“We Seek Not Yours, but You”
By Percival J. Laird
WE became so deeply interested in reading a bright little incident amid the sorrow of famine among the Chinese, that it was thought the incident would bear retelling:— “Dr. Samuel Cochran, medical missionary at Huai-yuan, China, in the heart of the famine district, had been distributing food to the starving multitudes of the town—dispensing relief sent from America—for several weeks, when he was suddenly stricken deathly ill with a typhus fever. As soon as the news went out through the town, a pall of despair settled on the people. Quite naturally the missionaries betook themselves at once to prayer for his recovery. The converts, too, prayed. More than that, the resident Catholic priest sent out commands to all the converts of his church to pray unceasingly for Dr. Cochran’s recovery.” “But this was not all. The rich gentry of Huai-yuan had been, until the famine, supremely indifferent to the missionaries. But the famine had opened their eyes. Long before Dr. Cochran fell sick, they had realized what manner of man they had among them. And when they heard of the beloved physician’s severe illness, they came together,— all the members of the chamber of commerce,—and went in solemn procession to a great temple, and there before their idol each man bowed down and offered enough years out of his own life to make up from the whole company a total of fifty years to add to the life of Dr. Cochran.” “There were few in the immense audience whose eyes were unwet with tears, as at the conclusion of this recital Mr. Speer gravely repeated the words: ‘Scarcely for a righteous man will one die: yet peradventure for a good man some would even dare to die.’” “Hark, there comes the sound of crying,
Borne across the restless sea;
And China’s countless millions, dying,
Moan in hopeless agony;
Moan on moan, with none to pity—
So they die eternally! “Lo, the priests are chanting, chanting
Endless prayers in monotone;
While, like demon-spirits, haunting,
Hired mourners wail and moan;
Incense burns, while souls are dying—
But these ne’er for sins atone! “See, the shrines are dimly lighted;
Hear the mourners’ measured tread.
Past the chant for souls affrighted;
Now the worship for the dead—
Vain is all that man can offer
For the souls for whom Christ bled. “So the countless millions, passing,
Go beyond this earthly light;
So the countless millions, massing,
Enter death’s eternal night;
So the days go by, and going,
End our time of doing right. “Christ is coming; judgment awful
Waits the souls which die in sin;
Christ is coming, judgment lawful
Will with church of Christ begin.
Rouse, ye saints! arise, deliver!
They will shine who souls shall win.”