A poor Hottentot in South Africa lived with a God-fearing Dutchman who held family prayer daily. On one occasion he read from Luke 18: "Two men went up into the temple to pray.”
The poor savage, whose heart had been touched by the finger of God, looked up with deepest interest as these words fell from the reader's lips. He whispered: "Now I'll learn how to pray!”
The Dutchman continued reading. He had reached the words, "God, I thank Thee, that I am not as other men," when again the Hottentot whispered: "No, I am not—I'm not; but I'm worse.”
Again the Dutchman read: "I fast twice in the week, I give tithes of all that I possess." And again there was a whisper: "I don't do that; I can't pray like that! What shall I do?”
The reading continued: "The publican, standing afar off,"—"That's where I am!" cried the poor African—"would not lift up so much as his eyes unto heaven," read the other.
"No more can I," said the Hottentot.
"But smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me a sinner.”
The poor creature cried aloud now, too deeply moved to confine himself to whispers. Smiting his dark breast, he prayed: "God be merciful to me a sinner." His humble cry was heard and, like the poor publican, he at once became a saved and happy man.
The Word was mixed with faith. How true, how simple! He appreciated it. He appropriated it. He was saved by the blood of Christ. Reader, are you?