I WAS seated in my study one afternoon when a message was brought to me that someone wished to see me. I rose as my visitor entered, and for a moment gazed astonished at the appearance of the one who stood before me. His clothes were in a most dilapidated condition, and the coat buttoned up to the chin told of the poverty underneath. There was a wild, half-despairing look upon the face, gaunt and haggard with privation.
I recognized him as one who had sat by my side at school, and who had been my companion in many a schoolboy escapade. I remembered he had left England to go abroad, that over and over again his friends had tried to reclaim him, until at last all had turned against him except one sister and myself. His wife had left him in despair at his drunkenness and general evil living; but as he stood before me, forlorn and wretched, bygone memories stirred my heart, and I held out my hand to grasp his, saying, “Charlie, I am glad to see you. Come in and sit down.”
He sat down and ate eagerly the food I put before him, and told me much of the story of his wasted life. He had done the most menial work in foreign lands, had associated with the lowest, and at last had worked his way on board ship back to England again, homeless and penniless.
Poor fellow! how my heart ached for him; and as we sat, one each side of the fire, I took my Bible and read to him the wonderful story of the prodigal son. He sat silent while the grand pathos of the narrative sounded in his ears—the prodigal’s journey to the far-off country, the substance wasted in riotous living, the loss of all, the famine, the loathsome service, and the utter despair, and then the penitential cry, “I will arise, and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son, make me as one of thy hired servants.” And how he arose and came to his father, and how the father in his love saw him a long way off and ran and fell upon his neck and kissed him, and welcomed him, and fed and clothed him, and rejoiced to have him home again.
As I read this golden story, his interest deepened; by and by the tears gathered in his eyes, and his body shook with emotion, as he heard, “The father ran and fell upon his neck and kissed him.” “Oh!” he cried, “my wife never loved me like that! He was face to face with a love surpassing any human affection, and it appealed to his poor worn heart. I spoke long about the love of God in Christ, and told him how, although he had alienated human love from him, divine love and pity were his for the asking. Poor Charlie! I do not think he ever forgot the story of the prodigal son, for when I took him into my bedroom, and opened my chest of drawers, and told him to take what he wanted for his body, I am sure God was speaking to his soul.
Thirty years and more have passed since we sat together that day; he has passed away from my life; I never heard of him afterward. Maybe I shall meet him on the golden streets, no longer clad in the garb of the prodigal, but walking in white before the throne of God. Maybe he sought again the human love he had trifled with and lost awhile. I have often prayed for him, for as a boy I loved him well, and pitied him for the ruin of a life that at one time seemed full of great possibilities.
It may be some poor prodigal will read this; one who has wandered far from human love, and has felt the degradation of sin, and the famine of the land where there is no God. God’s love is stronger than any earthly love, and when we have proved it we can say, that “no one ever loved me like that.”
The most wonderful thing in the world is the love of God in Christ. It changes a poor sinner that believes it from the misery of sin to the happiness of heaven.
I was speaking to a dear old man yesterday, asking him if he was saved and going to heaven. He answered so brightly and readily, “Yes, oh, yes! I pray the blessed Lord every day and every hour to take me home. I wake at night and pray, and in the morning. Yes, sir, heaven is my home.” My heart was filled with joy as I listened to the joyous certainty of his words.
Believe and trust the changeless love of God, my reader, and you will know the happiness of salvation and the rest of eternity.
H. W.