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ONLY A MINUTE’S WORK

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Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jun 5, 1900

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 77, No. 23.

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ONLY A MINUTE’S WORK.

An itinerant minister, says an exchange, some years ago, was passing through a prison crowded with convicts showing every phase of ignorance and brutality.
One gigantic fellow crouched alone in a corner, his feet chained to a ball. There was an unhealed wound on his face, where he had been shot while trying to escape. The sight of the dumb, gaunt figure touched the visitor’s sympathy.
“How long has he to serve?” he asked.
“For life.”
“Has he anybody outside to look after him—wife or child?”
“How should I know? Nobody has ever noticed him all the time he has been there.”
“May I speak to him?”
“Yes; but only for a minute.”
The minister hesitated. What could he say in one minute? He touched the man’s torn cheek. “I am sorry,” he said. “I wish I could help you.”
The convict looked keenly at him, and he nodded to indicate that he believed in the sympathy expressed.
“I am going away, and shall never see you again perhaps; but you have a Friend who will stay here with you.”
The small, keen eyes were upon him; the prisoner dragged himself up, waiting and eager.
“Have you heard of Jesus?”
“Yes.”
“He is your Friend. If you are good and true, and will pray to God to help you, I am sure he will care for you.”
“Come, sir!” called the keeper. “Time’s up.”
The clergyman turned sorrowfully away. The prisoner crawled after him, and, catching his hand, held it in his own while he could. Tears were in the clergyman’s eyes.
Fourteen years passed. The convict was sent to work in the mines. The minister went down one day into a mine, and among the workmen saw a gigantic figure bent with hardship and age.
“Who is that?” he asked the keeper.
“A lifer and a steady fellow,—the best of the gang.”
Just then the “lifer” looked up. His figure straightened, for he had recognized the clergyman. His eyes shone.
“Do you know me?” he said. “Will He come soon? I’ve tried to be good.”
At a single word of sympathy the life had been transformed, the convict redeemed.