Prisons and Prayer; Or, a Labor of LoveWheaton, Elizabeth Ryder
Religion
Prisons and Prayer; Or, a Labor of Love
Wheaton, Elizabeth Ryder
Evangelistic work; Prisons
--_Geo. W. H. Harrison._
Learn that in many a loathsome cell
A prisoned genius or a saint may dwell,
Whose power, developed by an act of love,
May lead a million to the Courts above.
Shall it be yours to touch that vibrant chord
And share the honor of the great reward?
What heaven endorses that alone can stand;
All else is stubble, built on shifting sand.
--_G. W. H. H._
[Illustration: STATE PRISON, JOLIET, ILL.]
CHAPTER XXI.
Travel and Toil.
TWO NIGHTS' SERVICE.
At one time when suffering from nervous prostration I was lovingly
cared for for some weeks in the home of dear brother H. L. Hastings,
of Boston. One night while there I said to him: "I must go to the city
tonight." He replied: "Sister Wheaton, have you prayed about it?" I
said, "Yes." He answered, "Go and pray again." I did so and returned
to his office, saying, "I must go to the city tonight." They were
having watchnight service in the city. Again he replied: "The night is
very cold and you are sick. Go and pray and find out the mind of God."
Again I went to my room to inquire diligently of the Lord and was sure
that the call of the Spirit was that I should go. Again I returned to
his office and told him I must go to the city that night. Once more he
replied: "Sister Wheaton, go and pray." As I wept before the Lord He
showed me the city given up to idolatry and sin and again I went to
Brother Hastings' office and said: "I must go to the city." He dropped
his pen and hurriedly said: "Wife and I will go with you." It was one
of the coldest nights Boston had known for years, but from one saloon
to another the Lord led us and from one watchnight meeting to another
until near midnight we entered a Mission hall. A fine-looking,
well-dressed young man from the platform hurried down and said to me:
"Mother, I am so glad to see you. Come on the platform and speak to
the people." I looked at the man and he said: "Don't you know me,
mother?" When I said "No," he answered: "Don't you know your boy?" I
looked at him--so beautiful in the service of God--and then he said:
"I was in prison and you came and prayed and sang for me. I was in the
hospital, and got saved there, and God is still blessing your boy."
Reader, did it pay? Yes, that night my heart rejoiced in my Savior for
all He had done for me and for my "children" in prison walls. For
seventeen years now this man has been a blessing in helping to save
others.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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