University of Virginia Library

46. CHAPTER XLVI.
IN ANOTHER CHURCH.

While thus one body of Christian believers worshipped,
another was assembled in the Methodist chapel in John Street,
where Aunt Martha usually went.

A vast congregation croweded every part of the church.
They swarmed upon the pulpit stairs, upon the gallery railings,
and wherever a foot could press itself to stand, or room
be found to sit. As the young preacher, Summerfield, rose in
the pulpit, every eye in the throng turned to him and watched
his slight, short figure—his sweet blue eye, and his face of
earnest expression and a kind of fiery sweetness. He closed
his eyes and lifted his hands in prayer; and the great responsibility
of speaking to that multitude of human beings of their
most momentous interests evidently so filled and possessed
him, that in the prayer he seemed to yearn for strength and
the gifts of grace so earnestly—he cried, so as if his heart were
bursting, “Help, Lord, or I perish!” that the great congregation,
murmuring with sobs, with gasps and sighs, echoed solemnly,
as if it had but one voice, and it were muffled in tears,
“Help, Lord, or I perish!”

When the prayer was ended a hymn was sung by all the
people, to a quick, martial melody, and seemed to leave them
nervously awake to whatever should be said. The preacher,

with the sweet boyish face, began his sermon gently, and in a
winning voice. There was a kind of caressing persuasion in
his whole manner that magnetized the audience. He grew
more and more impassioned as he advanced, while the people
sat open-mouthed, and responding at intervals, “Amen!”

“Ah! sinner, sinner, it is he, our God, who shoots us
through and through with the sharp sweetness of his power.
It is our God who scatters the arrows of his wrath; but they
are winged with the plumes of the dove, the feathers of softness,
and the Gospel. Oh! the promises! the promises!—
Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I
will give you rest. Yes, patriarch of white hairs, of wasted
cheeks, and tottering step! the burden bears you down almost
to the ground to-day — into the ground to-morrow.
Here stands the Judge to give you rest. Yes, mother of sad
eyes and broken spirit! whose long life is a sorrowful vigil,
waiting upon the coming of wicked sons, of deceitful daughters—weary,
weary, and heavy laden with tribulation, here is
the Comforter who shall give you rest. And you, young man,
and you, young maiden, sitting here to-day in the plenitude
of youth, and hope, and love, Remember your Creator in the
days of your youth, for the dark day cometh—yea, it is at
hand!”

So fearfully did his voice, and look, and manner express
apprehension, as if something were about to fall upon the congregation,
that there was a sudden startled cry of terror.
There were cries of “Lord! Lord! have mercy!” Smothered
shrieks and sobs filled the air; pale faces stared at each other
like spectres. People fell upon their knees, and cried out that
they felt the power of the Lord. “My soul sinks in deep waters,
Selah;” cried the preacher, “but they are the waters of
grace and faith, and I am convicted of all my sins.” Then
pausing a moment, while the vast crowd awayed and shook
with the tumult of emotion, with his arms outspread, the veins
on his forehead swollen, and the light flashing in his eyes, he
raised his arms and eyes to heaven, and said, with inexpressible

sweetness, in tones which seemed to trickle with balm into
the very soul, as soft spring rains ooze into the ground, “Yea,
it is at hand, but so art thou! Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly;
and when youth, and hope, and love have become dead
weights and burdens in these young hearts, teach them how
to feel the peace that passeth understanding. Draw them to
thee, for they wearily labor: they are heavily laden, gracious
Father! Oh, give them rest!”

“Come!” he exclaimed, “freely come! It is the eternal
spring of living water. It is your life, and it flows for you.
Come! come! it is the good shepherd who calls his flock to
wander by the still waters and in the green pastures. Will
you abide outside? Then, woe! woe! when the night cometh,
and the shepherd folds his flock, and you are not there. Will
you seek Philosophy, and confide in that? It is a ravening
wolf, and ere morning you are consumed. Will you lean on
human pride—on your own sufficiency? It is a broken reed,
and your fall will be forever fatal. Will you say there is no
God?”—his voice sank into a low, menacing whisper—“will
you say there is no God?” He raised his hands warningly,
and shook them over the congregation while he lowered his
voice. “Hush! hush! lest he hear—lest he mark—lest the
great Jehovah”—his voice swelling suddenly into loud, piercing
tones—“Maker of heaven and earth, Judge of the quick
and the dead, the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and
the End, the eternal Godhead from everlasting to everlasting,
should know that you, pitiable, crawling worm—that you, corrupt
in nature and conceived in sin! child of wrath and of the
devil! say that there is no God! Woe, woe! for the Judge
cometh! Woe, woe! for the gnashing of teeth and the outer
darkness! Woe, woe! for those who crucified him, and buffeted
him, and pierced him with thorns! Woe, woe! for the
Lord our God is a just God, slow to anger, and plenteous in
mercy. But oh! when the day of mercy is past! Oh! for
the hour—sinner, sinner, beware! beware!—when that anger
rises like an ingulfing fiery sea, and sweeps thee away forever!”

It seemed as if the sea had burst into the building; for the
congregation half rose, and a smothered cry swept over the
people. Many rose upright with clasped hands and cried,
“Hallelujah!” “Praise be to God!” Others lay cowering
and struggling upon the seats; others sobbed and gazed with
frantic earnestness at the face of the young apostle. Children
with frightened eyes seized the cold hands of their
mothers. Some fainted, but could not be borne out, so solid
was the throng. Their neighbors loosened their garments and
fanned them, repeating snatches of hymns, and waiting for
the next word of the preacher. “The Lord is dealing with
his people,” they said; “convicting sinners, and calling the lost
sheep home.”

The preacher stood as if lifted by an inward power, beholding
with joy the working of the Word, but with a total unconsciousness
of himself. The young man seemed meek and
lowly while he was about his Father's business. And after
waiting for a few moments, the music of his voice poured out
peace upon that awakened throng.

“`Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and
I will give you rest.' Yes, fellow-sinners, rest. For all of us,
rest. For the weariest, rest. For you who, just awakened,
tremble in doubt, rest. For you, young woman, who despairest
of heaven, rest. For you, young man, so long in the
bondage of sin, rest. Oh! that I had the wings of a dove,
for then would I fly away and be at rest. Brother, sister,
it shall be so. To your weary soul those wings shall be
fitted. Far from the world of grief and sin, of death and
disappointment, you shall fly away. Deep in the bosom of
your God, you shall be at rest. That dove is his holy grace.
Those wings are his tender promises. That rest is the peace
of heaven.