He looked at me, turned his head away restlessly, turned it

back again, and said, "That won't do."

"Why?"

"I don't believe in wicked people going to heaven."

"Jesus came to save wicked people; just them."

"They've got to be good, though, before they" - he paused, -

"go - to His place."

"Jesus will make you good, if you will let him."

"What chance is there, lying here; and only a few minutes at

that?"

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He spoke almost bitterly, but I saw the drops of sweat

standing on his brow, brought there by the intensity of

feeling. I felt as if my heart would have broken.

"As much chance here as anywhere," I answered calmly. "The

heart is the place for reform; outward work, without the

heart, signifies nothing at all; and if the heart of love and

obedience is in any man, God knows that the life would follow,

if there were opportunity."

"Yes. I haven't it," he said, looking at me.

"You may have it."

"I tell you, you are talking - you don't know of what," he

said vehemently.

"I know all about it," I answered softly.

"There is no love nor obedience in me," he repeated, searching

my eyes, as if to see whether there were anything to be said

to that.

"No; you are sick at heart, and dying, unless you can be

cured. Can you trust Jesus to cure you? They that be whole

need not a physician, He says, but those that are sick."

He was silent, gazing at me.

"Can you lay your heart, just as it is, at Jesus' feet, and

ask him to take it and make it right? He says, Come."

"What must I do?"

"Trust Him."

"But you are mistaken," he said. "I am not good."

"No," said I; and then I know I could not keep back the tears

from springing; - "Jesus did not come to save the good. He

came to save you. He bids you trust Him, and your sins shall

be forgiven, for He gave His life for yours; and He bids you

come to Him, and He will take all that is wrong away, and make

you clean."

"Come?" - the sick man repeated.

"With your heart - to his feet. Give yourself to Him. He is

here, though you do not see Him."

The man shut his eyes, with a weary sort of expression

overspreading his features; and remained silent. After a

little while he said slowly "I think - I have heard - such things - once. It is a great

while ago. I don't think I know - what it means."

Yet the face looked weary and worn; and for me, I stood beside

him and my tears dripped like a summer shower. Like the first

of the shower, as somebody says; the pressure at my heart was

too great to let them flow. O life, and death! O message of

mercy, and deaf ears! O open door of salvation, and feet that

stumble at the threshold! After a time his eyes opened.




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