The Influence of Song by Mrs. J. Furman Green

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Dec 29, 1909

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 36, No. 50.

The Influence of Song

By Mrs. J. Furman Green

By Mrs. J. Furman Green

The story I am about to relate happened in the Black Hills of Dakota. It was a beautiful day in the early spring, and the birds were singing in the pine-trees that surrounded a neat little cottage situated in one of the many mining towns that rise like mushrooms in those dreary hills.

From the open door of this little cottage a young girl’s voice floated out on the fragrant air, as sweet and clear as the bird notes in the tree tops. She was singing that sweet old hymn she had learned in her Sabbath-school:

“What a friend we have in Jesus, All our sins and griefs to bear; What a privilege to carry Everything to God in prayer.”

Just over the fence, in an adjoining lot, was a miners’ cabin; and on a rude bed covered with dirty quilts lay a sick man. He had lain there for many days with no one to care for him, except what little aid his companions could give him before they went to their daily work in the morning, and on their return from their labors at night. When the big mine whistle screeched forth their release from toil, tired and begrimed with dirt they slowly climbed the long hill to their one-roomed cabin and its lonely occupant.

He counted the long hours before their return with a weary sigh. They had placed some coarse food and strong tea within his reach, but he could not touch a mouthful. His body was aching with pain, and — must he acknowledge it? — his heart was aching worse, if possible, with its longing for the loving care and sympathy of the loved ones he had left in an Eastern city so long ago, when he like many others sought those hills to find the shining gold. Did it pay? he kept asking himself. How far from God he had wandered since he left the sweet environments of his home! He was a Christian then; but now what was he? His companions were drinking, gambling men; and he had been afraid of their ridicule when they had asked him to join them in a little pastime. But alas, in revelry much of his hard-earned gold had found its way. Why had he not been stronger in his principles, and set them a better example? his conscience was asking him; but now it was too late.

Just then the same girlish voice rang out on the morning air another stanza:

“Have we trials and temptations? Is there trouble anywhere? Jesus knows our every weakness; Take it to the Lord in prayer.”

At this moment the young girl’s mother called her to perform some household duty, and the song ceased. The sick man sank back upon his pillow to think of the song more than the singer. He had often seen the fair-haired girl flitting in and out of the cottage like a sunbeam, and had heard her sing before; but to-day her song had a peculiar meaning to him.

Yes, Jesus knew his great human weakness, and how hard it would be for him to acknowledge that weakness to his companions, as he felt he must do before he could expect God to receive him again — him who by his daily life had so often denied his Saviour.

Hark! Once more the sweet voice sounded in his ears. Once more he raised his head to listen as she sang the last half of a stanza:

“Do thy friends despise, forsake thee? Take it to the Lord in prayer. In His arms He’ll take and shield thee; Thou shalt find a solace there.”

As the song ceased, he sank back murmuring to himself, “Will He hear my prayer? What does the good Book say about it?” So, crawling from his bed, he staggered weakly across the room to a small leather trunk that stood in the corner. The till was heavy, and he almost fell over with its weight; but sinking on his knees he groped in the bottom, and soon produced a well-worn Bible. Shaking with weakness, he turned its leaves. Suddenly his eyes fell on the words, “I will arise and go to my father.” Ah, yes, he was indeed a prodigal son.

Again he turned the leaves in feverish haste, and his eyes fell upon the words, “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” With tears streaming down his cheeks, he cried aloud: “O, I will go back to my Father’s house. I will knock and ask Him to receive me once more.” And closing the trunk, his weak head sank on the lid in prayer, and he prayed as only a sin-sick soul can pray, sobbing out his grief over his sin as a wayward child tells his tale of wo to a confiding earthly parent.

And there, a few hours later, a companion found him lying quite exhausted, his finger resting on the sweet promises. He raised him gently, and placed him back in bed, and sent for a physician; and one of his companions stayed with him after that, often reading to him by his request many of the precious promises from his Bible, while he in turn told them of his awakening through the influence of the sweet-voiced girl singer over the way, and the beautiful song she sang of Jesus. Ah, yes, “A little child shall lead them.”