“Sister Calvin Martin lays there now in her tent with the Power. She lay there all day yesterday and all night.”
Some of the boys before me begun to titter 337 and snicker at anybody’s havin’ the power, and I sez, eyein’ ’em sternly, “Do you know what you’re laughin’ at, young men? You talk about it real glib, but have you any idee of the greatness and overwhelmin’ might of the Force you’re speakin’ of? That Power wuz at Pentecost in cloven tongues of flame, and strange voices and words that no man could utter. Saul laughed at the Power but it struck him blind in the street, and ketched him up into the Seventh Heaven. When that Power comes down on earth, let sinners quail, and saints look on with or and tremblin’.”
They looked real meachin’. But jest then the Experience meetin’ begun, and a old man with thin white hair and white whiskers framin’ his meek wrinkled face, come forward, and layin’ his hand on the railin’ sez in a kinder tremblin’ voice, “Bless the Lord who has made His servant able to come to this temple in the wilderness, to witness the glory He has poured down on his people. Every camp-meetin’ for years I have thought would be my last, but bless Him who has preserved me to this day.”
“Yes, bless the Lord! Amen! amen!” wuz shouted on every side, and as he stopped after a few minutes’ exhortation, the other ministers 338 and some of the old bretheren crowded round the white headed old saint to shake his hand.
Then a sweet faced little girl in a pink hat got up and said “the Lord wuz precious to her.”
“Amen! amen! Bless His name! He carries the lambs in His bosom!” said the white headed preacher. Then a pleasant lookin’ middle-aged minister related this incident, “A young boy had been converted, and said he had a view of Heaven. A onbeliever tried to frighten him and asked him if he didn’t tremble at the thought. Sez the boy, ‘My feet are on the rock.’
“‘But don’t you tremble?’ sez the infidel.
“‘Yes,’ sez the boy, ‘I do, but the rock under my feet don’t tremble.’”
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“Oh, Jesus is a rock in a weary land, A weary land, a weary land— Oh, Jesus is a rock in a weary land— A shelter in the time of storm.” |
High and clear this believin’ song floated through our souls—and up to Heaven.