“Last night, kneeling by the side of my dear boy, I vowed that I would cast away my pride and seek that light in which my wife and my friends are walking.  An hour ago the thought occurred to me-where seek it better than where they are gathered who are walking in this light?  It seemed to me I could not come.  But I had made the vow.  I would not go back from it.  I have cast away my pride.  Oh! friends, help me to find that light in which you walk.

“Do not misunderstand me.  I will not have your prayers on false pretences.  I am, if not still an infidel, at least an unbeliever.  I have no creed.  I only believe that there is light somewhere, for others live in it.  And I long to come into that light myself.  Help me to find the way.  And yet-I hardly know why I came here to-night.  It was not for counsel.  I do not want words now.  The kindliest only pain me.  Discussion and debate would arouse all the old devil of contradiction in me.  Leave me alone.  No!  Do not leave me alone.  Give me your prayers.  Give me your Christian sympathies.  But for the rest, for a little while, I want to be alone.”

He sat down.  There was a moment of perfect stillness.  Then the pastor arose.

“Christ’s sympathies are broader and His love is larger than we think,” said he.  “We hedge him round with our poor creeds, and shut Him up in our little churches, and think He works only in our appointed ways.  He breaks over the barriers we put about him, and carries on His work of love in hearts that we think are beyond all reach of Him or us.  We cannot tell our brother how to find the light.  The light will find him.  ’Jesus Christ is the light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.’  And when the heart casts its pride away the light enters.  For thus saith the High and Lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place; with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the heart of the contrite ones.  Into His hands let us commit our brother’s spirit.”

And he poured forth his soul in a prayer which carried heavenward many an unbreathed cry for help, and received in the beating of many hearts a warmer, truer response than any spoken words could have given to it.

After service I walked along with Maurice Mapleson.

“I was never more astonished in my life,” said I, “than when I heard Mr. Gear’s voice in the prayer-meeting to-night.”

“I was not astonished,” said Mr. Mapleson.  “I went to that prayer-meeting sure that God had in store for us a better answer to our prayers than we had thought.  I do not believe in presentiments; but I had a strange presentiment that Mr. Gear would come to our meeting to-night, that God would rebuke our little faith by His unexpected answer.  I even waited for Mr. Gear’s coming.  I saw him enter.  I took that chapter of Acts-which God seemed to give me at the moment-partly that I might lead him on to fulfil the purpose which I fully believed had brought him there.  While you were singing, I was praying.  And when the hymn and the prayer were ended together, I knew God would not let him go away unblest.”