The Deacon had sot for the last several moments with his head right up in the air, and his eyes rolled up so I couldn’t see much besides the whites of ’em, and as I stopped a few moments (for truly my breath had give out, my deep principle tone uses up breath dretful fast) he groaned out; “Works.”
But I says mildly, “don’t you believe in works?”
“No I don’t, I believe in faith; you seem to lay out to be saved by works.” And again he spoke out that “works,” as if it was the meanest thing he ever heerd on; he lifted up his nose in as unbelievin, and scornful a way as I ever see a nose lifted up.
But I kep’ cool, and says I, “No, I don’t; but I believe faith and works ort to go together; they ort to work in one harness a drawin’ the soul along the straight and narrer way.” Says I, “They haint calculated to work in a single harness, either of ’em; they are double breasted, and folks ort to realize that they be.” Says I, “I have seen folks before now that kep’ the eye of their faith bent so stiddy upwards, that they didn’t know nor care how many weak and helpless ones they was crunchin’ down under their heels; how many infant babes was a perishin’ with hunger about ’em, starvin’ physically, and spiritually; the air full of the groans and prayers of a sufferin’ humanity, and they a walkin’ calmly on, a hangin’ on to their faith, and their old beliefs, as if it was the most delightful and consolin’ thing they ever heerd on, to think they was goin’ to be saved, and somebody else wasn’t. And then I’ve seen them that laid themselves out on their good works, thought they was goin’ to earn a deed of the heavenly homestead by doin’ day’s works below; think they made themselves, and worship their maker. But there haint either of these ways the right way.”
HELPIN’ THE WIDDER.
Says I, “If you was a drowndin’, you would believe in faith and works both. You would want somebody to have faith, they could git you out, and then you would want ’em to lay to, and haul you ashore.” Says I, “Faith alone in that case would drownd you stiffer’n a mushrat; and jest so in various cases,—poor widders for instance. Now several hundred deacons may git together in a warm meetin’-house, and lean over on their creeds and have faith that a certain widder will come through the winter all right. And probable it wouldn’t be half the help to her that one small deacon would be that loaded up his Bobs with stove-wood, and flour, and potatoes, and side-pork, and jest worked his way along through the snow to her cold empty suller. And then on the other hand not to have any faith, that I couldn’t stand. Some folks say they wont believe in anything they can’t see for themselves. Good land! how will they git holt of the prefume of a rose, or tackle a gust of wind? One is sweet enough to fill you with happiness, and the other is strong enough to blow you over; but you can’t git holt of one, with your two hands, or wrastle with the other and throw it.
“We work by faith every day of our lives; we plant seed in the dark earth, believin’ that though the seed perishes, it will break the bands of death, and rise in greenness and bloom; though jest how it does that job you cant tell, nor I cant, nor Josiah. They needn’t talk to me about not believin’ anything they don’t understand; for what do we understand come to look at the matter fair and square?” Says I, “Life itself is a sober riddle, the solemnest conundrum that was ever put out to humanity. Who has ever been able to git the right answer to it by reasonin’ it out himself, and if he did cypher out an answer, to suit himself, how would he know it was the right one? We see that things be, but why they be so, you can’t tell, nor I, nor Josiah.
“Truly, if anybody gits to pryin’ into hidden things, and reasonin’ on first causes, he finds that the flood is deep and the rain is descendin’ onto him, and the proud peaks of his own reason and judgment is drownded completely out. But God has sent forth an ark that rides triumphant on the face of the waters; His revealed word floats above the rainy deluge of our fears and wonderments. Not to have any faith would tucker me completely out; there would be a looseness to it I couldn’t stand, a waverin’ unstiddyness that would upset me, and take me offen my feet.”
Says I, “Faith and works ort to be twisted in one strand, and when they are, they make a cord that anchors the soul to the Rock of Ages, and holds it there fast and firm, so that change, and chance, and sin, and temptation, and all the storms of this stormy life will beat ag’inst it in vain, and bime-by that very cord will draw the soul right up through the pearly gates into the city of our Lord.”