“IS it for me? Is it for me?” Such were the eager words that fell from the lips of George Hunniwell, who, many years ago, was suffering a term of penal servitude in the States prison of Massachusetts as a punishment for having, ten years previously, willfully set fire to his brother’s house in a drunken bout, with the sad result that, not only was the house burnt down, but his brother perished in the flames. It would appear to have been the custom at that time for the American President once a year to exercise his prerogative, as Chief of the State, of pardoning any one prisoner in that gaol; and hence, as the particular day came round each year, the prisoners were naturally anxious to know who might be the specially favored one to receive the Presidential pardon. It was customary, on these occasions, for all the prisoners to attend a preliminary service held in the prison chapel, when the chaplain would give an address, and, at its close, the looked-for announcement would be made by the governor.
On this particular occasion the chapel was full; and the discourse being ended, the Governor rose from his seat, and, facing the prisoners, declared the following message: ―
“This year the President of the United States grants a free pardon to George Hunniwell.”
There was perfect silence for a moment, but no one moved. As the good news rang out once more from the Governor’s lips a pale and haggard man hurriedly rose, with a strange light in his eyes; and, gazing intently at the Governor, exclaimed in eager tones, “Is it for me? Is it for me?”
“Yes,” was the prompt reply, “It is for you, George Hunniwell, the President has pardoned you.”
At first, the glorious news seemed all too good to be true, for the guilty criminal had only completed half his term; but, as the truth dawned upon him, his heart was filled with gratitude and joy; and that very day the prison cell was left behind, and George Hunniwell went out into God’s sunshine, a pardoned man. This kind act on the part of the American President did not, however, cost him anything; but the pardon of all your sins, dear reader, cost the Christ of God the laying down of His spotless life, and the shedding of His precious blood; and, “through this man,” God now offers you a full and free pardon; and it rests with you either to accept it in this day of grace, or reject it to your everlasting sorrow.
Now will you come with me in spirit to a little meeting room at C―, in the south of London; where, in the spring of 1878, the writer was engaged to preach one Sunday evening? It was just after the time of Messrs. Moody and Sankey’s first visit to this country; and their beautiful hymns and melodies had gained such a hold upon the hearts of our countrymen. On my way to that gospel meeting I was deep in thought and meditation, when the tune associated with the hymn “There is a gate that stands ajar” came vividly to my mind; and, though enjoying the tune, I was pondering in my heart how infinitely preferable would be such words as “here is a door wide open stands.”
While thus meditating, I looked to the Lord for guidance, and my thoughts were immediately directed to that beautiful and well-known hymn: —
“There is a stream of precious blood,
Which flowed from Jesu’s veins;
And sinners washed in that blest flood
Lose all their guilty stains.”
At once, like a message from heaven, the words of a suited chorus presented themselves to my mind; and I resolved that, were it the Lord’s will, I would sing them in connection with the above hymn at the close of the gospel meeting. The Spirit of God wrought with much blessing in that meeting in answer to prayer; and then I asked the congregation to sing the following chorus after each verse: ―
“Oh! depth of mercy, can it be,
That precious blood was shed for me?
For me; for me;
That blood was shed for me.”
The words were heartily sung; but little did I think at the time of what was going to be the result of that chorus, which undoubtedly the Spirit of God had then given me. This was not manifested until the following Lord’s Day evening, when I was again preaching in the same room. During a very happy after-meeting which followed the address, I had observed a sailor sitting near the door, whose eyes were wet with tears; and thinking that possibly he might be in distress of soul, I felt led to speak to him, counting on God to give me the right and suited word. Advancing towards him, I gently whispered, “May I speak to you, dear friend?” to which he quickly assented.
“Are you troubled,” said I, “about your sins?”
Amidst his fast falling tears, he replied, “Oh! no, sir, I’m not crying about my sins; but for the joy of knowing they’re all gone.”
Expressing my deep delight at such good news, I rejoined, “Has the Lord saved you tonight?”
“Oh! no,” said he; “He did that last Sunday night, as we sung the closing hymn. It was those blessed words we sang which went straight to my heart.”
“What words?” I asked. And amidst a fresh outburst of tears he exclaimed: ―
“Oh! depth of mercy, can it be,
That precious blood was shed for me?
For me; for me;
That blood was shed for me.”
Thus had God’s Spirit graciously wrought both in preacher and hearer; and there was joy in heaven, and on earth, as the prodigal was welcomed home; and one more lost one had found rest and peace through his own personal appropriation by faith of the cleansing power of the blood of Christ to his own individual need. Needless to say, though many years have since passed, the events of that happy night will never be erased from my memory; and may I, in closing, earnestly implore every reader of these lines, if still lost and guilty, to come at once to the Saviour, and prove for yourself the truth of those words,
“Oh! depth of mercy, can it be,
That precious blood was shed for me?
For me; for me;
That blood was shed for me.”
Then, like the beloved apostle, will you be enabled to say from the depths of your ransomed soul, Jesus is “the Son of God, who loved me, and gave Himself for me.”
S. T.