* An incident in the life of Rev. Rowland Hill. The poet takes certain liberties in describing the incident and allows his imagination a little too much play perhaps but the gist of what took place is told in an interesting way.
Will you listen, friends, for a moment,
While a story I unfold;
A marvellous tale of a wonderful sale
Of a noble lady of old:—
How hand and heart, at an auction mart,
Soul and body, she was sold.
‘Twas in the broad king’s highway,
Near a century ago,
That a preacher stood, — though of noble blood,
Telling the fallen and low
Of a Saviour’s love, and a home above,
And a peace that they all might know.
All crowded around to listen;
They wept at the wond’rous love,
That could wash their sin, and receive them
In His spotless mansions above:—
While slow through the crowd, a lady proud
In her gilded chariot drove.
“Make room,” cried the haughty outrider,
“You are closing the king’s highway;
My lady is late, and their Majesties wait,
Give way, good people, I pray.”
The preacher heard, his soul was stirred,
And he cried to the rider, “Nay.”
His eye like lightning flashes;
His voice like a trumpet rings.
“Your grand fête days, and your fashions and ways
Are all but perishing things.
‘Tis the king’s highway, but I hold it today
In the name of the King of kings.”
Then, — bending his gaze on the lady,
And marking her soft eye fall, —
“And now in His name, a sale I proclaim,
And bids for his fair lady call.
Who will purchase the whole — her body and soul,
Coronet, jewels, and all?”
“I see already three bidders, —
*The World* steps up as the first,
‘I will give her my treasures, and all the pleasures
For which my votaries thirst;
She shall dance each day more joyous and gay,
With a quiet grave at the worst.’
“But out spake *the Devil*, boldly:
‘The kingdoms of earth are mine.
Fair lady, thy name, with an envied fame,
On their brightest tablets shall shine;
Only give me thy soul, and I give thee the whole,
Their glory and wealth to be thine.’
“And pray what hast Thou to offer,
Thou *Man of Sorrows* unknown?
And He gently said, ‘My blood I have shed,
To purchase her for mine own.
To conquer the grave, and her soul to save.
I trod the winepress alone.’
“I will give her My cross of suffering,
My cup of sorrow, to share;
But with endless love, in My home above,
All shall be righted there:
She shall walk in light, in a robe of white,
And a radiant crown shall wear.”
“Thou hast heard the terms, fair lady,
That each hath offered for thee.
*Which wilt thou choose*, and which wilt thou lose,
This life, or the life to be?
The fable was mine, but the choice is yet thine,
Sweet lady, which of the three?”
She took from her hands the jewels,
The coronet from her brow;
“Lord Jesus,” she said, as she bowed her head,
“The highest bidder are Thou,
Thou gav’st for my sake Thy life, and
*I take Thy offer* — and take it now.”
“Amen,” said the noble preacher;
And the people wept aloud.
Years have rolled on — and they all have gone
Who formed the awe-struck crowd.
Lady and throng have been swept along
On the wind like a morning cloud.
But the Saviour has claimed His purchase,
And around His radiant seat,
A mightier throng, in a joyful song,
The wond’rous story repeat;
And a form more fair is bending there,
Laying her crown at His feet.