ONE day, in a coal mine, a great many men and five boys were employed at work. The men finished their work first, but the boys had a little more to do; so the men went on, and thought the boys would soon come after them. But, in a short time, a large body of water, which had been in the mine for several years, and had been stopped up, suddenly burst in, and filled up the only passage by which the little boys could get out of the mine.
Only think what a dreadful situation they were in. The water continued to rise. The poor boys tried to escape, but could not, and two of them were very nearly drowned in trying. The men could not see them, but they were dreadfully distressed. They knew it would take several days to pump the water out, and they were afraid that, when they got the water out (if the boys lived so long), the bad air would come in, and the poor boys must be stifled. The men went home; but think what a sad story they had to tell the boys’ mothers, and what they must have felt about their poor children, whom, I dare say, they were longing to see come home to them, after their day’s work. How true that word is— “Thou knowest not what a day may bring forth” Well, the people gathered in crowds round the pit, but none could help. Day after day passed. Those who knew most about mines, seemed to have the least hope. “I dare say,” said one, “we shall see their funerals in a day or two.” Oh, how sad it was. At length, after waiting and waiting, on Wednesday morning, I was told that, by the morrow evening, the boys must be found, dead or alive. What a long time it seemed.
As I stood that evening, at my window, looking towards the place where the mine is situated, and longing to know the worst, I thought what a solemn thing it was, that five young creatures, perhaps unthinking and unprepared, should be called away, in such an awful manner, to meet their God. At that moment there was a hasty run down the lane, and a boy’s voice, saying— “Mother, Mother, they are all alive.” The poor woman burst into tears.
I could stay in my house no longer; I went out, and soon found myself in the midst of a crowd of people, who were all expressing their joy to hear of the poor boys being found alive.
But how had the poor boys felt in that awful prison? What did they do in that dark pit? “The waters are rising,” said one of them, in his despair, “what shall we do now?” “We will go and pray,” answered some of the rest; and as well as they could, they did so. “And then,” said one, “the waters were abated.” They prayed to be delivered from the bad air, and the Lord was so well pleased that he caused a large piece of coal and clay to fall down, and it stopped up the passage, so that the foul air could not reach them. “And what did you say in prayer, my boy?” said a father. “Lord, Thou knowest how bad it is to go to work in the morning, in health and strength, and to be carried home to father and mother dead.” Poor boy, as he spoke, the remembrance of the agony he had endured so agitated him that he could not go on, and with difficulty he restrained his tears.
My dear readers this is prayer, telling God all you feel and all you want in the simplest words. Let us all try to come to the same conclusion to which an old man, to whom I talked on the subject, brought me. He remarked many striking particulars, which made it quite a miracle that the boys should be saved, and ended by saying— “To think that there was bad air enough in that place to kill all the horses, and these boys were kept alive, ‘Tis no use,” he added, “to say any more about it; the Lord does hear prayer.”
Have you, dear reader, ever prayed? I do not ask have you said prayers? but have you ever prayed?”
Lord, show me what I want,
And teach me how to pray;
And help me, when I seek Thy face,
To feel the words I say.
ML 04/10/1904