About twenty-two years ago, light first broke into my soul; and it was through hearing a sermon on this text,
The preacher began with Bethlehem; he went through all the Lord's life, and spoke of His death, and said it was, as it were, the week's work, and Saturday night came when all was finished. And this being so, said he, what comes next? It is the day of the Lord's coming again. And he asked us if we were ready to meet Him.
The speaker was Joseph P., the village blacksmith; he was standing near his anvil, with his leather apron on, over which his brawny arms were folded, while his mild blue eyes sparkled with joy as he spoke of Jesus.
Behind him stood his helpers, and as they worked, the old shed gave forth its music, as alternately the forge roared to the blast of the bellows, and the ringing hammer beat the chilling iron into the required shape.
"I was about eighteen years old," continued the blacksmith, "and for many a day after that sermon I was in deep trouble of soul. The Lord was coming, I thought, and I was not ready to see Him. My 'mother, who was a Christian, had prayed for us all, and, though she said little to me, she noticed my changed ways.
After some weeks, when I was at work one evening, with my head bent over the anvil, it seemed as if there was a voice speaking to me, so. I went and opened the door to see, but no one was there. Soon after, it became time to go home, so I started off. It was a beautiful moonlight evening, and I could show you the very spot now, though it was twenty-two years ago, where I stood still on the road, and said,
"I won't go home tonight till I know my, soul is saved." Like, lightning it came into my heart,
"Then you won't go home tonight at all."
This was the devil, I knew, and I answered to myself,
"Better not go home at all, than go to hell." As I stood there, the Lord whispered to me;
"Only believe, —just believe that Jesus was your substitute, and died for you on the tree." And I told Him I did believe on Him.
Then I lifted up my head; the moon was shining brightly in the sky above the hedge by the roadside, and everything looked more beautiful to my eye than I had ever seen it look before, and I thought,
"The moon is the Lord's and the hedge is His, and, better still, I am His."
How I got home I cannot tell. As I passed through the town, I did not speak a word to anyone, for my heart was too full. When I came to our cottage, and opened the door, there were my father and mother sitting near the fire, one on the one side, the other on the other; but I could not say a word even to them, so betook myself straight upstairs to bed. And when I was alone in my little room I knelt upon the floor, and praised the Lord in secret. As I was upon my knees,
I heard my mother's voice,
"Father," said she, "did you notice Joe tonight?"
"No," answered my father; "does aught ail the boy?"
"Didn't you notice him?" again asked my mother.
"If he had been ill, he would have told us," father answered.
"No, it was not that," my mother said, with her loving voice; "but I tell you I do believe that Joe is brought to the Lord, and that Jesus has spoken to him!"
"And so He has, mother," I called from my knees; and she came upstairs, and put her arms round me, and wept for joy, saying,
"My boy, the Lord has begun to answer my many prayers: He has now brought in one of my children. Joseph, you are the first;" and she praised the Lord with tears.
"He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon Him: and with His stripes we are healed." Isa. 53