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A NEGLECTED DUTY

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Mar 20, 1901

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 27, No. 12.

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A NEGLECTED DUTY.

By Florence Booth Miller

It was a beautiful morning in the month of May. The orchards were in blossom, with May-day wreaths upon every bough, while upon the grass the petals had fallen in little snowy drifts. The happy birds were caroling in the trees. Not a cloud darkened the blue of the sky, and all nature seemed to be rejoicing in the goodness of the great Creator.
But amid all these peaceful surroundings, Mrs. Arnold had arisen after a night of sleeplessness with a heavy heart. Several months before she had been asked by a class of young ladies to become their teacher in the Sabbath-school. She was quite willing to do so, and, having a natural gift for teaching, she had been pronounced one of the most faithful teachers in the school. But her own heart was saddened because she knew that she had not done her duty and that the personal work with her class had been neglected.
It had seemed so easy to teach on the Sabbath, but it seemed such a cross to go to the girls during the week and invite them to come to Christ. The week before one of the young ladies in her class had died very suddenly, and Mrs. Arnold was not sure that she was a Christian, or that any one had ever talked with her regarding the salvation of her soul. Yet she endeavored to comfort herself with the thought that if she had neglected her duty, why, of course her pastor had looked after her spiritual welfare, and knew all about her Christian experience. Then, too, her father and mother had been professors for years, and around the family altar they had no doubt given most earnest counsel to their daughter—so she must have been a Christian.
Yet still Mrs. Arnold was not satisfied. There were other girls in her class for whom she felt a deep anxiety, yet she lacked the courage to talk with them. But now on this bright May morning something must be done to relieve her of this awful burden. So she decided she would go to her pastor, and have him tell her what he could of Minnie’s experience, and be assured that she had died a Christian. She felt that she could not wait until afternoon, so, hastily finishing her morning work, she went at once to her pastor’s home.
After the morning greetings had been exchanged, Mrs. Arnold asked as calmly as possible, “Pastor, how long had Minnie Dayton been a Christian?”
“Really,” he replied, “I am unable to answer your question.”
“But surely you had talked with her about her soul and knew she was a Christian, even tho you do not know just how long she had made a profession?”
“No, Mrs. Arnold, I must confess I never talked with Minnie upon that subject; I left it with her faithful Sabbath-school teacher, as I knew you had more time than I, and had no doubt attended to it months ago.”
“O Brother Wilber,” she cried, while the tears rolled down her cheeks, “we have both neglected our duty, and I’m afraid Minnie died without a hope in God!”
“Well, it’s too bad, Mrs. Arnold, but you would better call on her parents if you feel so condemned about it, and her mother will no doubt ease your mind by telling you all you desire to know.”
“But,” persisted the weeping woman, “that will not atone for our neglect, and most bitterly do I reproach myself for my cowardice in not speaking personally to these young people. And, pastor, I had almost a sleepless night last night, but just once I slept for a short time, and I dreamed that I stood before a beautiful tree. It was tall, symmetrical, and covered with a profusion of rich green leaves, and greatly admired by all, yet there was no fruit upon its branches. As I stood there gazing upon its beauty, and regretting there was no fruit upon it, suddenly some one clothed in the purest white stood by my side, and said to me, ‘Mrs. Arnold, as you look upon this tree you are beholding a picture of your own life, a life as barren in the service of the Master as is this tree of fruit, and unless you shall soon begin to prove that you will be loyal to the trust committed to you, He will say, “Cut it down; why cumbereth it the ground.”’”
“I tried to speak, but I was covered with confusion, and as the leaves of the tree began turning to a pale sickly color, I cried out in agony, and awoke. O pastor, God has warned us, and now may He give us so much of His Spirit that we shall take up our neglected duties!”
Mr. Wilber was quite affected, and suggested to Mrs. Arnold that, together with Mrs. Wilber, they would walk to Mrs. Dayton’s and inquire about the religious experience of the daughter whom they had just laid away among the blossoms to await the dawn.
They were cordially welcomed by the heartbroken parents, but almost as soon as they were seated, in a voice broken with emotion, Mrs. Dayton said: “We were expecting to call upon you this evening, pastor, also upon you, Mrs. Arnold, for we are so burdened about our daughter; she was of such a quiet disposition, you know, that we are not sure whether she was a Christian or not, and we wanted you to tell us of the conversations you have had with her; for she thought so much of both of you.”
With deepest regret they had to tell the sorrowing parents that their duty had been neglected.
“But,” said Mrs. Arnold, “we thought that around the family altar surely you would have said something to her, and so we felt a little better, and we came to ask you.”
With a moan of agony Mrs. Dayton exclaimed: “O Minnie, my precious child, did you live with us for twenty years and think that no one cared for your soul? Her father and I never talked with her; we just rested quietly thinking you had done all the talking necessary.”
Mr. Dayton, who had been sitting with his face buried in his hands, looked up and said, “Wife, had we not neglected our family altar years ago, we might have the assurance that our Minnie was safe, but now”—sobs choked further utterance, and all were weeping; but words were unnecessary; each one knew that his duty had been neglected, and feared that Minnie Dayton had gone down into a Christless grave.
The pastor was the first to speak; “Let us pray,” he said solemnly, and upon their knees they pleaded with God to forgive their great neglect, and to impress upon them the great and solemn duty of watchfulness. After the prayers were ended, they sadly returned to their homes, but with the determination that henceforth they would try to realize more fully the worth of a soul.
Mrs. Arnold was very serious. Her dream of the previous night was constantly before her, and she felt that she must begin to work at once. Wearily she prepared the noonday meal, but she could not taste of it.
Of all the girls in her class there had been two whom she feared more than any others. One had been Minnie Dayton; the other was Alice Gray.
Alice was an orphan, and Mrs. Arnold had hesitated to speak to her because naturally she seemed to be a haughty, reserved person, and one who was not a favorite among her associates. It had never occurred to her that the motherless girl might long for a kind word, and that she was the one to give her sympathy. But now she had firmly decided that in the future she would try, with God’s help, to be faithful, not in name only. That afternoon she was really too ill to attend to her household duties; but toward evening she felt better, and, arising from her bed, she took up her Bible, and, with a deep sigh, opened at random, when her eye fell upon this verse: “Study to show thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the Word of truth.” Falling upon her knees, she cried in her distress, “O God, had I studied to show myself approved unto Thee, I should not now be a workman who is ashamed because of neglected duty.” Then she continued pleading with God to restore unto her the joy of His salvation, until she felt that she could take up the duties awaiting her. She had profited by the lesson she had received, but it had been an exceedingly bitter one.
The following afternoon, as Mrs. Arnold was preparing to begin her personal work with her class, there came a gentle tap upon her door, and before she could answer it, in walked Alice Gray.
“O Alice, I am so glad to see you!” exclaimed Mrs. Arnold.
“I have been intending to come to see you for some time,” Alice replied, “but I thought I must come to-day, for I knew you would be feeling sad over Minnie’s death.” Her eyes filled with tears, and, as Mrs. Arnold invited her into her neat, cool parlor, she continued, “And, Mrs. Arnold, I almost wish I had been laid away last week instead of Minnie.”
“Don’t say that, Alice,” replied Mrs. Arnold; “your work is not done yet; and let me tell you I was just getting ready to come to see you for the sole purpose of talking with you about accepting Christ.”
To her astonishment, Alice replied, “O Mrs. Arnold, I’m so pleased to hear you say so; for I’ve thought so many times that no one cared for my soul; for I thought if they did, that some one would speak to me, and my heart has ached many, many times lately for a word of cheer and sympathy, and I have almost envied the other girls who had loving mothers to advise them, while I am left to face the world alone.”
“Not alone, Alice,” answered Mrs. Arnold, her lips quivering, “while Jesus stands by.” And, putting her arms around the motherless girl’s neck, she went on: “I am anxious for your soul, my dear, and have been for a long time; but the sin of neglect has kept me from doing my duty; but I have suffered too, and the dear Lord has anointed my eyes with eyesalve, and I see it all now, and, so far as possible, I shall hasten to prove my faithfulness to Him by earnest personal work.”
“Well,” said Alice, “I suppose I get discouraged sometimes, but I too have known of late that I was leaving undone that which I should have done long ago. The Lord has been striving with me to yield myself to Him, but I just made up my mind that unless you or Mr. Wilber asked me to become a Christian, I would not do it. I know that it is not the right spirit to manifest, but I just thought, ‘Who cares, anyhow?’ and I’d try to forget about it. But yesterday I got to thinking about Christ hanging on the cross for me, and I fancied I could see Him there on the hill of Calvary, and hear the mocking cries of the chief priests and elders, ‘If Thou be the Son of God come down from the cross; He saved others, Himself He can not save.’”
“Then I seemed to hear one of His followers say: ‘Yes, He saved others, and in saving them He had to give up His own life. He might have saved Himself, but there would have been no redemption for man had He done so.’ Then I felt so guilty to think I had slighted His love so long, and the thought came to me that I must decide very soon whether I would accept Christ or not; and, Mrs. Arnold, I came here this afternoon hoping you would say something to me about my soul; for I do want to be a Christian.”
“O Alice, can you forgive me for my great neglect?” said Mrs. Arnold. “I mourn my unfaithfulness, but now I do intend to be a workman that needeth not to be ashamed.”
An earnest prayer followed, and the orphan girl gave her heart to God.
After a few minutes spent in profitable conversation, Alice arose to go, but Mrs. Arnold said, “Now, Alice, stay with me this afternoon, and we will go to our prayer-meeting together.”
She accepted the invitation, and during the afternoon Mrs. Arnold was led to wonder how she could have thought that Alice was unsocial; for she saw it was real kindness that was required to show the depth of her heart.
In the prayer-meeting that evening many confessions of unfaithfulness were made, and the dear Lord added His blessing, and a few days later, when Mrs. Arnold related her experience concerning her neglected duty to her class, several were deeply affected and gave their hearts to God. From that time Mrs. Arnold was an earnest worker in the Master’s service. There was no work too humble, and many burdened hearts were cheered by her loving words of sympathy and encouragement. Shall this not be true also of each of us? There are weary, lonely ones all around us. Let us seek to point them to the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.
“Lost for want of a word, A word that you might have spoken; Who knows what eyes may be dim, Or what hearts may be aching and broken! Go, scatter beside all waters, Nor sicken at hope deferred; Let never a soul by thy dumbness, Be lost for want of a word.”
MRS. FLORENCE BOOTH MILLER. Sidney, N. Y.