Prisons and Prayer; Or, a Labor of Love

by Elizabeth Ryder Wheaton

In the year 1896 the Lord made plain to me that it was His will that I should again go to Europe. While in Washington, D. C., I was led to return to Iowa, and there found that a band of missionaries who were ready to start for Africa had been praying that I might come and go with them as far as New York. When they saw me alight at their door, they shouted and praised the Lord. When I asked them the reason they said because God had answered prayer—that they had prayed God to send me to see them off for Africa.

While we were holding a few meetings in Philadelphia I felt directed to go on with them as far as London, so purchased my ticket with theirs, taking steerage passage across the ocean for the third time. Immediately after getting my ticket there came upon me a wonderful outpouring of the Spirit and an assurance that was unmistakable that I was in divine order. When I told those young missionaries I was going with them as far as London they told me they had been praying that I might be led to do that very thing. After a safe voyage we reached Southampton in seven days.

One Sabbath afternoon in London when we were holding an open-air meeting on the street, God opened the flood-gates of Heaven, and I with others sang and preached under the power of the Holy Spirit. A Christian came and said, "Sister Wheaton, there is a preacher here who wants to speak to you." I refused to go, as there were drunkards and toughs on their knees under conviction of sin. I thought he was a preacher who wanted to criticise my methods. They called me again, and I went to see what was wanted. I found a fine-looking, well-dressed man much past middle age under awful conviction of sin. He was a backslider, and had stopped in passing, being attracted by a hymn I was singing—one his mother used to sing. Yet he was unwilling to yield himself to God. Some of those in the company had talked with him and begged him to kneel. At last his stubborn will was broken, and he knelt there on that London street and confessed his sins to God. When he arose from his knees he said he had been on his way with a dagger then in his coat sleeve, to commit suicide, but was attracted by that song his mother used to sing, and could go no further. Thus by the power of the Holy Ghost that Presiding Elder was saved on the streets through faithful, honest trust in God, where the preacher and the drunkard knelt side by side in the dust. I hope to meet them in Heaven, and trust that all found peace with God. The word says, "Go out in the streets and lanes of the city, and in the hedges and highways." "Jesus came to seek and to save that which was lost," not the righteous but sinners. He came to save. How often people are waiting for Christians, who profess to have salvation, to speak to them, and how glad they are to receive the message if delivered in love.

I was located for a time at Woolwich, near the London Arsenal. There were stationed thousands of soldiers and they were often found in the public houses under the influence of drink. I would plead with them to quit sinning, turn to God, and seek salvation. Often tears were shed, and resolves made to serve the Lord. There are many incidents of souls being saved on the streets, in the slums and public houses, but space forbids my going into details, but suffice it to say that I have been given many proofs of God's love and mercy from among the thousands who have heard the gospel in those far-off lands, as well as in our home land. Then let us encourage our missionaries everywhere to press on until the Master says, "It is enough, come up higher."

I was much pained, while in England, to see so many young women there, as in Scotland, selling beer and other strong drink to customers in the public houses; beautiful girls selling their souls to the tempter to be lost forever unless in some way rescued before it is too late.

During this second visit to Europe I was often stopped on the street and asked to sing to the people, which I frequently did, regardless of remarks or criticisms, and the Lord blessed my singing to the good of many souls. While in London, night after night I would sing and preach the gospel to people who longed for salvation, but knew not how to get saved. How often we neglect an opportunity to do good. Years after some of our missionaries returning from Africa, passing through London, heard the people calling to them, "Where is that old lady who sang for us?" So we labor not in vain. In due season we shall reap if we faint not.

After spending several weeks in England (most of the time in London) I saw that precious band of young missionaries take the steamer for Africa. The next day I embarked for home at Southampton. Soon after starting we sighted the vessel on which they sailed and I could distinguish some of them waving their handkerchiefs in farewell. One of them died in Africa ten months later. By and by we shall meet again in the Kingdom of heaven, each one, I trust, bringing with us sheaves to lay at Jesus' feet.

During the return voyage the sea was stormy at times, yet the voyage was made safely, and on Sabbath morning, the day after my arrival in New York, I went to the Tombs prison to hold services. I was very tired, and after the services I was so faint I prayed for the Lord to open the way for me to have some refreshments, as I was to preach in the afternoon at a Rescue Mission. There were many elegantly dressed lady visitors at that meeting, but they all passed out and left me alone, when a young, humble-looking man came to me and said, "We are very poor, and are able to afford but one meal a day, and not a full meal at that, but it would be such a blessing to my wife and myself if you would come and share it with us." My heart was touched that this stranger should offer to share the little they had, when others never thought of my needs. I did not go with him, although I thanked him; it was so far to his home, but God will reward him. For Jesus said, "I was a stranger and ye took me in, hungry and ye fed me; I was in prison and ye came unto me, sick and ye visited me."

Behold a homeless wanderer, poor and thinly clad, To biting cold a victim, with hunger almost mad, Entering yonder mansion, dares to boldly steal What none should e'er deny a dog—the pittance of a meal! See the greedy sleuth-hounds of the outraged law Wage against this robber an unrelenting war; While Christian judge and jury, with ready wit, declare His crime an awful outrage, that merits prison fare! But he who rears his costly domes O'er wreck and ruin of human homes, Plants in the breast a raging thirst And leaves his victims doubly cursed, Can roll in luxury, loll in pride And, with the law, his gain divide! Tho' every dime he pays the state A thousand cost in wakened hate!

—Geo. W. H. Harrison.