I am glad to know that not one earnest prayer, not
one heartfelt alms-giving, not one kind word, ever
goes unblessed. Among the mountains of Switzerland
there is a place where, if your voice be uttered,
there will come back a score of echoes. But utter
a kind, sympathetic, and saving word in the dark places
of the town, and there will come back ten thousand
echoes from all the thrones of heaven.
There may be some one reading this who knows by experience
of the tragedies enacted in the third watch of the
night. I am not the man to thrust you back with
one harsh word. Take off the bandage from your
soul, and put on it the salve of the Saviour’s
compassion. There is rest in God for your tired
soul. Many have come back from their wanderings.
I see them coming now. Cry up the news to heaven!
Set all the bells a-ringing! Under the high arch
spread the banquet of rejoicing. Let all the
crowned heads of heaven come in and keep the jubilee.
I tell you there is more joy in heaven over one man
who reforms than over ninety-and-nine who never got
off the track.
But there is a man who will never return from his
evil ways. How many acts are there in a tragedy?
Five, I believe:
ACT I.—Young man starting from home.
Parents and sisters weeping to have him go. Wagon
passing over the hills. Farewell kiss thrown back.
Ring the bell and let the curtain drop.
ACT II.—Marriage altar. Bright
lights. Full organ. White veil trailing
through the aisle. Prayer and congratulation,
and exclamations of “How well she looks!”
Ring the bell, and let the curtain drop.
ACT III.—Midnight. Woman waiting
for staggering steps. Old garments stuck into
the broken window-pane. Many marks of hardship
on the face. Biting of the nails of bloodless
fingers. Neglect, cruelty, disgrace. Ring
the bell, and let the curtain drop.
ACT IV.—Three graves in a very dark
place. Grave of child who died from lack of medicine.
Grave of wife who died of a broken heart. Grave
of husband and father who died of dissipation.
Plenty of weeds, but no flowers. O what a blasted
heath with three graves! Ring the bell, and let
the curtain drop.
ACT V.—A destroyed soul’s eternity.
No light; no music; no hope! Despair coiling
around the heart with unutterable anguish. Blackness
of darkness forever.
Woe! Woe! Woe! I cannot bear longer
to look. I close my eyes at this last act of
the tragedy. Quick! Quick! Ring the
bell and let the curtain drop.
