'"
John heard with an absorbed interest. All around him were eager
listeners, breathless, leaning forward with intense attention. The song
went on:
"But none of the ransomed ever knew
How deep were the waters crossed;
Nor how dark was the night that the Lord went through
Ere He found His sheep that was lost.
Out in the desert He heard its cry--
Sick and helpless, and ready to die."
There was a throbbing pathos in the intonation, and the verse floated
over the weeping throng; when, after a pause, the strain was taken up
triumphantly:
"But all through the mountains thunder-riven,
And up from the rocky steep,
There rose a cry to the gates of heaven,
'Rejoice! I have found my sheep!'
And the angels echoed around the throne,
'Rejoice, for the Lord brings back His own!'"
All day long, poor John had felt so lonesome! Nobody cared for him;
nobody wanted him; everything was against him; and, worst of all, he had
no faith in himself. But here was this Friend, _seeking_ him, following
him through the cold alleys and crowded streets. In heaven they would be
glad to hear that he had become a good man. The thought broke down all
his pride, all his bitterness; he wept like a little child; and the
Christmas gift of Christ--the sense of a real, present, loving, pitying
Saviour--came into his very _soul_.
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