Christopher Knapp, author of "Who Wrote Our Hymns", also wrote the following account of his own joyous conversion to God. His story was first published in tract form some years ago under the title of, "Main Street And What It Means to Me."
"MAIN STREET!" What memories fill my mind and thrill my heart at the mention of this often repeated name. Next to the street of gold in glory, Main Street will ever be the street of all streets to me.
For it was on a street of that name in a mid-west town that I received Christ as my Savior. It was there my soul was saved. It was there that I took my first step heavenward.
It happened this way. Born and brought up in Albany, New York, I lived on there in my sin and unbelief, until, (impelled by I knew not what) I left home and started West. I got off the train at South Bend, Indiana.
I was charmed with the place, with its cozy homes set back from the street—so different from the houses built flush with the streets or sidewalks to which I had been accustomed. It was in the month of June, and the apple and cherry trees were in bloom in many of the front gardens and lawns.
But it is not of memories (pleasant as they are) of tidy houses, springtime blossoms and frank, warm-hearted hospitality that I wish to write.
It is the recollection of a different springtime, the springtime of my real, my spiritual life, that I would tell. After the long. dark winter of my deadness and alienation from God, my heart until now utterly dead and unresponsive, was melted by the knowledge of God's love to me. Then the summer of fruitfulness and blessing for me began.
In my soul I could hear "the voice of my Beloved," saying, in the language of the Song of Songs: "Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle dove is heard in our land; the fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away." Song of Sol. 2:10-1310My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. 11For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; 12The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land; 13The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. (Song of Solomon 2:10‑13).
But to my story. About the first place I made for after finding a boarding-house, was the YMCA. The "C" stood for something in those days. There prayer was offered; the Scriptures were honored and studied; souls were sought after. As to the reading room, gymnasium, etc., these were only subsidiary, or used as auxiliaries to this great end.
Acquaintances were quickly made, as is common with boys everywhere; and one notable day one of these boys proposed a walk.
We stepped out onto Main Street together, and after going a few blocks my companion turned on me with the question: "Knapp, are you a Christian?"
The question neither surprised nor offended me; it was a perfectly natural one, I thought (and so I still believe), so I answered frankly: "No, I am not."
"Well, you ought to be," he said.
This I acknowledged.
"Well," he continued, "don't put it off; life is too uncertain." And to clinch this statement he related the following event: "The day before, two men were felling trees just outside the town. While at their work a tree fell in a direction they were not looking for, or sooner than they had expected, and one of the men was caught by a broken branch which pierced his chest. There, pinned hopelessly to the ground, the blood spurting from the wound, he turned his eyes, already glazed in death, to his companion and said: "Tom, can you pray? If you can, pray for me; for I am dying, and I am not ready, I am not prepared!"
I do not know if Tom prayed or not; nor how his fellow workman died; God knows. But I do know that the Lord used this incident to turn my soul to Himself as the sinner's Savior.
Do you wonder then that the month of June is to me the month of all months, as Main Street is the street of all streets... until I shall tread that street of gold in the city of God?
So dear is that spot to me that some years ago. when I could ill afford the time, I broke a journey to stop off in South Bend... to find the hallowed spot on Main Street where my heart made its eternal choice, saying, "Christ for Me!"
Reader, is Christ yours? Is there some spot on earth where you received Him as your Savior? If not, may you receive Him now and sing with me and all who know His love and grace:
'Tis done, the great transaction's done!
I am my Lord's, and He is Mine.