I'll never Forgive Him

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 11, 1871

I'll never Forgive Him.

“I’ll never forgive him—never!” “Never is a hard word, John,” said the sweet-faced wife of John Locke, as she looked up a moment from her sewing.

“He is a mean, dastardly coward, and upon this Holy Bible I——”

“Stop, husband. John! remember he is my brother; and by the love you bear me, forbear to curse him. He has done you wrong, I allow, but, O John, he is very young and very sorry. The momentary shame you felt yesterday will hardly be wiped out with a curse. It will only injure yourself, John. O, please don’t say anything dreadful!”

The sweet-faced woman prevailed; that curse which hung upon the lips of the angry man was not spoken; but still he said, “I’ll never forgive him—he has done me a deadly wrong.”

The young man who had provoked his bitterness, humbled and repentant sought in vain for forgiveness from him whom, in a moment of passion, he had injured almost beyond reparation. John Locke steeled his heart against him.

In his store sat the young village merchant, one pleasant morning, contentedly reading the morning paper. A sound of hurried footsteps approached him; but he took no notice of it, until a hatless boy burst into the store, screaming at the top of his voice, “Mr. Locke, Johnny is in the river—little Johnny Locke.”

To dash down the paper, and spring for the street, was the first impulse of the agonized father. On, on, like a maniac; he flew, till he reached the bank of the river; pallid and crazed with anguish. The first sight that met his eye was little Johnny, lying in the arms of his mother, who, with her hair hanging disheveled around her, bent wildly over her child. The boy was just saved. He breathed, and opening his eyes, smiled faintly in his mother’s face; while she, with choking voice, thanked God. Another form lay insensible, stretched near the child. From his head the dark blood flowed from a ghastly wound. The man against whom John Locke had sworn eternal hatred, had, at the risk of his own life, been the saviour of the child. He had struck a floating piece of drift-wood as he came to the surface with the boy, and death seemed inevitable.

John Locke flung himself down upon the greensward, and bent over the senseless form. “Save him,” he cried huskily to the doctor who had been summoned. “Restore him to consciousness, if it be only one little moment; I have something important to say to him.”

“He is reviving,” replied the doctor.

The wounded man opened his eyes; they met the anxious glance of the brother-in-law, and the pale lips trembled forth, “Do you forgive me?”

“Yes, yes; God is witness, as I hope for mercy hereafter; I freely forgive you, and, in turn, ask your forgiveness for my unchristian conduct.”

A feeble pressure of the hand and a beaming smile were all the answer.

Many days the brave young man hung upon a slender thread of life; and never were more devoted friends than those who hovered over the sick-bed. But a vigorous constitution triumphed, and, though pale and changed, he walked forth once more among the living.

“Oh, if he had died with my unkindness clouding his soul, never should I have dared to hope for mercy from my Father in Heaven!” Said John Locke to his wife, as they sat talking over the solemn event that had threatened their lives with a living trouble; “Never—now I have tasted the sweetness of forgiveness—never again will I cherish revenge or unkindness toward the erring; for there is new meaning to my soul in the words of our daily prayer, and I see that I have only been calling judgment upon myself, while I have impiously asked, ‘Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.’”—Sel.