IN one of the pretty lanes close to the village of B—, lived a little girl, whom we will call Carrie. It was a scene of peace and rest; the stillness of the summer air was broken only by the gentle murmur of the breeze among the trees, the hum of the bees, and the warbling of the feathered songsters as they flitted here and there. Wild flowers grew in the hedgerows, and the busy little ants were at work; the swallows skimmed gracefully through the air, the lark soared to the clouds with his triumphant notes, and the cattle were lowing in the meadow, as little Carrie, unconscious that any danger was near, wandered beneath an avenue of trees that spread their canopy of light and shade over the lane. In her childish way she enjoyed the ramble all alone, for as yet only six summers had rolled away since baby Carrie’s name was written in the parish register.
Carrie had lost sight of her father’s house and went wandering along, picking a flower here and there, when all at once the dusky form of a gipsy woman came in sight, who, in a moment caught the little thing in her arms. Poor Carrie her heart was filled with sorrow, and she trembled from head to foot, as she was hurried away from her home. Mile after mile was passed, her terror increasing each instant; but she had no power to get out of the strong grasp of the gipsy; poor little weak thing, her struggles were of no avail; but there was one thing she could do, and that was scream for help. That she did, longing that some one would come and take her away from her cruel captor. All seemed in vain, till suddenly a strong man jumped over the hedge; he had heard the screams and cries of the child, and, leaving his work in the field, had hastened to see what was the matter. At a glance he saw that the gipsy was stealing the child, so he came, and with his strong arms, took little Carrie away from the gipsy and carried her back to her home. How glad and thankful her parents were to receive their lost child when they learned all the sad trouble through which she had passed. How grateful, too, they were to the strong man who rescued her. Poor little Carrie was too ill to speak; and when she got over the fright it was found that the, shock had taken away all power of speech, and for nearly twenty long years she was unable to express herself in words. At the end of that time a doctor, who understood her case, took her in hand, and gradually her power of speech came back, and she was able to talk once more.
We must now pass over three score years of Carrie’s life, and I must introduce her to you again as she sits listening to the preaching of the word of God. The Holy Spirit began to work in her conscience as she listened, and she discovered that for nearly seventy years she had been in the grasp of a far more cruel and relentless foe than was her gipsy captor; she learned that sin and Satan were hurrying her on to eternal ruin, and that she was utterly powerless to deliver herself. A long list of black sins all unforgiven rose against her—terror filled her very soul; and now, thoroughly aroused, she began to long for deliverance. Day by day her anguish increased, as, to use her own words, she “saw that she was hanging over the very brink of the pit of hell.” Alas! she had been there all those years, but now her eyes were opened to see her dreadful condition in the sight of God.
Again she is found where the gospel is preached; there she heard how God had come down to save, to rescue, to deliver, all who felt their need, just as when His people Israel were in bondage in Egypt, He had heard their cries, He had seen their tears, and He had come down to deliver them. That was just what she needed, a Saviour, one that was mighty to save. She heard of Jesus, and saw in Him a mighty rescuer; she believed not only His power, but His love, and trusting herself entirely to His word, she found herself on His bosom as one of His sheep, close to His beating heart of love. Nay, more, her tongue was loosed, and she gave vent to the praises of a grateful heart, acknowledging that the blessedness she was tasting was beyond all her brightest dreams. “I did hope to get to Heaven some day; but to know my sins forgiven now, deliverance now, this is more than I had hoped and longed for,” she would say.
It is now her joy to be with the people of God, and to tell to others what a dear Saviour she has found. My dear young friends, I would say to you, that if unsaved, you are captives, and that you need a mighty one to save you; and I can tell you of One who “led captivity captive,” a victorious Conqueror over sin, death, and Satan. His name is Jesus. He waits to save you. Is there one of my young readers who owns the need of a Saviour, who feels the bondage of sin? Will you have this gracious Saviour and Deliverer? If so, you will be able to sing with Carrie—
“Now I have found a friend! Jesus is mine.”
And add—
“Christ delivered me when bound,
And, when wounded, healed my wound.
Sought me wandering, set me right,
Turned my darkness into light.”
H. N.