Happy the foot-sore, heart-weary traveller who turns from the
crowded, dusty highway down the green lane that leads to these
humble inns, where the sign of the Good Samaritan is written on the
face of whomsoever opens to the stranger, and refreshment for soul
and body is freely given in the name of Him who loved the poor.
Mr. Power came now and then, for his large parish left him but
little time to visit any but the needy. Christie enjoyed these brief
visits heartily, for her new friends soon felt that she was one of
them, and cordially took her into the large circle of workers and
believers to which they belonged.
Mr. Power's heart was truly an orphan asylum, and every lonely
creature found a welcome there. He could rebuke sin sternly, yet
comfort and uplift the sinner with fatherly compassion; righteous
wrath would flash from his eyes at injustice, and contempt sharpen
his voice as he denounced hypocrisy: yet the eyes that lightened
would dim with pity for a woman's wrong, a child's small sorrow; and
the voice that thundered would whisper consolation like a mother, or
give counsel with a wisdom books cannot teach.
He was a Moses in his day and generation, born to lead his people
out of the bondage of dead superstitions, and go before them through
a Red Sea of persecution into the larger liberty and love all souls
hunger for, and many are just beginning to find as they come
doubting, yet desiring, into the goodly land such pioneers as he
have planted in the wilderness.
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