Many years ago, in the days of slavery, a poor negro, who had offended his master, was locked up in a small cabin, there to await the punishment he was to receive on the morrow.
As the shades of night wrapped everywhere in silence, the poor slave fell into a troubled sleep and dreamed that the awful moment had come for the dreaded lash. There above him stood a strong negro, whip in hand. So terrible was his fear of the cruel whip that he awoke and determined to find, if possible, a way of escape. Gazing up and around the cabin he saw a star shining through a small hole in the roof! Moving very quietly he found he could push over the rafter and the covering from the old rotten roof and thus make a hole large enough to climb through. Dropping to the ground he began to run, fear lending wings to his feet. All night, through fields and tangled bushes and swollen streams and bogs, he pressed on. After a time, exhausted, he lay in a sheltered place and snatched a few moments of quiet sleep.
But now, the eastern sky is gilded by the rising sun and he must press on. Though weary and hungry he knows that in a few more miles he will reach British soil where freedom awaits him.
All at once a fearful sound reaches his ears. What is it? Ah, the hounds are on his track! and he knows they will not rest until they have his blood. Wildly he runs, but, alas! with terror at his heart, he realizes they are gaining on him and, ere he reaches the stream across which there is safety, they must surely overtake him!
A desperate plan now enters his mind. Seizing a knife he had concealed on his person he holds out his left arm and makes a deep gash. The blood spurts to the ground in a little pool. Then, binding up his wound with a piece of his tattered clothing, he runs madly on. And now, the hounds, their master at their heels, have come to the patch of blood. Greedily they gather around it, yelping and snarling. Nor can their master, either by coaxing or beating, compel them to leave the spot. Blood they want and blood they have found.
In the meantime, the pause has given the slave the time he needs. With thankful heart he plunges into the stream and reaches the farther shore. Loving hands and kind hearts minister to him and forever he is free from the cruel slaver and his blood-thirsty hounds. The blood had saved him!
The precious blood of Christ has been shed that we might be set free from the most terrible of all slavers — Satan and sin.
It was the blood of the passover lamb that sheltered the Israelites from the destroying angel, that dark night in Egypt long ago; and so it is the blood of Christ now that shelters a believer from the judgment of God against his sins. Dear young reader, have you taken shelter in the blood of Christ from this coming judgment?
“The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin.” 1 John 1: 7.
ML 02/22/1959