He had scarcely been talking for five minutes, when the ever watchful congregation saw the pastor’s head droop, and his eyes close.  For the next fifteen minutes, little or no attention was paid to Brother Dyer’s exhortation.  The angry people were nudging each other, whispering, and casting indignant glances at the sleeping pastor.  He awoke and sat up, just as the exhorter was finishing in a fiery period.  If those who watched him, were expecting to see any embarrassed look on his face, or show of timidity in his eyes, they were mistaken.  Instead, his appearance was one of sudden alertness, and his gaze that of a man in extreme exaltation.  One would have said that it had been given to him as to the inspired prophets of old to see and to hear things far and beyond the ken of ordinary mortals.  As Brother Dyer sat down, he arose quickly and went forward to the front of the pulpit with a firm step.  Still, with the look of exaltation on his face, he announced his text, “Ef he sleep he shell do well.”

The congregation, which a moment before had been all indignation, suddenly sprang into the most alert attention.  There was a visible pricking up of ears as the preacher entered into his subject.  He spoke first of the benefits of sleep, what it did for the worn human body and the weary human soul, then turning off into a half-humorous, half-quizzical strain, which was often in his sermons, he spoke of how many times he had to forgive some of those who sat before him to-day for nodding in their pews; then raising his voice, like a good preacher, he came back to his text, exclaiming, “But ef he sleep, he shell do well.”

He went on then, and told of Jacob’s sleep, and how at night, in the midst of his slumbers the visions of angels had come to him, and he had left a testimony behind him that was still a solace to their hearts.  Then he lowered his voice and said: 

“You all condemns a man when you sees him asleep, not knowin’ what visions is a-goin’ thoo his mind, nor what feelin’s is a-goin thoo his heart.  You ain’t conside’in’ that mebbe he’s a-doin’ mo’ in the soul wo’k when he’s asleep then when he’s awake.  Mebbe he sleep, w’en you think he ought to be up a-wo’kin’.  Mebbe he slumber w’en you think he ought to be up an’ erbout.  Mebbe he sno’ an’ mebbe he sno’t, but I’m a-hyeah to tell you, in de wo’ds of the Book, that they ain’t no ‘sputin’ ‘Ef he sleep, he shell do well!’”

“Yes, Lawd!” “Amen!” “Sleep on Ed’ards!” some one shouted.  The church was in smiles of joy.  They were rocking to and fro with the ecstasy of the sermon, but the Rev. Elisha had not yet put on the cap sheaf.

“Hol’ on,” he said, “befo’ you shouts er befo’ you sanctions.  Fu’ you may yet have to tu’n yo’ backs erpon me, an’ say, ‘Lawd he’p the man!’ I’s a-hyeah to tell you that many’s the time in this very pulpit, right under yo’ very eyes, I has gone f’om meditation into slumber.  But what was the reason?  Was I a-shirkin’ er was I lazy?”