“Christians don’t Care about my Soul,”
I WAS sorrowfully reminded by these words of my own case. I was born and lived until past twenty in a quiet western village with many religious privileges. From my earliest recollection I had strong religious impressions. At the age of nine years, another little boy and I used to spend much time in praying, and trying to help each other to be christians. Our seriousness was noticed, but none cared for our souls. I grew up, but still none cared for me. Regularly I attended church, often put myself in the way of professors of religion, almost aching to have them speak to me about my soul and Jesus; but none cared for my soul. The minister seemed to preach faithfully, earnestly, but in private never said a word to me on personal religion. One day we rode by ourselves thirty-two miles in a carriage, but not a word for my soul did he utter. God talked to me, for we were overtaken by a severe thunder-storm, thus giving the minister a fine opportunity to open up the subject, but not a word. Alas, alas ! I finally sought out an old lady, and asked her “what I must do to be saved.” And the first the ministers, elders, deacons, knew about it, I hoped that I had been converted. These things ought not so to be. Christian, be careful; blood may be upon your skirts in the judgment. But, sinner, let me entreat you, if no one cares for you, be sure that you care for yourself. Speak to the Christian, if he does not speak to you; you may, and probably will, find a warm heart sorrowing for its own neglect, and ready to love and pray for you, and guide you to Christ. Remember, if you perish, it will not even be one drop of water to cool your tongue, for you to say, “Christians don’t care about my soul.”—Seaman’s Pastor, in American Messenger.