to the discouraged and despairing soul to remember that the darkest
time of night was just before the break of day, a remark I had never
before heard. I returned home stronger than ever before, and ventured
to tell mother of the good sermon preached by Isaac Puffer. But she
was again troubled, and reminded me of those we read of in Scripture,
who would compass sea and land to gain one proselyte, that when
gained, "were twofold more the child of hell than themselves." She
also said that my uncles would be well pleased to have me go with
them. I assured her that neither of my four Methodist uncles had ever
intimated a word to me on the subject. "But," said she, "actions
sometimes speak louder than words." This was not designed to
discourage me, but darker than ever was the cloud of unbelief that
filled my heart. Was Isaac Puffer a child of hell? then there is
nothing in religion, with any body. It was all a farce--all mere
"overheated zeal, not according to knowledge." All mere "religious
excitement." I well-nigh distrusted all religion, and father's and
mother's religion was the same as others, of no value. I had groped my
way in midnight darkness, trying to find the true way, when there was
none. In this despairing state, while on my way to my grandfather's on
an errand, I halted to listen to the mournful notes of the forest
birds at my left; I looked upon the field of waving grain at my right,
and burst into a flood of tears as I exclaimed, Oh, what a sin-
stricken world is this! Every head of wheat is bowed in mourning with
poor me! Is there no balm in Gilead? is there no physician there to
heal this sin-stricken world, this sin-sick soul of mine? Like a flash
the answer came, Yes, Jesus is that balm; he shed his own precious
blood for me on Calvary, that I might live now, and for evermore! Yes,
the healing balm is applied, and I _am saved!_ Oh, what a
fountain is opened for cleansing! My peace was like an overflowing
river. It seemed as if I could almost live without breathing--my tears