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THE K I N G ’ S BUS I NESS
an intrusion, an abnormality. We were never meant to sin. But by the dis obedience of one man “sin came into the world and death along with sin passed upon all flesh unto condemnation!” It is not without some reason that death is called “the King pf Terrors.” It was a summer morning. Vines clambered to the window edge and breathed fragrance through the house. The light fell softly through the half turned shutters. A man was saying: “Speak to mother, George, she is dying!” And my father put his right arm under the pillow of his mother and said: “Mother, Mother! - Is Jesus precious to you now?” And she said wearily: “Oh, yes, so precious! ” Then suddenly her face seemed transfigured with an inner light, her eyes opened wide, a smile of inexpressible joy swept over her face, her her hands reached upward as she said: “Oh, Jesus!! And you have come! Oh, Jesus!!” And then my father said: “Mother is gone!” And a little boy saw and heard and remembered. Dr. Samuel F. Upham, my( professor in theology, whom Dr. Buckley called the greatest preacher for a hundred times in succession, that he had known, was nearing the end of the road. Dr. Buckley visited him. He says: “Sitting on the side of the bed, with his hand in mine, I said: “ Sam, tell me, do the ser mons you have preached to others com fort you now?” And he said, “Oh, yes!” I said: “ Sam, we have been friends for years; tell me, with your feet far down in the valley of the shadow of death, does Jesus Christ satisfy you now?” And then, just as I had seen him do a thou sand times, he shot out his right arm to its length and said, “Yes, Jim! Per fectly! Perfectly!” One day my poet friend, Mr. Kinney, of Philadelphia, said: “Oh, Ferris, can I tell you my story?” I said, “I shall always be eager to hear any story you may care to tell me.” Then with a low, measured voice he
began: “I was once a foe of Jesus. I did not believe in him or the church. Never had allowed my children to attend the church or Sunday School. One day hear ing a commotion below I hurried from my study and saw my wife sinking to a chair, a boy going down the steps, and a bent and bloody bicycle lying on the floor. I said “Boy, boy!! What bicycle is that?” “ It was your boy’s.” “Where is my boy?” “Don’t know sir. He was hurt, when they took him away in a wagon.” p began calling up the emergency wards of the hospitals to find my boy. Seemed there was a hurt boy in every hospital of the city. Then I began a search through the hospitals of Phila delphia. At last I entered an emergency ward. Here was a man with both legs gone—hurt in a railroad accident. Here was a man with an arm gone—crushed in an elevator. Another with skull crushed. But I did not stop at the side, of one of them, for down the row of cots was a boy’s hand waving and a boy say ing: “Here 1 am Papa, here I am.” I took his hot hands in mine and said: “Oh Willie, what has happened!” He said: “I was hurt awfully, Papa, and I didn’t know how to tell them where our home is and they brought me here. The doctbrs say they can’t help me Papa and I am going to die.” I said: “No you are not Willie. You are going to get well.” But he said I guess the doctors are right, Papa. They know. But I was all alone when they told me Papa, and I didn’t know what to do, and I remembered that once I went to Sunday School and the teacher told us that day that Jesus is the best friend that a, boy ever had and if we were ever in trouble and would tell him he would help us. I did not know what else to do, so Papa I prayed and told Him I was hurt and needed Him to help me. Papa it seemed as though he smiled on me and I loved him so I am almost glad to go. “Pray Papa! I am so sick!” I said “I never prayed in my life Willie.” He said, “Kneel down by me Papa and
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