before you. At the London midnight meetings, thirteen thousand of the
daughters of sin were reformed; and uncounted numbers of men, who were
drunken and debauched, have been redeemed. If from our highest circles
a few score of men and women would go forth among the wandering and
the destitute, they might yet make the darkest alley of the town
kindle with the gladness of heaven. Do not go in your warm furs, and
from your well-laden tables, thinking that pious counsel will stop the
gnawing of empty stomachs or warm their stockingless feet. Take
food and medicine, and raiment, as well as a prayer. When the city
missionary told the destitute woman she ought to love God, she said:
"Ah! if you were as cold and hungry as I am, you could think of
nothing else."

I am glad to know that not one earnest prayer, not one heartfelt
alms-giving, not one kind word, ever goes unblessed. Among the
mountains of Switzerland there is a place where, if your voice be
uttered, there will come back a score of echoes. But utter a kind,
sympathetic, and saving word in the dark places of the town, and there
will come back ten thousand echoes from all the thrones of heaven.

There may be some one reading this who knows by experience of the
tragedies enacted in the third watch of the night. I am not the man
to thrust you back with one harsh word. Take off the bandage from your
soul, and put on it the salve of the Saviour's compassion. There
is rest in God for your tired soul. Many have come back from their
wanderings. I see them coming now. Cry up the news to heaven! Set
all the bells a-ringing! Under the high arch spread the banquet of
rejoicing. Let all the crowned heads of heaven come in and keep the
jubilee. I tell you there is more joy in heaven over one man who
reforms than over ninety-and-nine who never got off the track.