Whittlesford (1862)



If in heaven harps are struck and joyful chords resound over one sinner that repenteth, how much akin to this joy of angels is that of the minister of the gospel who has good reason to believe that, through his feeble instru­mentality, many poor polluted trembling sinners lying in the dust have been lifted up to behold the sunlight of heaven and God. Such joy hath of late in measure been mine; all glory be to Him! We have just been holding protracted services in the little village of Wittlesford, Cambridge, where the writer and others preached for nine successive nights, and realized a blessed outpouring of the Holy Spirit. We commenced these services on the Monday night. The chariot wheels drove heavily. We had what some would call a precious humbling time. Many were sent thereby with greater earnestness to their closets. The preacher agonized till morning for sinful dying men. On Tuesday we assembled for prayer, know­ing that prayer makes the weak man strong and the strong man stronger. In the evening the chapel was crowded, and while preaching from Zion's sure foundation-stone, the Spirit came down upon preacher and people, feeble words like arrows entered the hearts of many, and the cry was heard, "What must I do to be saved?" A Revival had commenced, night after night the chapel was crowded, members from the different neighbouring churches came to see, old age, sires and mothers, have found the Friend which sticketh closer than a brother. A poor silver-haired and solitary old man, said to be the worst in the village, pro­fessed to receive our Master as his, and now, instead of ripening for the quenchless flames, is, we trust, mellowing for rest and home. A young man, who came to scoff and remained to pray, while trying to escape out of the chapel and just at the foot of the gallery stairs, was seized by the Spirit of God; he staggered like a drunken man, until, falling prostrate on the floor, he groaned in agony of soul, "Lord, save, or I perish." And the Lord did save him then and there. The next night I led his brother weeping into the penitents' pew. The first was soon by his side with streaming eyes but shining face, pointing him to the Crucified. The struggle was fierce, but Jesus triumphed. Very sweet it was now to hear the one say to the other, "My dear brother, we won't go to hell, will us?" The night following the wife of one of these young men was found weeping at the cross. Not only have souls been added to our own Zion, but neighbouring churches, which till late were like cold vaults of coffined spirits, have been warmed with spiritual life. The sacred fire still is burning. May it spread on from family to family, from village to village, town to town, and from country to country, until this sin-blighted earth become the garden of the Lord! T, J. WALLIS

From the 'Revival Newspaper', Volume VII, page 302.


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