He looked at me, turned his head away restlessly, turned it
back again, and said, "That won't do."
"Why?"
"I don't believe in wicked people going to heaven."
"Jesus came to save wicked people; just them."
"They've got to be good, though, before they" - he paused, -
"go - to His place."
"Jesus will make you good, if you will let him."
"What chance is there, lying here; and only a few minutes at
that?"
He spoke almost bitterly, but I saw the drops of sweat
standing on his brow, brought there by the intensity of
feeling. I felt as if my heart would have broken.
"As much chance here as anywhere," I answered calmly. "The
heart is the place for reform; outward work, without the
heart, signifies nothing at all; and if the heart of love and
obedience is in any man, God knows that the life would follow,
if there were opportunity."
"Yes. I haven't it," he said, looking at me.
"You may have it."
"I tell you, you are talking - you don't know of what," he
said vehemently.
"I know all about it," I answered softly.
"There is no love nor obedience in me," he repeated, searching
my eyes, as if to see whether there were anything to be said
to that.
"No; you are sick at heart, and dying, unless you can be
cured. Can you trust Jesus to cure you? They that be whole
need not a physician, He says, but those that are sick."
He was silent, gazing at me.
"Can you lay your heart, just as it is, at Jesus' feet, and
ask him to take it and make it right? He says, Come."
"What must I do?"
"Trust Him."
"But you are mistaken," he said. "I am not good."
"No," said I; and then I know I could not keep back the tears
from springing; - "Jesus did not come to save the good. He
came to save you. He bids you trust Him, and your sins shall
be forgiven, for He gave His life for yours; and He bids you
come to Him, and He will take all that is wrong away, and make
you clean."
"Come?" - the sick man repeated.
"With your heart - to his feet. Give yourself to Him. He is
here, though you do not see Him."
The man shut his eyes, with a weary sort of expression
overspreading his features; and remained silent. After a
little while he said slowly "I think - I have heard - such things - once. It is a great
while ago. I don't think I know - what it means."
Yet the face looked weary and worn; and for me, I stood beside
him and my tears dripped like a summer shower. Like the first
of the shower, as somebody says; the pressure at my heart was
too great to let them flow. O life, and death! O message of
mercy, and deaf ears! O open door of salvation, and feet that
stumble at the threshold! After a time his eyes opened.