"There is a city bright,Closed are its gates to sin,Nought that defileth,Nought that defileth,Can ever enter in.Saviour, I come to Thee,O Lamb of God, I pray,Cleanse me and save me,Cleanse me and save me,Wash all my sins away.Lord, make me from this hourThy loving child to be,Kept by Thy power,Kept by Thy power,From all that grieveth Thee.Till in the snowy dressOf Thy redeemed I stand,Faultless and stainless,Faultless and stainless,Safe in that happy land!"
"There is a city bright,Closed are its gates to sin,Nought that defileth,Nought that defileth,Can ever enter in.
Saviour, I come to Thee,O Lamb of God, I pray,Cleanse me and save me,Cleanse me and save me,Wash all my sins away.
Lord, make me from this hourThy loving child to be,Kept by Thy power,Kept by Thy power,From all that grieveth Thee.
Till in the snowy dressOf Thy redeemed I stand,Faultless and stainless,Faultless and stainless,Safe in that happy land!"
And after the hymn came the sermon. The clergyman's text was Revelation 21:27: "There shall in no wise enter into it any thing that defileth."
He spoke of the Heavenly City of which they had just been singing, the bright, beautiful city, with its streets of gold and gates of pearl. He spoke of the river of the water of life, and the trees on either side of the river. He spoke of those who live in that happy place, of their white robes and crowns of gold, of the sweet songs they ever sing, and the joy in all their faces.
The clergyman also told them that in that bright city sorrow was never found. No weeping there, no tears, no sighs, no trouble. No tired feet on that golden pavement, no hungry ones there, no hot burning sun, no cold frost or snow. No sickness there, and no death, no funerals in heaven, no graves in the golden city. Perfect love there, no more quarreling or strife, no angry tones or discordant murmurs, no rude, rough voices to disturb the peace. And all this for ever and ever, no dread of it coming to an end, no gloomy fears for the future, no partings there, no good-byes. Once there, safe for ever. At home, at rest, with God.
"Would you like to go there?" asked the clergyman's voice.
And a quiet murmur passed through the room, a sigh of longing, an expression of assent. And little Christie whispered softly to himself, "Like to go there! ay, that I would, me and old Treffy and all."
"'There shall in no wise enter into it anything that defileth,'" said the clergyman's voice. "'Closed are its gates to sin.' My friends, if there isonesin on your soul, heaven's gates will be closed against you. 'Nought that defileth, nought that defileth, can ever enter in.' If all my life I had never sinned; if all my life I had never done a wicked deed, or spoken a wicked word, or thought a wicked thought; if all my life I had done every thing I ought to have done, and had been perfectly sinless and holy, and yet to-night I was to commitonesin, that sin, however small a sin in man's eyes,—thatsin would be quite enough to shut me out of heaven. The gates would be shut against me for that one sin. No soul on which there is a speck of sin can go into that bright city.
"Is there one in this room," asked the clergyman, "who can say that he has only sinned once? Is there one here who can say that there is onlyonesin on his soul?"
And again there was a faint murmur round the room, and again a deep-drawn sigh; but this time it was the suppressed sigh of accusing consciences.
"No," said the clergyman, "there is not one of us who can say that. Every one of us has sinned again and again and again. And each sin is like a dark blot, a deep ink-stain on the soul."
"Oh!" said little Christie, in his heart, as he listened to these words, "whatever will me and Master Treffy do?"
And Christie's thoughts wandered to the lonely attic and to old Treffy's sad, worn-out face. "So it was all true," he said to himself. "Miss Mabel's words, and Master Treffy's dream; all too true, all too true."
If Christie had been listening, he would have heard the clergyman tell of the way in which sin could be taken away; but his little mind was full of the one idea of the sermon, and when he next heard the clergyman's words he was telling his congregation that he hoped they would all be present on the following Sunday evening, as he intended then to preach on the second verse of the hymn, and to tell them, more fully than he had time to do to-night, what was the only way to enter within the gates into the city.
Christie walked home very sadly and sorrowly; he was in no haste to meet old Treffy's anxious, inquiring eyes. And when he reached the dark attic he sat down by Treffy, and looked away from him into the fire, as he said, mournfully:—
"Your dream was quite right, Master Treffy. I've heard it all over again to-night. He preached about it, and we sang about it, so there's no mistake now."
"Tell me all, Christie, boy," said Treffy, pitifully.
"It's a beautiful place, Master Treffy," said Christie; "you'd be ever so happy and comfortable if you could only get there. But there's no sin allowed inside the gates; that's what the clergyman, said, and what the hymn said too:—
"'There is a city bright,Closed are its gates to sin.'"
"'There is a city bright,Closed are its gates to sin.'"
"Then there's no chance for me, Christie," said the old man, "no chance for me."
And hours after that, when Christie thought Treffy was fast asleep on his bed in the corner, he heard his poor old trembling voice murmuring again and again: "Closed are its gates to sin, closed are its gates to sin."
And there was another ear listening to old Treffy's voice. The man at the gate, of whom Bunyan writes, had heard the old man's sorrowful wail, and it went to his very heart. He knew all about old Treffy, and he was soon to say to him, with tones of love, as he opened the gate of rest: "I am willing with all my heart to let thee in."
That week was a very long and sorrowful one to Treffy and to Christie. The old man seldom spoke, except to murmur the sad words of the hymn, or to say to Christie in a despairing voice,—
"It's all up with me, Christie, boy; no home for me."
The barrel-organ was quite neglected by Treffy. Christie took it out in the daytime, but at night it stood against the wall untouched. Treffy could not bear to hear it now. Christie had begun to turn it one evening, but the first tune it had played was "Home, sweet Home," and Treffy had said bitterly,—
"Don't play that, Christie, boy; there's no 'Home, sweet home,' for me; I shall never have a home again, never again."
So Treffy had nothing to comfort him. Even his old organ seemed to have taken part against him; even his dear old organ, which he had loved so much, had helped to make him more miserable.
The doctor had looked into the attic again according to his promise, but he said there was nothing to be done for Treffy; it was only a question of time, no medicine could save his life.
It was a very terrible thing for old Treffy thus to be slipping away, each day the chain of his life becoming looser and looser, and he drawing nearer each day to—he knew not what.
Treffy and Christie were counting anxiously the days to Sunday, when they would hear about the second verse of the hymn. Perhaps after all there might be some hope, some way into the bright city, some entrance into "Home, sweet Home," through which even old Treffy's sin-stained soul might pass.
And at last Sunday came. It was a wet, rainy night, the wind was high and stormy, and the little congregation in the mission-room was smaller than usual. But there was an earnest purpose in the faces of many who came, and the clergyman, as he looked round at the little company when he gave out his text, felt that many of them had not come from mere curiosity, but from an honest desire to hear the Word of God. And he lifted up his heart in very earnest prayer, that to many in that room the Word which he was about to speak might be a lasting blessing.
The mission-room was very still when the minister gave out his text. Little Christie's eyes were fixed intently on him, and he listened eagerly for every word.
The text was this: "The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin."
The clergyman first reminded them of his last Sunday's sermon, of the bright golden city where they all longed to be. He reminded them of the first verse of the hymn:—
"There is a city bright,Closed are its gates to sin."
"There is a city bright,Closed are its gates to sin."
And then he asked very gently and tenderly, "Is there any one in this room who has come here to-night longing to know of some way in which he, a sinner, can enter the city? Is there such an one here?"
"Ay," said little Christie under his breath; "there's me."
"I will try, by God's help, to show you the way," said the clergyman. "You and I have sinned. One sin is enough to shut us out of heaven, but we have sinned not only once, but hundreds of thousands of times; our souls are covered with sin stains. But there is one thing, and only one, by which the soul can be made white and clear and pure. My text tells us what it is,—'The blood of Jesus Christ.'"
Then the clergyman went on to explain how it is that the blood of Jesus can wash out sin. He spoke of the death of Jesus on Calvary, of the fountain He opened there for sin and for uncleanness. He explained to them that Jesus was God's Son, and that therefore His blood which He shed on the cross is of infinite value. He told them that, since that day on Calvary, thousands had come to the fountain, and each one had come out of it whiter than snow, every spot of sin gone.
The clergyman told them, that when these washed ones reached the gates of pearl, they were thrown wide open to them, for there was no sin-mark on their souls, they were free from sin. And then he looked very earnestly indeed, and leaning forward he pleaded with his little congregation to come to the blood that they might be washed and cleansed. He begged them to use the second verse of the hymn, and to say from the bottom of their hearts:—
"Saviour, I come to Thee,O Lamb of God, I pray,Cleanse me and save me,Cleanse me and save me,Wash all my sins away."
"Saviour, I come to Thee,O Lamb of God, I pray,Cleanse me and save me,Cleanse me and save me,Wash all my sins away."
"There is one little word in my text," said the minister, "which is a great comfort to me. I mean the wordall. All sin. That takes in every bad word, every bad thought, every bad action. That takes in the blackest blot, the darkest stain, the deepest spot. All sin, each sin, every sin. No sin too bad for the blood to reach, no sin too great for the blood to cover. And now," said the minister, "every soul in this room is either saved or unsaved, either washed or not washed.
"Let me ask you, my dear friends, a very solemn question: Is the sin or the blood on your soul? One or the other must be there. Which is it?"
The clergyman paused a moment when he had asked this question, and the room was so still that a falling pin might have been heard. There were deep searchings of heart in that little company. And Christie was saying deep down in his heart:—
"Cleanse me and save me,Cleanse me and save me,Wash all my sins away."
"Cleanse me and save me,Cleanse me and save me,Wash all my sins away."
The minister finished his sermon by entreating them all that very night to come to the fountain. Oh, how earnestly he pleaded with them to delay no longer, but to say at once, "Saviour, I come to Thee." He begged them to go home, and in their own rooms to kneel down, feeling that Jesus was standing close beside them. "That iscomingto Jesus," the minister said. He told them to tell Jesus all, to turn all the sin over to Him, to ask Him to cover it all with His blood, so that that very night they might lie down to sleep whiter than snow.
"Will you do this?" asked the clergyman, anxiously; "will you?"
And little Christie said in his heart, "Yes, that I will."
As the congregation left, the clergyman stood at the door, and gave a friendly word to each one as they passed by. He looked very tired and anxious after his sermon. It had been preached with much prayer and with much feeling, and he was longing, oh, so earnestly, to know that it had been blessed to one soul.
There were some amongst the little congregation who passed by him with serious, thoughtful faces, and as each one went by he breathed an earnest prayer that the seed in that soul might spring up and bring forth fruit. But there were others again who had already begun to talk to their neighbors, and who seemed to have forgotten all they had heard. And these filled the young minister's heart with sorrow. "Is the seed lost, dear Lord?" he said, faithlessly. For he was very tired and weary; and when the body is weak, our faith is apt to grow weak also.
But there was something in Christie's face as he passed out of the room which made the clergyman call him back and speak to him. He had noticed the boy's attention during the sermon, and he longed to hear whether he had understood what he had heard.
"My boy," said the minister kindly, laying his hand on Christie's shoulder, "can you tell me what my text was to-night?"
Christie repeated it very correctly, and the clergyman seemed pleased. He asked Christie several more questions about the sermon, and then he encouraged the boy to talk to him. Christie told him of old Treffy, who had only another month to live, and who was longing to know how he might go to "Home, sweet Home." The clergyman promised to come and see him, and wrote down the name of the court and the number of the house in his little brown pocket-book. And before Christie went home the clergyman knelt down with him in the empty mission-room, and prayed that that very night the dear Lord would wash Christie's soul in His most precious blood.
Christie walked away very thoughtfully, but still very gladly, for he had good news for old Treffy to-night. He quickened his steps as he drew near the court, and he ran up the stairs to the attic, eager to tell all to the poor old man.
"Oh, Master Treffy!" said Christie; "I've had such a time! It was beautiful, Master Treffy, and the clergyman's been talking to me, and he's coming to see you; he's coming here," said Christie triumphantly.
But Treffy was longing for better news than this.
"What about 'Home, sweet Home,' Christie?" he asked.
"Thereisa way, Master Treffy," said Christie. "You and me can't get in with our sins, but 'The blood of Jesus Christ, God's Son, cleanseth us from all sin.' That's in the Bible, Master Treffy, and it was the clergyman's text."
"Tell me all about it, Christie," Treffy said, in a tremulous voice.
"There's nothing but the blood of Jesus can wash away the sin, Master Treffy," said Christie, "and you and me have just got to go to Him and ask Him, and He'll do it for us to-night; the clergyman said so. I've learnt another verse of the hymn, Master Treffy," said Christie, kneeling down beside him and repeating it reverently:—
"Saviour, I come to Thee,O Lamb of God, I pray,Cleanse me and save me,Cleanse me and save me,Wash all my sins away."
"Saviour, I come to Thee,O Lamb of God, I pray,Cleanse me and save me,Cleanse me and save me,Wash all my sins away."
Treffy repeated the words after him in a trembling voice.
"I wish He'd wash me, Christie, boy," he said.
"So He will, Master Treffy," said Christie; "He never sends anybody away."
"Ay, but I'm an old man, Christie, and I've been a sinner all my life, and I've done some such bad things, Christie. I never knew it till this last week, but I know it now. It's not likely He'll ever wash my sins; they're ever such big ones, Christie."
"Oh! but He will," said Christie, eagerly; "that's just what the clergyman said; there's a word in the text for you, Master Treffy: 'The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us fromallsin.' All sin, all sin, Master Treffy; won't that do?"
"All sin," murmured old Treffy; "all sin! yes, Christie, I think thatwilldo."
There was a pause after this. Christie sat still, looking into the fire. Then he said suddenly,—
"Master Treffy, let's go right away now and ask Him."
"Ask who?" said old Treffy, "the clergyman?"
"No," said Christie, "the Lord Jesus. He's in the room,—the minister said He was. Let's ask Him to wash you and me, just now, Master Treffy."
"Ay!" said old Treffy, "let's ask Him, Christie." So the old man and the boy knelt down, and, with a strong realization of the Lord's near presence, little Christie prayed:—
"O Lord Jesus, we come to Thee, me and Master Treffy: we've got lots of sins to be washed, but the minister said you wouldn't send us away, and the text saysallsin. We think it means us, Lord Jesus, me and Master Treffy. Please wash us white; we want to go to 'Home, sweet Home:' please wash us in the blood to-night. Amen."
Then old Treffy took up the words, and in a trembling voice added,—
"Amen, Lord; wash us both, me and Christie, wash us white. Please do. Amen."
And then they got up from their knees, and Christie said,—
"We may go to bed now, Master Treffy, for I'm sure He's done it for us."
Thus the man at the gate had received both the trembling old man and the little child, and as they had entered in they had heard a gracious voice very deep down in their hearts, saying to each of them again and again, "Be of good cheer, thy sins are forgiven thee."
The next morning Christie woke with a happy heart, for he remembered his last night's prayer, and in his simple faith he had taken the Lord at His word, and had believed that the blood of Jesus Christ had cleansed him from all sin.
But old Treffy's doubts and fears came back again. He began to look within, and the remembrance of his sin returned upon him. What if, after all, there was sin on his soul? What if the gates were still closed against him?
"Christie, boy, I don't feel it's all right with me yet," he said anxiously.
"Why not, Master Treffy?" asked Christie.
"Why, I've been so bad, Christie; it doesn't seem likely He'd do it for me so soon as that; there's such a deal of sin on my soul."
"But you asked Him to wash you, Master Treffy; didn't you?"
"Ay, I asked Him, Christie," said Treffy, in a despairing tone.
"And He said He would if you asked Him, Master Treffy; didn't He?"
"Ay, Christie, I believe He did," said Treffy.
"Then of course Hehasdone it," said Christie.
"I don't know, Christie, boy; I can't feel it," said old Treffy pitifully. "I don't seem to see it as I ought."
So, whilst Christie was walking in the sunshine, Old Treffy was still groping on in the shadow, sometimes hoping, sometimes fearing, but never trusting.
Christie paid another visit to the suburban road that week. Little Mabel and her mother were coming out of the house when Christie reached the gate. The little girl ran eagerly forward when she caught sight of the organ and begged her mamma to stay whilst she turned the handle just six times!
The lady spoke very kindly to Christie; she asked him several questions, and he told her about old Treffy, how ill he was, and how he had not another month to live. The tears were in the lady's eyes, and she asked Christie where he lived, and wrote it down on a white tablet which she carried in her pocket.
"Mamma," said little Mabel, "I want to whisper something to you."
The lady bent down her head to listen, and then said kindly,—
"Yes, if you like."
Mabel darted into the house, and returned with a large bunch of single white snowdrops, prettily arranged with sprigs of dark myrtle leaves. Very white, and pure, and lovely they looked.
"Here, organ-boy," said Mabel, as she put them into his hands, "these are my own dear snowdrops; Aunt Helen gave me them, and you must take them to Master Treffy, he'll like them, won't he?" she said.
"Ay! that he will, missie," said Christie, warmly.
"Mabel," said her mother, "you must teach Christie the little prayer I told you always to say when you looked at the snowdrops."
"Yes," said Mabel, "I will. This is it, Christie: 'Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.'"
Christie looked up brightly.
"Will you say that prayer, Christie?" asked the lady, kindly.
"Yes, ma'am," said Christie; "it's just like what me and Master Treffy said last night:—
'Cleanse me and save me,Cleanse me and save me,Wash all my sins away.'"
'Cleanse me and save me,Cleanse me and save me,Wash all my sins away.'"
The lady smiled when Christie said this, and seemed very pleased.
"I am so glad you know of the only way to be washed white," said the lady. "These snowdrops always make me think of the souls washed white in the blood of Jesus."
Then the lady and little Mabel passed on, and Christie looked down very tenderly on the flowers. How hewouldlove them now! He turned his steps homewards at once, for he did not want the snowdrops to fade before they reached old Treffy. How fair, and clean, and pure they looked! So different to the smoke and dirt of the noisy court. Christie was almost afraid lest the thick air might soil them as he carried them through it. Some of the children ran after him and begged for a flower, but he guarded his treasures very carefully till he reached the attic.
And when Christie opened the door, who should be there but the clergyman, sitting beside old Treffy, and talking to him very earnestly! He stopped to give Christie a kind word, and then he went on with what he was saying. He was telling Treffy about the death of Jesus, and how it is that the blood of Jesus can wash away all sin.
"I can't see that it's all right with me," said Treffy, in a trembling voice; "it seems dark and dim to me yet. I don't feel that I've got it; I can't feel happy."
"Treffy," said the clergyman, suddenly, "do you think I would tell you a lie?"
"No, sir," said old Treffy; "I'm sure you wouldn't; I could see it in your face, sir, if nowhere else. No, sir, I'd trust you anywhere."
"Now, Treffy," said the clergyman, taking a half-crown from his pocket, "I've brought this for you. You cannot work now, and you need many things you cannot get; I will give you this money to buy them with."
"Thank you, sir," said old Treffy, the tears running down his cheeks; "I can never thank you enough. We are very badly off just now, Christie and me."
"Stop, Treffy," said the clergyman, "it isn't yours yet, you must take it."
Treffy put out his trembling old hand, and took the half-crown, with another murmur of thanks.
"Do you feel that you've got it, Treffy?" said the clergyman.
"Yes, sir, it's here," said old Treffy.
"Are you sure you've got it, Treffy?" said the clergyman again.
"Yes, sir," said Treffy, in a bewildered voice, "I know I have; I don't know what you mean, sir."
"I will tell you what I mean," said the clergyman. "The dear Lord Jesus has come into this room just as I have, Treffy. He has brought a gift for you, just as I did. His gift has cost Him far more than mine cost me; it has cost Him His life. He has come close to you, as I came, and He says to you, as I said: 'Old Treffy, can you trust Me? do you think I would tell you a lie?' And then He holds out His gift, as I did, Treffy, and He says, 'Take it; it is for you.' Now, Treffy, what have you to do with this gift? Just exactly what you did with mine. You have not to work for it, or wait for it. You have just to put out your hand and take it. Do you know what the gift is?"
Treffy did not answer, so the clergyman went on:—
"It is the forgiveness of your sin, Treffy; it is the clean heart, for which you are longing; it is the right to enter into 'Home, sweet Home,' for which you have been praying, Treffy; will you take the gift?"
"I want to take it," said old Treffy, "but I don't know how."
"Did you stop to thinkhowyou were to takemygift, Treffy?"
"No," said the old man, "I just took it."
"Yes," said the clergyman, "exactly; and that is what you must do with the Lord's gift; you must just take it."
"Would it have pleased me, Treffy," said the clergyman, "if you had pulled your hand back and said, 'Oh, no, sir! I don't deserve it; I don't believe you would ever give it to me; I can't take it yet?'"
"No," said Treffy, "I don't suppose it would."
"Yet this is just what you are doing to the Lord Jesus, Treffy. He is holding out His gift to you, and He wants you to take it at once, yet you hold back and say, 'No, Lord, I can't believe what you say, I can't trust Thy word, I can't believe the gift is for me, I can't take it yet.'
"Treffy," said the clergyman, earnestly, "if you can trust me, oh, why can't you trust the Lord Jesus?"
The tears were running down the old man's face, and he could not speak.
"I am going to ask you another question, Treffy," said the clergyman. "Will you trust the Lord Jesus now?"
"Yes, sir," said Treffy, through his tears; "I don't think I can help trusting him now."
"Now, Treffy, remember Jesus is in this attic, close to you, close to me, very, very near, Treffy. When we speak to Him, He will hear every word we say; He will listen to every sigh; He will read every wish.
"But, before you speak to Him, Treffy, listen to what He says to you," said the clergyman, taking His Bible from his pocket. "These are His own words, 'Come, now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord, though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool,' for 'The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin.' Treffy, will you trust the Lord Jesus? Do you think He would tell you a lie?"
"No," said old Treffy; "I'm sure He wouldn't."
"Very well, Treffy, then we will tell Him so."
The clergyman knelt down by Treffy's side, and Christie knelt down too, and old Treffy clasped his trembling hands whilst the clergyman prayed.
It was a very simple prayer; it was just taking the Lord at His word. Old Treffy repeated the words after the clergyman with the deepest earnestness, and when he had finished the old man still clasped his hands and said, "Lord Jesus, I do trust Thee, I do take the gift, I do believe Thy word."
Then the clergyman rose from his knees and said, "Treffy, when you had taken my gift, what did you do next?"
"I thanked you for it, sir," said Treffy.
"Yes," said the clergyman, "and would you not like to thank the Lord Jesus for His gift of forgiveness?"
"Oh!" said old Treffy, with tears in his eyes, "I should indeed, sir."
So they all knelt down again, and in a few words the clergyman thanked the dear Lord for His great love and goodness to old Treffy, in giving him pardon for his sin.
And again old Treffy took up the words and added:—
"Thank you, Lord Jesus, very much for the gift; it cost Thee Thy life; oh! I do thank Thee with all my heart."
"Now, Treffy," said the clergyman, as he rose to go, "if Satan comes to you to-morrow and says, 'Old Treffy, do you feel you've got forgiveness? perhaps after all it's a mistake,' what shall you say to him?"
"I think I shall tell him my text," said old Treffy, "'The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin.'"
"That will do, Treffy," said the clergyman; "he can't answer that. And remember, the Lord wishes you toknowyou are forgiven, not tofeelyou are forgiven. There is a difference between feeling and knowing. Youknewyou had taken my gift, and you did not know what I meant when I asked you if youfeltI had given it to you. It is the same with the Lord's gift, Treffy. Yourfeelingshave nothing to do with your safety, but yourfaithhas a great deal to do with it. Have you taken the Lord at His word? Have you trusted Him? That is the question."
"Yes, sir," said Treffy, "I have."
"Then youknowyou are forgiven," said the clergyman, with a smile.
"Yes, sir," said Treffy, brightly, "I can trust Him now."
Then Christie walked up to Treffy, and put the bunch of white snowdrops in his hand.
"Miss Mabel gave me them," he said, "and she said I was to say a little prayer whenever I looked at them: 'Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.'"
"Whiter than snow," repeated the clergyman; "whiter than snow; Treffy! that is a sweet word, is it not?"
"Yes," said old Treffy, earnestly, as he looked at the flowers, "whiter than snow, washed white in the blood of Jesus."
Then the clergyman took his leave, but, as he was crossing the court, he heard Christie running after him. He had a few of the lovely snowdrops and a sprig of the dark myrtle in his hand.
"Please, sir," said Christie, "would you like a few of them?"
"Thank you, my boy," said the clergyman, "I should indeed."
He carried the snowdrops carefully home, and they taught him a lesson of faith. The seed he had sown in the mission-room had not been lost. Already two poor sin-stained souls had come to the fountain, and had been washed whiter than snow. The old man and the little boy had taken the Lord at His word, and had found the only way into the bright city, into "Home, sweet Home." God had been very good to him in letting him know this. Surely, he would trust in the future.
How different everything seemed to Treffy after his doubts and fears had been removed! The very attic seemed full of sunshine, and old Treffy's heart was full of brightness. He was forgiven, and he knew it. And, as a forgiven child, he could look up into his Father's face with a smile.
A great load was taken off little Christie's heart, his old master was so happy and contented now; never impatient at his long absence when he was out with the organ, or fretful and anxious about their daily support. Old Treffy had laid upon Jesus his load of sin, and it was not hard to lay upon Him also his load of care. The Lord who had borne the greater burden would surely bear the less. Treffy could not have put this feeling of trust into words, but he acted upon it. There were no murmurings from old Treffy now, no forebodings. He had always a bright smile and a cheerful word for Christie when the boy returned tired at night. And whilst Christie was out he would lie very still and peaceful, talking softly to himself or thanking the dear Lord for His great gift to him.
And old Treffy's trust was not disappointed. "None that trust in Him shall be desolate."
The clergyman's gift was not the only one they received that week. Christie had come home in the middle of the day, to see how his old master was, and was just preparing to start again on his rounds when they heard a gentle rustling of silk on the stairs, and a low knock at the door. Christie opened it quickly, and in walked little Mabel, and little Mabel's mamma. They had brought with them many little comforts for old Treffy, which Mabel had great pleasure in opening out. But they brought with them also what money cannot buy,—sweet, gentle words, and bright smiles, which cheered old Treffy's heart.
The lady sat down beside Treffy, and they talked together of Jesus. The old man loved to talk of Jesus now, for he was able to say, "He loved me, and gave Himself for me."
And the lady took a little blue Testament from her pocket, and read a chapter to Treffy. She had a sweet, clear voice, and she read so distinctly that he could understand every word.
Little Mabel sat quite still whilst her mamma was reading, then she got up, and ran across the attic.
"Here are my snowdrops," she said, with a cry of joy, as she caught sight of them in the window-sill. "Do you like them, Master Treffy?"
"Ay! little missie," said the old man, "I do indeed, and me and Christie always think of the little prayer when we look at them."
"Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow," repeated Mabel reverently. "Has He washed you, Master Treffy?"
"Yes, missie," said Treffy, "I believe He has."
"I'm so glad," said little Mabel, "then youwillgo to 'Home, sweet Home;' won't he, mamma?"
"Yes," said her mother, "Treffy and Christie have found the only road which leads home. And, oh!" she said, the color coming into her sweet face, "what a happy day it will be when we all meet at home! Wouldn't you like to see Jesus, Treffy?" asked the lady.
"Ay," said old Treffy, "it would be a good sight to see His blessed face. I could almost sing for joy when I think of it, and I haven't so very long to wait."
"No," said the lady, with a wistful expression in her eyes, "I could almost change places with you, Treffy, I could almost wish I were as near to 'Home, sweet Home.' But that would be selfish," she said brightly, as she rose to go.
But little Mabel had discovered the old organ, and was in no haste to depart. She must turn it "just a little bit." In former days, old Treffy would have been seriously agitated and distressed at the idea of the handle of his dear old organ being turned by a little girl of six years old. Even now he felt a small amount of anxiety when she proposed it. But his fears vanished when he saw the careful, deliberate way in which Mabel went to work. The old organ was perfectly safe in her hands. And, to Mabel's joy, the first tune which came was "Home, sweet Home." Very sweetly it sounded in old Treffy's ears. He was thinking of no earthly home, but of "the city bright," where he hoped soon to be. And the lady was thinking of it too.
When the tune was finished, they took their leave, and Christie looked out of the window, and watched them crossing the dirty court, and entering the carriage which was waiting for them in the street.
It had been a very bright week for Christie and for old Treffy.
And then Sunday came, and another service in the little mission room. Christie was there in good time, and the clergyman gave him a pleasant smile as he came into the room.
It was the third verse of the hymn on which the clergyman was to preach to-night. They sang the whole hymn through before the sermon, and then they sang the third verse again, that all of them might remember it whilst he was preaching.
"Lord, make me from this hourThy loving child to be,Kept by Thy power,Kept by Thy power,From all that grieveth Thee."
"Lord, make me from this hourThy loving child to be,Kept by Thy power,Kept by Thy power,From all that grieveth Thee."
And the clergyman's text was in Colossians 1:12, "Meet to be partakers of the inheritance." He repeated it very slowly, and Christie whispered softly to himself, that he might be able to teach it to old Treffy.
"'Meet to be partakers of the inheritance.' What is the inheritance?" asked the clergyman. "My dear friends, our inheritance is that city bright of which we have been speaking so much, 'Home, sweet Home,' our Father's home. We are not there yet, but for all Christ's washed ones there is a bright home above. Jesus is preparing it for us; it is our inheritance. Oh," said the clergyman, very earnestly, "I wonder how many in this room have a home up there. You may have a wretched, uncomfortable home on earth; is it youronlyhome? Is there no home for you in the bright city; no home in heaven?
"You might all have a home there," said the clergyman, "if you would only come to the fountain, if you would only say from the bottom of your heart, 'Lord, wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.'"
And Christie smiled when the clergyman said his little prayer, for he thought of the snowdrops. And the clergyman thought of them, too.
Then Mr. Wilton went on to say that he wished to-night to speak to those whohadcome to Jesus; whohadtaken their sin to Him, and whohadbeen washed in His blood.
"That's me and old Treffy," said Christie to himself.
"My dear friends," said the clergyman, "all of you have an inheritance; you are the sons of a King; there is a place in the kingdom waiting for you. Jesus is getting that place ready for you, and I want to show you to-night that you must be made ready for it, meet or fit for the inheritance. One day, the Prince of Wales will be the King of England. This kingdom is his inheritance. As soon as he was born, he had a right to it. But he has been educated and trained with great care, that he may be meet for the inheritance, that he may be fit to enjoy it, and able to use it. If he had had no education, if he had been brought up in one of these dismal black courts, though he might have a perfect right to be king, still he would not be able to enjoy it; he would feel strange, uncomfortable, out of place.
"Just so," said the clergyman, "is it with our inheritance. As soon as we are born again we have a right to it, we become sons and daughters of the King of Kings. But we need to be prepared and made meet for the inheritance. We must be made holy within; we must be trained and taught to hate sin and to love all that is pure and holy. And this is the work of God's Holy Spirit.
"Oh! my friends, will you not ask for the gift of the Holy Spirit to renew your heart? It will not be all done in a day. You came to Jesus to be washed from the stain of sin. He did that at once; He gave you at once the right to the inheritance. But you will not be made holy at once. Little by little, hour by hour, day by day, the Holy Spirit will make you more and more ready for the inheritance. You will become more and more like Jesus. You will hate sin more; you will love Jesus more; you will become more holy. But, oh! let no one think," said the clergyman, "that being good will ever give you arightto the inheritance. If I were to be ever so well educated, if I were to be taught a hundred times better than the Prince of Wales has been, it would never give me a right to be King of England. No, my friends, the only way into 'Home, sweet Home,' the only way to obtain a right to the inheritance, is by the blood of Jesus. There is no other way, no other right.
"But, after the dear Lord has given us the right to the kingdom, He always prepares us for it. A forgiven soul will always lead a holy life. A soul that has been washed white will always long to keep clear of sin. Is it not so with you? Just think of what Jesus has done for you! He has washed you in His blood; He has taken your sins away at the cost of His life. Will you do the very things that grieve Him? Will you be so ungrateful as to do that? Will you?
"Oh! surely not; surely you will say, in the words of the third verse of our hymn,—
'Lord, make me from this hourThy loving child to be,Kept by Thy power,Kept by Thy power,From all that grieveth Thee.'
'Lord, make me from this hourThy loving child to be,Kept by Thy power,Kept by Thy power,From all that grieveth Thee.'
And surely you will ask Him very, very earnestly, to give you that Holy Spirit who alone can make you holy. And when the work is done," said the clergyman, "when you are made meet, made fit for the inheritance, the Lord will take you there. He will not keep you waiting. Some are made ready very quickly. Others have to wait long, weary years of discipline. But all the King's sons shall be ready at last, all shall be taken home, and shall enter upon the inheritance. Willyoube there?"
And with that question the clergyman ended his sermon, and the little congregation broke up very quietly, and went home with thoughtful faces.
Christie lingered near the door till the clergyman came out. He asked very kindly of old Treffy, and then he put a few questions to Christie about the sermon; for he had been afraid whilst he had been preaching that he had not made it so clear that a child might understand. But he was cheered to find that the leading truth of the sermon was impressed on little Christie's mind, and that he would be able to carry to old Treffy something, at least, of what he had heard.
For Christie was taught of God, and into hearts prepared by the Holy Spirit the seed is sure to sink. The Lord has prepared them for the word, and prepared the word for them, and the sower has only to put his hand into his basket and scatter the seed prayerfully over the softened soil. It will sink in, spring up, and bring forth fruit.
The clergyman felt the truth of this as he walked home. And he remembered where it was written, "The preparation of the heart is from the Lord." "That is a word for me, as well as for my hearers," he said to himself. "Lord, ever let Thy preparation go before my preaching."
"Christie, boy," said Treffy, that night, when Christie had told him all he could remember of the sermon, and had repeated to him the third verse of the hymn, "Christie, boy, the Lord will have to getmeready very fast, very fast indeed."
"Oh, maybe not, Master Treffy," said Christie, uneasily, "maybe not so fast as you think."
"The month's nearly up, Christie," said old Treffy; "and I think I'm getting very near the city, very near to 'Home, sweet Home.' I can almost see the letters over the gate sometimes, Christie."
But Christie could not answer. His face was buried in his hands, and his head sank lower and lower as he sat beside the fire. And, at length, though he tried to keep it in, there came a great sob, which reached old Treffy's heart. He put his hand lovingly on Christie's head, and for some time neither of them spoke. But when the heart is very sore, silence often does more to comfort than words can do, only it must be silence which comes from a full heart, not from an empty one. Treffy's old heart was very full of loving, yearning pity for poor little Christie.
"Christie, boy," he said, at length, "you wouldn't keep me outside the gate; would you?"
"No, no, Master Treffy," said Christie, "not for the world I wouldn't; but I do wish I was going in too."
"It seems to me, Christie, boy, the Lord has got some work for thee to do for Him first. I'm a poor, useless old man, Christie, very tottering and feeble, so He's going to take me home; but you have all your life before you, Christie, boy, haven't you?"
"Yes," said Christie, with a sigh, for he was thinking what a long, long time it would be before he was as old as Master Treffy, and before the golden gates would be opened to him.
"Wouldn't youliketo do something for Him, Christie, boy," said old Treffy, "just to show you love Him?"
"Ay, Master Treffy, I should," said Christie, in a whisper.
"Christie, boy," said old Treffy, suddenly raising himself in bed, "I would give all I have; yes,all, Christie, even my old organ, and you know how I've loved her, Christie, but I'd give her up, her and everything else, to have one year of my life back again—one year—to show Him that I love Him. Just to think," he said regretfully, "that He gave His life for me, and died ever such a dreadful death for me, and I've only got a poor little miserable week left to show that I love Him. Oh, Christie, boy! oh, Christie, boy! it seems so ungrateful; I can't bear to think of it."
It was Christie's turn now to be the comforter.
"Master Treffy," he said, "just you tell the Lord that; I'm sure He'll understand."
Treffy clasped his hands at once, and said earnestly,—
"Lord Jesus, I do love Thee; I wish I could do something for Thee, but I've only another week to live,—only another week; but, oh! I do thank Thee, I would give anything to have some of my life back again, to show my love to Thee; please understand what I mean. Amen."
Then old Treffy turned over and fell asleep. Christie sat for some time longer by the fire. He had tried to forget the last day or two how short a time he had with his old master, but it had all come back to him now. And his heart felt very sad and desolate. It is a very dreadful thing to lose the only friend you have in the world. And it is a very dreadful thing to see before you a thick, dark cloud, and to feel that it hangs over your pathway, and that you must pass through it. Poor Christie was very full of sorrow, for he "feared as he entered into the cloud." But Treffy's words came back to his mind, and he said, with a full heart,—
"Lord Jesus, do help me to give my life to Thee. Oh! please help me to spare old Treffy. Amen."
Then, rather comforted, he went to bed.
The next morning he looked anxiously at old Treffy. He seemed weaker than usual, and Christie did not like to leave him. But they had very little money left, and Treffy seemed to wish him to go; so Christie went on his rounds with a heavy heart. He determined to go to the suburban road, that he might tell little Mabel and her mother how much worse his dear old master was. It is such a comfort to speak of our sorrow to those who will care to hear.
Thus Christie stopped before the house with the pretty garden in front of it. The snowdrops were over now, but the primroses had taken their place, and the garden looked very gay and cheerful. But Christie had no heart to look at it; he was gazing up anxiously at the nursery window for little Mabel's face. But she was not to be seen, so he turned the handle of his organ and played "Home, sweet Home," her favorite tune, to attract her attention. A minute after he began to play he saw little Mabel coming quickly out of the house and running towards him. She did not smile at him as usual, and she looked as if she had been crying, Christie thought.
"Oh, organ-boy," she said, "don't play to-day. Mamma is ill in bed, and it makes her head ache."
Christie stopped at once; he was just in the midst of the chorus of "Home, sweet Home," and the organ gave a melancholy wail as he suddenly brought it to a conclusion.
"I am so sorry, missie," he said.
Mabel stood before him in silence for a minute or two, and Christie looked down upon her very pitifully and tenderly.
"Is she very bad, missie?" he said.
"Yes," said little Mabel, "I think she must be, papa looks so grave, and nurse won't let us play; and I heard her tell cook mother would never be any better," she added, with a little sob, which came from the bottom of her tiny heart.
"Poor little missie!" said Christie, sorrowfully; "poor little missie, don't fret so; oh, don't fret so!"
And as Christie stood looking down on the little girl a great tear rolled down his cheek and fell on her little white arm.
Mabel looked up suddenly.
"Christie," she said, "I think mother must be going to 'Home, sweet Home,' and I want to go too."
"So do I," said Christie, with a sigh, "but the gates won't open to me for a long, long time."
Then the nurse called Mabel in, and Christie walked sorrowfully away. The world seemed very full of trouble to him. Even the sky was overcast, and a cutting east wind chilled Christie through and through. The spring flowers were nipped by it, and the budding branches were sent backwards and forwards by each fresh gust of the wind, and Christie felt almost glad that it was so cheerless. He was very sad and unhappy, very restless and miserable. He had begun to wonder if God had forgotten him; the world seemed to him so wide and desolate. His old master was dying, his little friend Mabel was in trouble, there seemed to be sorrow everywhere. There seemed to be no comfort for poor Christie.
Wearily and drearily he went homewards, and dragged himself up the steep staircase to the attic. He heard a voice within, a low, gentle voice, the sound of which soothed Christie's ruffled soul. It was the clergyman, and he was reading to old Treffy.
Treffy was sitting up in bed, with a sweet smile on his face, eagerly listening to every word. And, as Christie came in, the clergyman was reading this verse: "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."
"That's a sweet verse for you, Treffy," said the clergyman.
"Ay," said Treffy, brightening, "and for poor Christie too; he's very cast down, is Christie, sir."
"Christie," said the minister, laying his hand on his shoulder, "why isyourheart troubled?"
But Christie could not answer. He turned suddenly away from the minister, and, throwing himself on old Treffy's bed, he sobbed bitterly.
The clergyman's heart was very full of sympathy for poor Christie. He knelt down beside him, and putting his arm round him, with almost a mother's tenderness, he said gently,—
"Christie, shall we go together to the Lord Jesus, and tell him of your sorrow?"
And then, in very plain, simple words, which Christie's heart could understand, the clergyman asked the dear Lord to look on the poor lonely child, to comfort him and to bless him, and to make him feel that he had one Friend who would never go away. And long after the clergyman had gone, when the attic was quite still and Treffy was asleep, Christie heard, as it were, a voice in his heart, saying to him, "Let not your heart be troubled." Then he fell asleep in peace.
He was wakened by his old master's voice: "Christie," said Treffy; "Christie, boy!"
"Yes, Master Treffy," said Christie, jumping up hastily.
"Where's the old organ, Christie?" asked Treffy.
"She's here, Master Treffy," said Christie, "all right and safe."
"Turn her, Christie," said Treffy, "play 'Home, sweet Home.'"
"It's the middle of the night, Master Treffy," said Christie; "folks will wonder what's the matter."
But Treffy made no answer, and Christie crept to his side with a light, and looked at his face. It was very altered and strange. Treffy's eyes were shut, and there was that in his face which Christie had never seen there before. He did not know what to do. He walked to the window and looked out. The sky was quite dark, but one bright star was shining through it and looking in at the attic window. "Let not your heart be troubled," it seemed to say to him. And Christie answered aloud, "Lord, dear Lord, help me."
As he turned from the window, Treffy spoke again, and Christie caught the words, "Play, Christie, boy, play."
He hesitated no longer. Taking the organ from its place, he turned the handle, and slowly and sadly the notes of "Home, sweet Home," were sounded forth in the dark attic. The old man opened his eyes as Christie played, and, when the tune was over, he called the boy to him; and, drawing him down very close to him, he whispered,—
"Christie, boy, the gates are opening now. I'm going in. Play again, Christie, boy."
It was hard work playing the three other tunes, they seemed so out of place in the room of death.
But Treffy did not seem to hear them. He was murmuring softly to himself the words of the prayer, "Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow; whiter than snow, whiter than snow."
And, as Christie was playing "Home, sweet Home," for the second time, old Treffy's weary feet passed within the gates. He was at home at last, in "Home, sweet Home."
And little Christie was left outside.
The next morning, some of the lodgers in the great room below remembered having heard sounds in the stillness of the night, which had awakened them from their dreams and disturbed their slumbers. Some maintained it was only the wind howling in the chimney, but others felt sure it was music, and said that the old man in the attic must have been amusing himself with the organ at midnight.
"Not he," said the landlady, when she heard of it; "he'll never play it again, he's a dying man, by what the doctor says."
"Just you go and ask him if he wasn't turning his old organ in the middle of last night," said a man from the far corner of the room. "I'll bet you a shilling he was."
The landlady went upstairs to satisfy his curiosity, and rapped at the attic door. No one answered, so she opened it and went in. Christie was fast asleep, stretched upon the bed where his old master's body lay. The tears had dried on his cheeks, and he was resting his head on one of old Treffy's cold, withered hands. The landlady's face grew grave, and she instinctively shuddered in the presence of death.
Christie woke with a start, and looked up in her face with a bewildered expression. He could not remember at first what had happened. But in a moment it all came back to him, and he turned over and moaned.
The landlady was touched by the boy's sorrow, but she was a rough woman, and knew little of the way of showing sympathy; and Christie was not sorry when she went downstairs and left him to himself. As soon as the house was quiet, he brought a neighbor to attend to old Treffy's body, and then crept out to tell the clergyman.
Mr. Wilton felt very deeply for the desolate child. Once again he committed him to his loving Father, to the Friend who would never leave him nor forsake him. And when Christie was gone he again knelt down, and thanked God with a very full heart for having allowed him to be the poor weak instrument in bringing this soul to Himself. There would be one at least at the beautiful gates of "Home, sweet Home," watching for his homegoing steps. Old Treffy would be waiting for him there. Oh, how good God had been to him! It was with a thankful heart that he sat down to prepare his sermon for the next day, on the last verse of the hymn. And what he had just heard of old Treffy helped him much in the realization of the bright city of which he was to speak.
Mr. Wilton looked anxiously for Christie, when he entered the crowded mission-room on Sunday evening. Yes, Christie was there, sitting as usual on the front bench, with a very pale and sorrowful face, and with heavy downcast eyes. And when the hymn was being sung, the clergyman noticed that the tears were running down the boy's cheeks, though he rubbed them away with his sleeve as fast as they came. But Christie looked up almost with a smile when the clergyman gave out his text. It was from Revelation 7:14, 15: "These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God."
"To-night," said the clergyman, "I am to speak of 'Home, sweet Home,' and of those that dwell there, the great multitude of the redeemed. It is a very holy place, there is no speck on the golden pavement, no evil to be found within the city. The tempter can never enter there, sin is unknown; all is very, very holy. And on the white robes of those who dwell there is no stain; pure and clean and spotless, bright and fair as light, are those robes of theirs. Nothing to soil them, nothing to spoil their beauty, they are made white for ever in the blood of the Lamb; therefore are they before the throne of God.
"Oh!" said the clergyman, "never forget that this is the only way to stand before that throne. Being good will never take you there, not being as bad as others will avail you nothing; if you are ever to enter heaven, you must be washed white in the blood of the Lamb.
"St. John was allowed to look into heaven, and he saw a great company of these redeemed ones, and they were singing a new song, to the praise of Him who had redeemed them. And since St. John's time," said the clergyman, "oh! how many have joined their number. Every day, every hour, almost every moment, some soul stands before the city gates. And to every soul washed in the blood of Jesus those gates of pearl are thrown open; they are all dressed one by one in a robe of white, and as they walk through the golden streets, and stand before the throne of glory, they join in that song which never grows old:—'Amen. Blessing and glory, and wisdom, and thanksgiving, and honor, and power, and might, be unto our God for ever and ever, Amen.'
"And, my friends," said the clergyman, "as the holy God looks on these souls He sees in them no trace of sin, the blood has taken it all away; even in His sight they are all fair, there is no spot in them. They are faultless and stainless, perfectly pure and holy.
"Oh! my friends, will you ever join their number? This is a dark, dismal, dying world; will you be content to have yourallhere? Will you be content never to enter 'Home, sweet Home'? Oh! will you delay coming to the fountain, and then wake up, and find you are shut out of the city bright, and that for ever?
"One old man," said the clergyman, "to whom I was talking last week is now spending his first Sunday in that city bright."
A stillness passed over the room when the clergyman said this, and Christie whispered to himself, "He means Master Treffy, I know he does."
"He was a poor sin-stained old man," the clergyman went on, "but he took Jesus at His word, he came to the blood of Christ to be washed, and even here he was made whiter than snow. And two nights ago the dear Lord sent for the old man, and took him home. There was no sin-mark found on his soul, so the gates were opened to him; and now in the snowy dress of Christ's redeemed he stands, 'faultless and stainless, faultless and stainless, safe in that happy home.'
"If I were to hear next Sunday," said the clergyman, "that any one of you was dead, could I say the same of you? Whilst we are meeting here, would you be in 'Home, sweet Home'? Are you indeed washed in the precious blood of Christ? Have you indeed been forgiven? Have you indeed come to Jesus?
"Oh! do answer this question in your own heart," said Mr. Wilton, in a very earnest voice. "I do want to meet every one of you in 'Home, sweet Home.' I think that when God takes me there I shall be looking out for all of you, and oh! how I trust we shall all meet there,—all meet at home!
"I cannot say more to-night," said the minister, "but my heart is very full. God grant that each of you may now be washed in the blood of Jesus, and even in this life be made whiter than snow, and then say with a grateful heart, 'Lord, I will work for Thee, love Thee, serve Thee, all I can:'—