across?
Then as he plunged into the dark, cold waters, his senses sharpened, and he seemed to be hearing words from long ago. His mother’s voice, or was that his grandmother’s, reading from the Bible? Ah! It was his grandfather, reading at family worship, a favorite chapter. The words seemed graven in his heart. He had heard them so many times when he was a little boy—strange that after so many years they should come back to him just now when he was going through this experience!
“
When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee.
” Was He here? “
When thou walkest through the fire,
” ah, there was fire ahead, on the other side of that river, great walls of fire that he was expected to pass through—Was that God’s voice speaking these old familiar words, or just his old grandfather? He couldn’t stop to reason now. It took all his energy to get across this wide dark water and keep his ammunition dry. But maybe God had let his grandfather ring out those words from heaven where he went long years ago, words that he knew God Himself uttered centuries ago. Could they perhaps have been meant for him down in this present modern-century stress, and his great need? These deep, dark waters were a terrible barrier. He could not get on, yet if God was here perhaps he would get through to his duty, and the fire on the opposite shore. The words went ringing on in his heart, in that strangely familiar voice:
“When thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.”
Were these words really being spoken to him, or was this just a trick of his imagination? His
sick
imagination?
And then the shore, and the fire raging close at hand! Ah! Now the
fire
again!
All through that awful night, the fiercest of them all, those words kept ringing when each man of them felt that the final test had come, the end had arrived. It was a fight to the death, and they expected death—in fact, almost welcomed the relief it would bring to have it over, just the end and the peace that death could bring. But as they fought through that night and the day that followed, and then as another night came down, grim determination, and courage that seemed to be born from above, had kept them going. Dropping down with pain and exhaustion, then rousing and in that vital energy that does not die in desperate need, going on—even when it had seemed to the enemy that they were conquered. “We must not lose,” each said in his heart, “we must win! We’re dying, yes, all right, but our death must win this war!”
So it was when the fire came over Ben Barron again, and that burning flame fell and went through his very being in one great, overwhelming stab. He dropped to the blackened hot sand in the deep night, as the fire burned itself out. There he lay through the darkness and pain and sickness that seemed but a lingering death.
But before his senses went out and left him in the blank darkness, he saw those mountains of home rise about him, felt the cooling breezes blow over this throbbing temples, and saw again the little girl in a blue dress swinging on the white gate, with a song on his lips and a light in her eyes. He found himself wondering in his pain: Was this heaven, and was he going in without any more preparation than this? Just a transfer from a battlefield to the Presence of God? Strange that he had never thought of that possibility before. Death? Yes. He had counted
that
cost, had been willing to go, but the thought of what would come after, going into God’s presence, hadn’t been presented to his mind, either by himself or by any sermon he had heard. And he didn’t somehow feel ready for the Presence of God.
In his delirium he looked around—the little white gate—it was there yet, and the little girl in the blue dress. Could she perhaps be an angel? Would she remember him? The little girl on the gate, and the
Then as he plunged into the dark, cold waters, his senses sharpened, and he seemed to be hearing words from long ago. His mother’s voice, or was that his grandmother’s, reading from the Bible? Ah! It was his grandfather, reading at family worship, a favorite chapter. The words seemed graven in his heart. He had heard them so many times when he was a little boy—strange that after so many years they should come back to him just now when he was going through this experience!
“
When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee.
” Was He here? “
When thou walkest through the fire,
” ah, there was fire ahead, on the other side of that river, great walls of fire that he was expected to pass through—Was that God’s voice speaking these old familiar words, or just his old grandfather? He couldn’t stop to reason now. It took all his energy to get across this wide dark water and keep his ammunition dry. But maybe God had let his grandfather ring out those words from heaven where he went long years ago, words that he knew God Himself uttered centuries ago. Could they perhaps have been meant for him down in this present modern-century stress, and his great need? These deep, dark waters were a terrible barrier. He could not get on, yet if God was here perhaps he would get through to his duty, and the fire on the opposite shore. The words went ringing on in his heart, in that strangely familiar voice:
“When thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.”
Were these words really being spoken to him, or was this just a trick of his imagination? His
sick
imagination?
And then the shore, and the fire raging close at hand! Ah! Now the
fire
again!
All through that awful night, the fiercest of them all, those words kept ringing when each man of them felt that the final test had come, the end had arrived. It was a fight to the death, and they expected death—in fact, almost welcomed the relief it would bring to have it over, just the end and the peace that death could bring. But as they fought through that night and the day that followed, and then as another night came down, grim determination, and courage that seemed to be born from above, had kept them going. Dropping down with pain and exhaustion, then rousing and in that vital energy that does not die in desperate need, going on—even when it had seemed to the enemy that they were conquered. “We must not lose,” each said in his heart, “we must win! We’re dying, yes, all right, but our death must win this war!”
So it was when the fire came over Ben Barron again, and that burning flame fell and went through his very being in one great, overwhelming stab. He dropped to the blackened hot sand in the deep night, as the fire burned itself out. There he lay through the darkness and pain and sickness that seemed but a lingering death.
But before his senses went out and left him in the blank darkness, he saw those mountains of home rise about him, felt the cooling breezes blow over this throbbing temples, and saw again the little girl in a blue dress swinging on the white gate, with a song on his lips and a light in her eyes. He found himself wondering in his pain: Was this heaven, and was he going in without any more preparation than this? Just a transfer from a battlefield to the Presence of God? Strange that he had never thought of that possibility before. Death? Yes. He had counted
that
cost, had been willing to go, but the thought of what would come after, going into God’s presence, hadn’t been presented to his mind, either by himself or by any sermon he had heard. And he didn’t somehow feel ready for the Presence of God.
In his delirium he looked around—the little white gate—it was there yet, and the little girl in the blue dress. Could she perhaps be an angel? Would she remember him? The little girl on the gate, and the
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