The messengers tap on the windows; Sweet peace from our Savior they bring; Sweet peace which is past understanding,-- The windows now open. Come in. The windows now open. Come in. The windows now open. Come in.] It was very precious, very blessed. Erelong, however, my companions in the work received a call to other places, whilst I received a definite call to remain. That first evening alone on the rostrum--shall I ever forget it? All day I had been praying (not always on my knees) for a text for _my first public message_ or sermon, but not one could I settle on. Whilst the audience was gathering, we sang many hymns. This was followed by a few voluntary prayers; then came the embarrassing moment. I was compelled to inform the congregation--and it was a large one--of my predicament, and besought them to kneel again with me in brief supplication for a text. "Praise God from whom all blessings flow!" my Bible fell open, my eyes riveted on these words: "And immediately the angel of the Lord smote him because he gave not God the glory, and he was eaten of worms and gave up the ghost." Acts 12:23. Positively the message came from the Lord. As I spoke I was as though in a trance. The altar filled with seekers, and souls stepped into that precious fountain still open in the house of David. How happy I was! To God be all the credit, all the glory. Amongst the seekers was one who presently told me that for _forty-one years he had been a drunkard._ He certainly looked as if he had--poor, bloated, filthy, loathsome, ill-smelling creature. I can not find adjectives enough to describe him. Everybody avoided him. It surely was a testing time for me. Also, I had trying experiences thereafter with this particular soul; for, though he certainly found salvation, he was such a weakling that he was ever leaning upon the arm of flesh; in consequence of which I endured much persecution. He haunted me much of the time, morning, noon, and night, so that I was subjected to unkind remarks and ridicule; but, remembering the words of our Master in Matt. 5:11, 12 and Paul's in Phil. 2:7, I endeavored to bear this for the sake of his soul. Much later, when I was in the work in San Francisco, he took up his abode there, and shortly afterward the blessed Lord saw fit to provide him with an earthly companion (he was a widower), a most worthy Christian woman, who tenderly ministered to his needs until Father called him home, little more than a year following the earthquake and fire of that great city. Concerning that catastrophe he wrote me as follows: San Francisco, Potrero Camp, Opp. S.P.R.R. Depot, Third and Townsend Streets, April 29, 1906. My dear Sister Roberts: We are alive and well. Praise the Lord. On the morning of the eighteenth we were roughly thrown from our bed by earthquake, and our house broken all to pieces, and it was afire before we were rescued.