Philip Fuller’s horse might just as well have had no rider for all the control he felt. The bridle was hung loosely on his neck, his pace was a slow and measured walk, and his rider, all the while, was thinking, praying, and talking to himself.
“He bare our sins, my sins, in His own body on the tree. Whosoever believeth—Lord, I believe! I come to the Cross! My sins, I cannot bear them. Thou hast borne them—hast died for me! My Lord and my God! Mine! What’s this?” he shouted. “I know it; I feel it. Jesus, Thou art my Saviour, too!” He looked around—the very trees wore a brighter robe, the sky a fairer blue, the very birds were singing of his new-born peace! Seizing the bridle, he turned his startled steed and galloped back to where the old hedger was at work.
“Adam Olliver!” he shouted, “Adam Olliver!”
“Halleluia!” shouted Adam. “Ah knoa all aboot it. Prayse the Lord!”
The young man leaped from his horse, seized the old man’s hands and shook them, while the happy tears ran down his sunny face.
“Adam Olliver, my sins are gone!”
“Halleluia, ah saw ’em gannin’. Good-bye tiv ’em!”
“But Jesus is mine. My Saviour and my all.”