Power of a Few Words of Scripture.
A PAINTER who rented a room in a tenement house, in one of the crowded squares of a great city, was one evening leisurely smoking his pipe, when he heard a rap at his door. It was repeated several times; then at his gruff “come in,” a little ragged boy timidly entered. “What do you want here?” demanded the man, keenly eyeing the intruder. “Please, sir,” said the little boy eagerly, “can you read?” “What do you want to know that for, boy?” “Mother’s very ill, sir, and maybe she’ll die, and she wants somebody to read something to her, and I can’t get nobody, sir, and won’t you come?” “Nonsense, child; I’m busy now; get away down with you, and mind you shut my door.” The boy was so much in earnest that he still pleaded, but after another rebuff went sorrowfully away. Brian took up his pipe again, but the voice of the little suppliant was still speaking to his heart, and presently it seemed to him a sound like a sob came from the entry. He opened the door, and on the stairs sat the child, sobbing as if his heart would break. Brian spoke to him more kindly, and told him to go down to his mother. But the boy said piteously, “Mother’ll be so sorry I can’t get nobody to come and read to her.” And then, encouraged by his auditor’s attention, he told how a lady had visited his poor sick mother, and read to her from a little book which did her “a deal of good,” and that she left the book with her, but his mother was too sick now to make out the words, and had sent him to find somebody to read to her, and how he had asked all the other lodgers in the house and they all made excuses; “and there’s nobody left but you; please, sir, won’t you come?” The man was touched, and went so far as to say, “I’ll see—maybe I’ll come a bit when I’ve done my pipe.” He turned back to his room but he could not finish his pipe. He laid it down, covered his fire, locked his door, and joined his little guide at the foot of the stairs. As they entered the sick woman’s room, she looked up eagerly. It was plain to be seen that she was very ill. In her hand she held the book Willie had described and, handing it to Brian, gasped out her thanks. It was open at Luke 5, and the verses she wanted were the 12th and 13th—“And it came to pass, when he was in a certain city, behold a man full of leprosy; who seeing Jesus fell on his face, and besought him, saying, Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean. And he put forth his hand and touched him, saying, I will; be thou clean. And immediately the leprosy departed from him.” When Brian had finished reading, he waited for her to speak. “Aye,” she said, “poor man—full of leprosy—that was like me, full of sin—aye, I am full of sin—nothing but sin—all my life! Oh, how many, many sins. But, I must come to Jesus—he came, poor man! I want to come. What was it he said?” “Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean,” read Tom Brian. “Lord if thou wilt thou canst make me clean,” said the poor woman again and again. “O Lord, do make me clean—please do—make me clean now!” Brian read on: “And he put forth his hand, and touched him, saying, I will; be thou clean.” “Lord, touch me,” said the poor woman, “oh, make me clean; say, ‘I will’ to me—take the sin away!—oh! take it away!” Then there was a long silence. Little Willie fell asleep on the floor, his mother leaned back on her pillow, again and again her lips moved and the words were faintly uttered, “make me clean.” Brian sat looking out of the window thinking. He thought of the old times; of his godly mother; his childhood’s home; his Bible, well known once, now long neglected; of the house of God, and of his Sabbath-school teacher. Then, of months and years of carelessness and sin—a wasted life. Oh, might he return to God now? Would Jesus receive him, and say, in answer to his prayer for mercy, “Be thou clean.” He turned to look at the sick woman; she was drawing near to her life’s close. But her face was peaceful now. She beckoned to him and said, “Thank you, I see it all now. He has said ‘I will’ to me, he has touched me, he has made me clean.” Her eyes closed, she fell back on her pillow, and was dead. Brian stood looking at her a few minutes, then called in a neighbor to perform the last offices, and taking the sleeping boy in his arms, carried him up-stairs and laid him on his own bed. But for himself there was no sleep. He opened an old box, half full of rubbish, and drew out his long-neglected Bible. On the fly-leaf he read his own name and that of his Sabbath-school teacher; and underneath, these words of our Lord, “Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out;” and, falling on his knees, he prayed, “Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean.” He was sitting by the fire, his face buried in his hands, when little Willie awoke, and, coming to him, asked in a troubled voice, “Please, sir, where’s my mother?” At first Brian could not speak; when the question was repeated, he forced himself to answer, “She’s dead, little lad.” The boy looked earnestly at him and asked with a sob, “Shan’t I never see her no more?” “Yes, little lad,” said he, putting his arm around him, “if you come as she came. You must say her little prayer, ‘Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean.’” “Let’s say it now, please, sir,” said the boy. So the man and the child knelt together, and repeated again and again the prayer, “Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean.” And more than one soul in that crowded square was touched that night; more than one heart heard a loving voice saying, “I will, be thou clean.”—Sel.