A Hard Heart Broken
A Christian woman, laboring among the degenerate of London, found a poor street girl desperately ill in a bare cold room. With her own hands she ministered to her, changing her bed linen, procuring medicines, nourishing food, building a fire, and making the poor place as bright and cheery as possible, and then she said, “May I pray with you?”
“No” said the girl, “You don’t care for me; you are doing this to get to heaven.”
Many days passed, the Christian woman unwearily kind, the sinful girl hard and bitter. At last the Christian said, “My dear, you are nearly well now, and I shall not come again, but as it is my last visit, I want you to let me kiss you,” and the pure lips that had known only prayers and holy words met the lips defiled by oaths and unholy caresses—and then the hard heart broke. That was Christ’s way.
“No” said the girl, “You don’t care for me; you are doing this to get to heaven.”
Many days passed, the Christian woman unwearily kind, the sinful girl hard and bitter. At last the Christian said, “My dear, you are nearly well now, and I shall not come again, but as it is my last visit, I want you to let me kiss you,” and the pure lips that had known only prayers and holy words met the lips defiled by oaths and unholy caresses—and then the hard heart broke. That was Christ’s way.