I had never heard my friend deliver a formal discourse, but I knew it mattered little to him whether his message was given to few or many—love for Christ, and earnestness to save souls was the all-absorbing passion of his heart. It was only a continuation of what he had been saying, the sweetly touching story of Christ's love told simply, and still with the earnest, truthful spirit of one who knew by blessed experience the reality of what he was saying. Standing in his place and holding up the cross, for the moment it seemed that we could see Him, the Divine Son, hanging, bleeding, dying that sinners like us might be redeemed, saved, reinstated. What love! What tenderness! Is it any wonder that we wept? Not a dry eye was in the house. Those hardy peasants, with little intellectual culture, had hearts to love, hearts that could understand and appreciate in some feeble manner the promise of pardon and peace through a crucified Redeemer.
It was an hour well spent. Never have I felt nearer the divine presence, nor more of the joy, the rest that springs from intimate communion with the blessed Saviour. How strange the revulsion of feeling in a few moments of time. I had looked with a little of pleasantry upon the quaint figures and novel costumes of the worshippers; now, I saw only the earnest attitude, the anxious gaze, the loving look. Jesus was all in all, and their love for him beautified their faces.
As we went home many kindly words were interchanged, the pastor seeking out the elderly feeble ones, and Maude speaking with the mothers, and patting the heads of little children, while I found my way to a group of youths, to deepen if possible the impression of the morning.
After dinner there was a repetition of the Bible-class, though now they met at the pastor's house. As it was warm and pleasant we seated ourselves in the garden, dividing into three groups. This class was entirely different from the one of the morning, being made up of those, many of them mothers, who could not leave their children to go out earlier; and with some, this service was the principal one of the day. The attention was quite as good, and the manner the same. It was a pleasure to teach, and the sun was throwing his last red beams on the hillside as the last one left the garden. It had been a long day, but we felt repaid.
"You have had a glimpse of our family and of our work," said the pastor. "How do you like it?"
"Is this a specimen of all your Sabbaths?"
"Just the same, with the fluctuating difference of numbers; scattered as our people are, many of them living halfway up the mountains, they are not always able to be here."
"I agree with Maude that your service is needed here."
"I knew you would. There are souls to save here as well as in Basle, and sometimes I think the love of these simple hearts is sweeter to Jesus."
Far away the mountains were lifting their heads, bathed in the golden glory from the setting sun. Maude caught the direction of my eyes.