I looked at Mr. Bowen while Mr. Lathrop was reading.
His lips were softly moving as if in responsive worship, the expression
of his face like a thanksgiving Psalm.
A moment's pause in the reading while the leaves were turned, and then
the lesson was chosen from the 17th of St. John's Gospel and selections
from the ten last chapters of Revelation. I fancied that in the pause
between his reading the minister was asking to be directed to the right
passages. Every verse seemed to bring its own special consolation, and
I was almost as much impressed with the look on Mr. Bowen's face at last,
as by the words that fell on my ears. It reminded me of the faces the Old
Masters have left us of the saints and martyrs of the early church.
Perhaps they took their models from just such men as Mr. Bowen, whom
God had left in the furnace until his own image was reflected in them.
But my deepest emotions were stirred when, kneeling with the rest, I
listened to Mr. Lathrop's prayer.
As I listened, I had no longer any doubt as to the future well-being of
this family; but, when just at the close of his prayer, my name was
mentioned, and the fulfillment asked for the promise given by Christ,
that even a cup of cold water given in his name should be rewarded, a
strange sense of awe came over me. Was it possible I had been giving
direct to Christ--visiting His sick, and poor, and sorrowing, and making
Him glad? My eyes filled with tears, and a deep longing took possession
of my heart to know this mighty Friend who died for me, in the same real,
blessed way that these men knew, and loved Him.
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