When he had finished, the soldiers eagerly began to ask questions—but suddenly the old colored man turned querist, and raising himself up, and leaning forward toward the crowd, he asked, in a voice strangely thrilling and solemn, “Are any of you soldiers of the Lord Jesus Christ?”
One looked at another with evident embarrassment; but at length some one stammered out—“We don’t know exactly; that is a hard question, Uncle.” “Oh no,” said he, “dat is not a hard question—if you be soldiers of Christ you know it, you must know it; de Lord does not do His work so poorly dat His people don’t know when it’s done. Now jes’ let me say a word more: Dear soldiers—before eber you lebe dis boat—before eber you go into anoder battle—enlist for Jesus; become soldiers ob de blessed Redeemer, and you are safe; safe when de battle rages, safe when de chills ob death come, safe when de world’s on fire.”
One of the men, desirous of changing the conversation, said: “Uncle, are you blind?” He replied: “Oh no, bless de Lord, I am not blind to de tings ob de spirit. I see by an eye ob faith my blessed Saviour sitting at de right hand ob God, and I’ll soon see Him more clearly, for Jesus loves dis old blind darkie, and will soon take him home.”
Now, when we talk of moral sublimity we are apt to point to Alexander conquering the world, to Hannibal surmounting the Alps, to Cæsar crossing the Rubicon, or to Lawrence wrapping himself in the American flag and crying “Don’t give up the ship!” But in my opinion here was a specimen of moral sublimity equal to anything that ever graced the pages of history or was ever exhibited upon a battle-field—a poor old, blind, palsied slave, resting upon the “Rock of Ages,” while the waves of affliction dashed like mountains at his feet; yet, looking up to heaven, and trusting in the great and precious promises, he gave glory to God, and triumphed over pain and disease, rejoicing even in tribulation.
While the old slave was talking to the soldiers a number of young darkies came forward, and when the conversation ceased they all struck up the following piece, and sang it with good effect:
Oh, praise an’ tanks! De Lord he come
To set de people free;
An’ massa tink it day ob doom,
An’ we ob jubilee.
De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves,
He jes’ as strong as den;
He say de word—we las’ night slaves,
To-day de Lord’s free men.
Chorus—De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We’ll hab de rice an’ corn,
O nebber you fear if nebber you hear
De driber blow his horn.
Ole massa on his trabbles gone
He lebe de land behind;
De Lord’s breff blow him furder on,
Like corn-shuck in de wind.
We own de hoe, we own de plow,
We own de hands dat hold;
We sell de pig, we sell de cow,
But neber chile be sold.
Chorus—De yam will grow, etc.
We know de promise nebber fail,
An’ nebber lie de Word;
So, like de ’postles in de jail,
We waited for de Lord.
An’ now He open ebery door,
An’ trow away de key,
He tink we lub Him so before,
We lub Him better free.
Chorus—De yam will grow, etc.
Then a collection was taken up among the soldiers and presented to the old blind colored man, who wept with delight as he received it, for said he—“I hab no home, no money, an’ no friend, but de Lord Jesus.”