gave Himself for you, and now He asks you to repent of your sins and believe in Him.
The next time I went, the neighbor, Mrs. O’Neal, told me Polly was dead. “The last words she said, ma'am, were Tell teacher Jesus has come for me,' and she just fell back and was gone."
What a glorious change!—from poverty to infinite riches, from pain and misery to endless joy!
You may have had far greater advantages than Polly had of knowing Jesus, yet have you, dear reader, accepted His love for yourself, and committed your soul into His keeping?
However good and moral your life may have been, if you have not come to God through Christ for pardon, you are now under sentence of death; guilty of murder, for your sins crucified the Son of God; guilty of robbery, for you have robbed God of the service due to Him, ever since you could tell right from wrong; yet He is waiting with open arms to receive you as soon as you are willing to come to Him as a SINNER. He will receive you on no other ground, for He "came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance."
He never yet turned away one penitent sinner who came to Him, for He says, "Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out."
Just as soon as you are willing to forsake sin, Jesus will pardon the past, and give you grace to live for Him in the future, and then it will not matter whether, like Polly, you are called home in early life, or whether He needs you on earth for long years of blessed service. “There is . . . now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus."
R. B. V.