OLD Perry was seventy years of age, and, as far as could be gathered, he had no very fair history behind him. In all those three score years and ten he had lived utterly without God in the world, and had never been into a church or a chapel, except, upon his being married, and this was an occurrence which had taken place twice during his life. Both Perry and his wife were sadly fond of the public-house, and in his younger days he had been a practiced hand with his fists. But God, who is rich in mercy, saved the old man, and this is how it came about.
Old Perry had a grandchild, who used to come to the children’s services, where the singing of the hymns so captivated her young heart, and so filled it, that she could not help singing these sweet songs at home. Her childish joy in the hymns interested the old man, and she said, “Come and hear for yourself, grandfather!” But Perry could not be persuaded to venture into any building where any kind of religious service was conducted. However, he came to the open-air meetings held near the pier, and there, after awhile, he felt at home. He gradually drew nearer and nearer to the speaker, and became a regular attendant. And more; one Saturday night he surprised the friends at the mission hall with his appearance, and fairly astonished the handful who met at seven the next morning at the early prayer meeting, by presenting himself first at the door, with his life-burden of seventy years.
For twelve months after that day, every Sunday morning, Perry was always first at the door; and the lady who resided on the spot said, “I often tried to be before him, but whenever I began to unbolt the door, his cough was a signal that he was waiting outside.”
If ever the old man had an opening to choose a hymn, he invariably selected—.
“Jesus, Lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll, While the tempest still is high.”
This was his favorite, and no marvel, for the words were so cheering and appropriate.
“Other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on Thee,”
are splendid words for old age, while for the many sins of his long life what more encouraging language than this―
“Plenteous grace in Thee is found―
Grace to cover all my sin;
Let the healing stream abound;
Make and keep me pure within.”
Though for months old Perry loved this hymn and its words of salvation, he could not confess he was saved. But he loved to sing―
“All my trust on Thee is stayed,
All my help from Thee I bring.”
He usually rose at three in the morning to attend to his employment at the gasworks, and he said if he got up early six days for an earthly master, he could also get up one day for the heavenly Master. Nor was this all; his situation necessitated occasional Sunday work, but when he began to seek the Lord he paid another man to do his turn of the necessary toil, so that he might not miss a, single opportunity of hearing the good news of God’s love to him.
A Bible-class was held on Sunday afternoons at the mission hall, and to this old Perry loved to come. The—history of Peter most especially interested—him, and at the class, as at the prayer-meeting, he would seldom fail to say, “Let us sing Jesus, Lover of my soul.”
At length old Perry was missed, and it became known that he was ill. Then a message came from him, asking that someone would visit him, and our friend who tells us his story learned that he had, had a sudden illness and was dying. Entering his room, she said, “Well, Mr. Perry, I hear you are dying.”
“This bean’t a dyin’! I’se passing from death unto life,” was the old man’s confident reply.
At length God had given him full assurance. He could now speak of his conversion in terms strong and true, if quaint and original.
“It seemed,” said he, “as if Jesus came into my heart, and the devil went out. Glory to Him! He has saved the old prize-fighter, Tell the people about it, but tell them not to wait till they be seventy.” Then, as his heart grew happy in the love of Christ to him, he must have a song, so he said, “Sing to me! Sing ‘Jesus, Lover of my soul.’”
“I can’t,” replied our friend, whose heart was too full for joining in a song.
“Then I will,” whispered old Perry; and the voice, that had often sung wild songs, sang, as it were with dying breath, of the “nearer waters” and the sheltering bosom One verse, however, was not enough; the second followed, and then the third―
“Thou, O Christ, art all I want,
More than all in Thee I find,”
till the whole of the favorite hymn was gone through.
The old man became a preacher to his former companions and neighbors, repeating much that he had heard in the Bible-class “Yes, I remember, He looked upon Peter Loving Jesus, to look on him. I am just like Peter, and Jesus has looked upon me He let Peter preach that sermon of his, and three thousand got saved―don’t I wish I could see three thousand saved!―and when he was in prison, the Lord sent to let him out. Good and gracious Jesus!”
The lessons of the Bible-class were not forgotten certainly, neither was the early prayer-meeting. “Don’t let that stop,” said he to his lady friend; “if you are all alone, you pray yourself.”
He wished his body, when he died, to be brought into the hall; but “no black, mind no black.”
Six months had passed, during which the old man was confined to his bed, suffering greatly, but never murmuring, when one Sunday a band of singers went to the street where he lay waiting for his call home, and sang outside his house―
“Jesus, Lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly.”
The old man was so delighted that he had the windows opened, and joined in the song. It was his last song on earth. The next day a band came from the bright home above to carry away old Perry, as the angels did Lazarus, and thus the oft-repeated prayer was fulfilled―
“Safe into the haven guide;
Oh, receive my soul at last.”
Crowds came to old Perry’s funeral, and as in the hall the now silent singer slept, a farewell hymn was sung, telling of that Lover of souls who had called another weary soul to His bosom. Nor were there many who could keep back the tears as they thought how sweetly the poor old prizefighter of seventy years of sins had been saved by grace, and they rejoiced in his joy― “absent from the body, present with the Lord”―as these lines of his favorite hymn swelled through the hall—
“Spring Thou up within my heart, Rise to all eternity.”
W. L.