THOSE of our readers who have visited the London hospitals may have seen, as I have done, a bright flush of pleasure light up the pale, weary face as the welcome gift of a few flowers, attached to a card, on which is written a verse of Scripture, is laid on the pillow, or placed in the eagerly extended hand of some suffering one.
Week by week, all through the year, the sweet, silent messengers find their way into the wards. The first violets and primroses tell of the return of spring, and when the brighter-hued, but less fragrant blossoms of the autumn are no longer with us, through the cold, dark days of winter, a few sprays of dried grass, or pieces of seaweed tastefully arranged on the text-cards, serve to cheer the heart and win the eye of the patients.
And the flowers have their own sweet story to whisper-much to say to the opened ear and heart of the wisdom and power of God, who gave them their bright colors and forms of beauty, who chose for each tiny blossom the place most suited to its growth and development, and who will in His own time bless again this creation, now groaning and travailing because of man's sin. But creation, with all its wonders and beauties, cannot answer the question, "What must I do to be saved?" (Acts 16:30.) The heart of man is fallen from God— we are by nature sinners. The written word alone tells how sin can be pardoned and the sinner brought to God.
Some weeks ago I was asked to visit a patient in the— Hospital. Owing to a change, having been made in the visiting hours, I found myself in the ward before the house-doctor had finished his afternoon round. As I was about to withdraw, I was invited by the patient, who occupied the bed nearest the door, to sit down by her for a little, while, "For," she said, "maybe, you will be able to tell me words I am trying to know rightly.”
Mrs. B.'s story was soon told. She had entered the hospital very ignorant of the things of God, and careless about her soul. A few days before I saw her, she said, "A lady came into the ward, and brought each of us some flowers. I felt ill and tired, and did not want to talk, so, when she came near me, I turned my face to the wall, as if asleep. Then she laid the flowers upon my pillow, and passed on. When I heard her go downstairs I took them up. It seemed to do me good to look at them; but I soon saw the flowers were not all— there was a card, with some writing on it. I read the words over and over again, and wondered what they could mean, and soon began to care more for the card than I did for the flowers. As I read them I could not help crying—it seemed as if all my life came back to my mind, and I felt I was a great sinner. When night came I put my card away. In the morning I could not find it, and the words seemed to have gone out of my mind. I should like to know what they were.”
“Try to remember one word, and I will ask the Lord, by the guidance of the Holy Spirit, to bring the right verse to my mind," I said.
“There was the word sin' in it, and that seems about all I can think of," Mrs. B. answered.
“Were these the words, For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord'?" (Rom. 6:23.)
The look of disappointment that clouded the face of poor Mrs. B. was sad to witness. "No," she answered. "Those are not the ones I was longing to hear.”
I repeated another verse with the word sin in it—" The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin." (1 John 1:7.)
“The very words— the very words “Oh, how thankful I am!" cried Mrs. B.," And you are quite sure they are in the Holy Scriptures?" continued she, speaking rapidly, and with deep feeling.
I read the words to her from the Bible. For some time we talked of the wonderful love of God to the perishing and the lost. I do not know— perhaps I never shall know on earth— the result of that afternoon's conversation, for when the visiting day came round again I found that Mrs. B. had returned to her own home; but I know who has said, "So shall My word be that goeth forth out of My mouth: it shall not return unto Me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it"; and so, in simple, happy confidence, I leave it with Him.
Reader, has the question of sin ever made you anxious or unhappy? Have you ever thought of it as a dread reality involving the most tremendous consequences?
If so, peace of conscience and rest of heart are to be found— where? In prayers, or tears, or works? No, in simple faith in what the word of God declares concerning the all-cleansing blood of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Believe it, and then, hut not till then, your heart will be attracted in grateful love to Him whose blood was shed. E. J. L.