I was riding on top of the Boulder Pass of the Rocky Mountains, in the summer of 1876, when a sudden storm of rain, wind, and furious tempest came up. There was no shelter from rocks, no trees or buildings to be seen--a lonely, wind-swept summit. I knew that the lightning on those high elevations was fearful in intensity. I was appalled at the prospect before me, but feeling that God had promised to care for his children--"No evil shall befall thee or come nigh thy dwelling"--I composed myself, and though on horseback, with the rain beating in torrents, I offered simple prayer to God that he would save me from the rain and stop it. But No, it came harder than ever; then I prayed that I might be protected from all danger, "for I trusted in Him!"
I rode on and on for miles, chilly, cold, wet through, the clouds hanging low and the lightning flashing above me, around me, striking near me, constant flashes, peals of thunder; but I was not terrified. "God must keep me." Twice I was distinctly struck with the electric flash, detached portions or sparks from the electric cloud, directly in the center of the forehead, but it had no more force than just to close my eyes, shake my head a little, obscure my sight a moment, and then it was all over, and I was clearer, cooler, calmer, happier, and more self-possessed than ever before. I attribute my protection from peril entirely to prayer, and the fierceness of the tempest and the proximity of danger were permitted by the Lord to try my trust. Those portions which struck me, if in ordinary times had been given me from an electric battery in a school-room, a shock with sparks only one-hundredth the size, would have killed me.
I can thus say with thanks, faith was then made perfect in danger, and the Lord was faithful in hearing his child's cry, and delivered him.
God Never Failed Her.
An aged colored woman, lived that life of faith which shines brighter and brighter unto the perfect day. Born a slave, on Long Island, she was never taught to read, never enjoyed any social privileges; but the God of the widow of Sarepta, who had neither "store-house nor barn," was her God, and brought her out of the house of spiritual bondage.
She outlived all her early associations; all her children and grandchildren, husband and brother passed on before, leaving her alone in poverty and sickness. Yet she sat in her little hut, a cheerful, happy Christian; a living witness for God as a covenant-keeper. Doubting, despondent souls were always glad to visit her, to listen to her simple words of wisdom and gather strength from her invincible trust. Roman Catholic neighbors persecuted and even threatened her; but in reply to a missionary who remarked that it must be very trying and somewhat dangerous, she said, "Don't you know the Lord has a hook in the jaws of the wicked, so they shan't hurt us if we belong to him? Jesus is always with me; so I'm never alone and never afraid."
His Mother's Prayer.
A poor sailor, leading a most profligate and abandoned life, whose praying mother followed him like a shadow into and out of his drinking saloons and gambling houses, at last absented himself from home, whenever he was in port. Her burden, finally, seemed too great to bear, and she resolved to make a stronger effort than ever before, to cast it upon the Lord. As she knelt, with her heart well-nigh bursting with this desire, she felt a powerful conviction that, at last, she was answered. For several years the son went on in his wicked career, and the mother sorrowed that it was so, but her soul was no longer laden with fear; she felt the assurance of his conversion, sooner or later. Again, for several years, she never heard of him, and thought him dead; then she ceased praying for him, and was steadfast in the faith of meeting him in heaven. But sight was to be given her, as a reward for faith. He returned, at last, only thirty years of age, but broken down in health, and worn out by dissipation and hardship. Still unconverted, but, to satisfy his mother, he consented to remain in the room during a visit of the missionary of that district; a man with sufficient tact not to make his efforts obnoxious. He did not tell the young man he was a sinner and must flee from the wrath to come; he merely presented the love of Jesus; the love that saved to the very uttermost; that waited more patiently than any earthly friend, and forgave more royally. At first, he listened indifferently, but, at last, burst into tears, saying, "I thought I was so bad He didn't want anything to do with me." A long conversation, and others at intervals followed, and, before his death, which occurred several months after, his mother's heart was gladdened by the account of his change, and the knowledge that, in farthest lands, his thoughts were back with her. The deeper he went in sin, the more unsatisfactory and abhorrent it became, and he would have turned, long before, to the Lord, had he believed there was the least hope for him. When he closed his eyes to earth, a few friends enabled his mother to give him respectable burial, in the same grave where, years before, his father was laid.
The Heart Of Stone Relents.
Another consumptive in the neighborhood, was thoroughly an infidel. Mr. A. visited the house three times a week, and, at last, succeeded in overcoming his objections to a weekly prayer-meeting in his house. In his hearing, earnest supplication was always made for him, and, at the end of four months, the heart of stone relented. He had not, at first, the courage to appropriate the promises to himself; but one morning very early he sent for the missionary to reveal the news that he felt all his sins forgiven, and had "Christ in him, the hope of glory." four months more he lived to hear witness continually to God's amazing mercy, and then joyfully expired, declaring himself saved by grace alone.