Part 2
About this time the gospel tidings had spread over a large tract of country, and many were the subjects of divine blessing. In visiting the cottages, from place to place, I heard of a notorious reputed witch, whose evil power was stated to be fearful in the destruction of stock, and in turning all the dairies into utter confusion. The belief prevailed that the losses of persons who have the misfortune to offend these so-called witches, were very serious. A godly woman, near to whom I lived, had experienced some troubles of this kind, and the statements of various individuals, who bore witness to what they had seen of the disasters occurring for many days successively, led me to visit the old woman who bore this dreadful character. The people strongly dissuaded me from it, saying she had sold herself to the devil, and that it was not safe for anyone to go to her.
Turning a deaf ear to all this, I called and found her ill in bed; surely, if looks betray character, she certainly had a very bad one. After some inquiries as to her health, and what she was suffering from, I asked her if she expected to get better. She replied, “No.” “Where will you go if you die?” I asked. She stared at me fiercely, like a tiger about to spring from his lair. I gently put my hand on her shoulder, and she screamed out, “I’s going to hell! I’s going to hell! I’s wicked!” “But why do you wish to go to hell?” “I don’t want to go, but I’s forced to go.” “But who is it that forces you to go to hell?” “The devil,” she said; “I have served him all my life.” “But did you never hear of God, and of His Son Jesus Christ, who came down from heaven to save us from going to hell?” “No.” “Did you never hear of God?” I can’t read; I’s wicked.” “But do you not know what love is? Had you a child?” “Yes, I had eight.” “But don’t they love you?” “No, they robbed me.” “Did not your husband love you?” “No, he turned me out of doors.”
“And did you never love anyone?”
“No, I’s wicked, I hate all — everybody.”
Finding all was of no avail, I asked her if she would like a few nice things to eat. “I can’t have it. No one will gee it to I.” “O, yes, I will give it to you, this very night. I will send it to you.” Her amazement was equal to her horror before. “Will ee sure?” “Yes; so you see somebody loves you. Now I want to tell you that someone else loves you, and He sent me to tell you about His love.” “Who is that?” “It is the great God, the King of the world. He lives up there above the sky. This great King made all things. He made you. This great King has one Son, whom He loves very much, because He deserves to be loved; yes, this great King loved you so much that He sent His Son all the way down from heaven to die for those who, like you, have been committing sins all their lives. And He has sent me with this letter to read to you; that you may not go to hell, but to heaven.” I then read to her some of John 3, and sought to instruct her mind, and tried to make her understand who the great King of the sky was, and how He would not turn away from her. “But will He hear a poor old thing like me?” “Yes,” I said, “He will.”
“But, what shall I say to un?” “Just tell Him what you are afraid of. Tell Him what you have told me, that you are wicked.”
She at once looked straight up to the ceiling as if she saw someone there, and said, with all the vehemence of despair, “O Lord, the King of the sky, have mercy on a wicked old ooman like I — I have been a wicked old ooman all my life.”
She kept saying this till she cried bitterly. I then taught her that beautiful passage — “The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin.” This she repeated after me until she had it in her memory. I then left her; and before I called again, she sent for me. Her first words were, “The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin.”
I asked her who Jesus Christ was. She said, “He is the Son of the King of the sky.” “Well; what has He done for you?” “O, He has died for me!” I need not say much more, only that she found out that God loved her, and this soon made her love everyone. I saw her many times subsequently, and each time found that the Word had taken deeper root in her heart. She confessed to a life of the greatest wickedness, although she said she was not guilty of the crime for which she was forcibly driven from the parish in which I reside, about fourteen months before this time.
The last words I heard from her were, “O, I be a wicked old ooman; but I’s not afraid; ‘The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin!’”
“The silver trumpet’s sounding
The year of jubilee;
And grace is all abounding,
To set the bondmen free.
Return, return, ye captives,
Return unto your home;
The silver trumpet’s sounding-
‘The Jubilee is come.’
Forsake your wretched service,
Your master’s claims are o’er,
Avail yourselves of freedom,
Be Satan’s slaves no more.
A better Master’s calling,
In accents true and kind;
He asks a loving service,
And claims a willing mind.
He offers you salvation,
And points to joys above;
And, longing, waits to make you
The objects of His love.
In living faith accept Him,
Give up all else beside;
While grace is loudly calling,
Look to the Crucified.”
With the Lord
How blest the hope, that we shall be
Forever, Lord, at home with Thee,
The “Father’s house” within;
Within that place of cloudless light,
Where never comes one shade of night,
Nor trace of grief or sin.
Blest Lord, to see Thee satisfied,
In having us, Thy spotless bride,
Upon the throne with Thee;
To hear Thee lead the song of praise,
Which wid’ning circles round Thee raise
The nearest circle we.
The seraphim there vail the face,
And seek to understand the grace
Which placed us on the throne;
Then, breaking forth, ascribe to Thee
All honor, glory, majesty,
Who wrought the work alone.
The “living creatures” Thee adore,
The “elders” cast the crowns before
The throne, where sits the Lamb;
The heavenly hosts take up the song,
Which all creation bears along,
To Thee, the great I AM.
Above it all, this richest strain-
“To Him who washed us from each stain
In His most precious blood”-
Shall flow from hearts supremely blest,
And brought by Thee to God’s own rest,
Who once as rebels stood.