I SHALL never forget an incident which occurred when I was a little boy. My father then resided in Pennsylvania, in a portion of the State not very thickly inhabited. Our house stood upon the public road. There lived on a farm, about a mile distant from the road, in a very lonesome place, an old man who owned the place, and who kept house all alone. He had not so much as a house-dog for a companion. This old man told my father that if he would send over to his house, he would give him some parsnips. So one day, about four o’clock in the afternoon, in the month of September, my father gave me a bag, and sent me off to the old farmer’s to get some parsnips.
I found the way there very well, though it was mostly through thick woods. I shall not soon forget the sensations which crept over me when I first drew near to the time-worn enclosure, in which stood the somewhat dilapidated house, whose windows and doors I soon found to be duly fastened. Not a creature of any kind appeared in sight, except a few of the herds which appeared to be seeking their retreat for the night.
The sun was now fast sinking beneath the horizon, and a deathlike stillness pervaded the atmosphere, which was sometimes partially broken by the shrill cry of the whip-poor-will. I had already knocked at every door, and was convinced that the old man was gone. The next thing was to find my way home again. This I attempted to do, but failed. The sun had ceased to shine, and I tried in vain to find my way through the piece of woodland which intervened between me and my father’s house. My heart was filled with unutterable emotions. There I was, in that lonely forest, while the gloom of night began to thicken around me, fully conscious that I was lost!
Lost! lost! lost! This terrific word constantly rang in my ears. I soon began to fancy myself in the midst of devouring beasts. Ferocious wolves and bears had been seen in those woods, and what could I do? I determined to hasten back to the old farmhouse, faintly hoping that by this time the old man might have returned. But my hopes were vain. The same melancholy silence reigned around the building, and I was obliged to take refuge under an old carpenter’s bench, which stood in the rear. Here I fully expected to spend the night. I accordingly drew together a few old boards that I found in the vicinity of the bench, with which I enclosed myself, and then, with trembling solicitude, laid me down upon my couch of shavings. By this time the dense darkness forbade my seeing anything through the crevices of my hiding-place, except the night, whose sable curtains were to my vision impenetrable. The voice of the whip-poor-will had ceased, and the awful stillness which prevailed made my own breathing a terror to me. It was then that I had an affecting sense of my condition, and felt the full force of the sensations of one who is lost.
I lay in this state of trembling anxiety for two or three hours, when I was suddenly startled by the approach of footsteps. They drew near the place where I was laid, and I quietly awaited the issue, not a little fearful it might be some one prowling with a wicked intent. In a moment’s time, however, my fears were banished, on hearing a fierce rap at the door of the house, accompanied by the shout of “Halloo!” proceeding from a voice which I well knew to be that of my father. He had become alarmed about me, and had urged his way through the woods and darkness with all the fond solicitude which a kind father would be likely to feel for an only son, not knowing what had befallen him. It would be impossible for me to depict the joy which swelled my heart at this moment. I will not attempt it. Suffice it to say, that with some difficulty we soon found our way home. I entered the house with emotions somewhat akin to those which would be felt by one who had just escaped with his life.
You have doubtless felt, while reading this narrative, an involuntary gush of sympathy for the little boy whom you traced to his humble bed of shavings, under the old work-bench; and, it may be, your own heart began to beat with anxiety as to the result. But if we are moved at scenes like this, what shall we say when speaking of the peril of the deathless soul? It is but a small thing, comparatively, to have the perishable body lost; but it is a dreadful thing to have the soul lost! Yet such is each of my unconverted readers. You are lost; lost to God; lost to Christ. You are lost in the midst of dangers and of deaths. Around you prowls the savage beast, “the roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.” Very soon, unless divine mercy shall prevent, you will become his prey.
You are lost in a land of darkness. The path of return is covered. Deep night broods upon you. But you are lost where you may be found. God, your Father, knows where and how to find you. He is out in the dark night in search of you, and He calls, calls in all anxiety and love, to attract your notice, and to bring you back. He is seeking you now; seeking by all His providences, gospel invitations, and ministering servants. Oh, lost sinner, hearken to His voice! Rise up from thy hiding-place! Cry out, “My Father!” and at once press with earnestness to His presence and His. breast.
“Return, O wanderer, to thy home,
Thy Father calls for thee;
No longer now an exile roam,
In sin and misery;
Return! Return!”
ML 04/08/1906