"Can't you think of Jesus, and rest?" I asked, bending over him. His eye darted to mine with a strange expression of inquiry and pain; but it was all the answer he made.
"There is rest at His feet for all who trust in Him; - rest in
His arms for all who love Him."
"I am not the one or the other," he said shortly.
"But you may be."
"I reckon not, - at this time of day," he said.
"Any time of day will do," I said tenderly.
"I guess not," said he. "One cannot do anything lying here - and I sha'n't lie here much longer, either. There's no time now to do anything."
"There is nothing to do, dear friend, but to give your heart and trust to the Lord who died for you - who loves you - who invites you - who will wash away your sins for His own sake, in His own blood, which He shed for you. Jesus has died for you; you shall not die, if you will put your trust in Him."
He looked at me, turned his head away restlessly, turned it back again, and said, -
"That won't do."