“He will come down here and abide with thee, my son, if thou wilt but ask Him. So dear He loveth man, that He will come any whither on earth save into sin, if so be He may have man’s company. ‘Greater than this love hath no man, that he give his life for his friends.’”
“Well, that stands to reason,” said Dan. “When man gives his life, he gives all there is of him.”
“Thou sayest well. And is it hard to love man that giveth his life to save thine?”
“I reckon it ’d be harder to help it, Father.”
Father Thomas turned as if to go. “My son,” said he, “wilt thou let the Lord Jesus say to the angels round His Throne,—‘I gave all there was of Me for Daniel Greensmith, and he doth not love Me for it?’”
The big smith had never had such an idea presented to him before. His simple, transparent, child-like nature came up into his eyes, and ran over. Men did not think it in those earlier ages any discredit to their manliness to let their hearts be seen. Perhaps they were wiser than we are.
“Eh, Father, but you never mean it’d be like that?” cried poor Dan. “Somehow, it never come real to me, like as you’ve put it. Do you mean ’at He cares—that it makes any matter to Him up yonder, whether old Dan at t’ smithy loves Him or not? I’m no-but a common smith. There’s hundreds just like me. Does He really care, think you?”
“Thou art a man,” said the priest, “and it was for men Christ died. And there is none other of thee, though there were millions like thee. Is a true mother content with any babe in exchange for her own, because there are hundreds of babes in the world? Nay, Daniel Greensmith, it was for thee the Lord Christ shed His blood on the cruel cross, and it is thyself whose love and thanksgivings He will miss, though all the harps of all the angels make music around His ear. Shall He miss them any longer, my son?”
Once more Dan threw aside the big hammer—this time on the inner side of the smithy.
“Father,” said he, “you’ve knocked me clean o’er. I never knowed till now as it were real.”