“There never was such affliction as mine,” said a poor sufferer, restlessly tossing in her bed in one of the wards of a city hospital. “I don’t think there ever was such a racking pain.”
“Once,” was faintly uttered from the next bed.
The first speaker paused for a moment: and then in a still more impatient tone, resumed her complaint.
“Nobody knows what I pass through. Nobody ever suffered more pain.”
“One,” was again whispered from the same direction.
“I take it you mean yourself, poor soul, but” —
“Oh, not myself; not me,” exclaimed the other; and her pale face flushed up to the very temples, as if some wrong had been offered, not to herself, but to another.
She spoke with such earnestness that her restless companion lay still for several seconds and gazed intently on her face. The cheeks were now wan and sunken, and the parched lips were drawn back from the mouth as if by pain. Yet there dwelt an extraordinary sweetness in the clear gray eyes, and a refinement on the placid brow, such as can only be imparted by a heart-acquaintance with Him, who is “full of grace and truth.”
” Oh, not myself ! Not me ! ” she repeated.
There was a short pause: and then the following words, uttered in the same low tone, slowly and solemnly broke the midnight silence of the place.
” And when they had platted a crown of thorns, they put it upon his head, and a reed in his right hand: and they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews! And they spit upon him, and took the reed, and smote him on the head. . . . And when they were come unto a place called Golgotha, they gave him vinegar to drink, mingled with gall. And they crucified him . . . And they that passed by reviled him, wagging their heads . . . And about the ninth hour, Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, my God, my God, why has Thou forsaken Me ? “
The voice ceased, and for several minutes not a syllable was spoken. The night nurse rose from her chair by the fire and mechanically handed a cup of barley-water, flavoured with lemon-juice and sugar, to the lips of both sufferers.
” Thank you nurse,” said the last speaker. ” They gave him gall for his meat: and in his thirst they gave him vinegar to drink.”
” She is talking about Jesus Christ,” said the other woman, already beginning to toss restlessly from side to side. ” But,” added she, ” talking about His sufferings can’t mend ours — at least, not mine.”
” But it lightens hers,” said the nurse.
” I wonder how.”
” Hush.”
And the gentle voice again took up the strain :
” Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. . . . He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.”
The following day, as some ladies visiting the hospital passed by the cots, they handed to each a few fragrant flowers.
The gentle voice was again heard : ” If God so clothe the grass of the field which today is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith.
A few days passed slowly away, when, on a bright Sabbath morning, as the sun was rising, the nurse noticed the lips of the sufferer moving, and, leaning over her, she heard these words : ” Going home, ‘ I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day.’ “
Her eyes closed, and the nurse knew that the hand of death was grasping the cords of life. A moment more and all was over; the soul had gone to dwell in that city where “there is no more death, neither sorrow nor crying; neither shall there be any more pain.” — Sword and Trowel, 1872.