The Influence of Song by Mrs. J. Furman Green

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Sep 4, 1913

The Influence of Song

By Mrs. J. Furman Green

MRS. J. FURMAN GREEN

THE story I am about to relate happened in the Black Hills of Dakota several years ago, and is a true one. It was a beautiful day in early spring. The birds were singing in the pine-trees that surrounded a cottage situated in one of the many mining towns that rise like mushrooms in those dreary hills. From the open door of this cottage a young girl's voice floated out on the fragrant air, as sweet and as clear as the bird notes in the tree tops. She was singing that sweet old hymn she had learned in 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, where, on a rude bed, covered with a dirty quilt, 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 work in the morning, and on their return from work at night. When the big mine whistle screeched forth their release from toil, 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 with wild ambition to get rich quick, with mind filled with golden dreams, had sought those hills and the mountainsides to find the shining gold. Did it pay after all? 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, afraid of their ridicule, had joined them. Alas! in revelry much of his hard-earned gold had found its way. His conscience asked him, Why had he not been stronger and set them a better example? Just then the same girlish voice rang out on the morning air,—

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

He raised his head from his pillow and listened. 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 today her song had a peculiar meaning to him.

Yes, Jesus knew his human weakness and how hard it would be for him to acknowledge it to his companions, as he felt he must do before he could expect God to receive him again. Hark! once more the sweet voice came to his ears. Once more he raised his head to listen and caught 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 wilt find a solace there."

Again he sank back murmuring, "Will he hear my prayer? What does the Good Book say about it?" Crawling from his bed, he staggered to a small leather trunk that stood in a corner. The till was heavy and he almost fell over with its weight; but sinking on his knees, he groped in the bottom, soon producing a well-worn Bible. Shaking with weakness, he turned the 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, "I will go back to my Father's house. I will knock and ask him to receive me once more." Closing the trunk, his head sank on the lid, and he prayed as only a sin-sick soul can pray, sobbing out his grief over his sins as a wayward child tells his tale of woe to a confiding, earthly parent.

And there his companions found him lying, his finger resting on the sweet promises. They gently raised him, placed him in bed, and sent for a physician. They took turns staying with him until he was out of danger, and, at his request, reading to him from his precious Bible; while he in turn told them of his awakening through the influence of the sweet-voiced girl-singer over the way and the song she sang of Jesus. And who knows how great an influence all this may have cast over those wayward companions? "And a little child shall lead them."

Glendale, Cal.