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Christie's Old Organ

<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> <h3>NO SIN IN THE CITY BRIGHT.</h3> It had been a close, sultry day, and it was a still more oppressive night. It was long before Christie could get to sleep, and when at last he had sunk into a troubled slumber, he was waked suddenly by a loud peal of thunder, which made the old attic shake from end to end. Old Treffy raised himself in bed, and Christie crept to his side. It was an awful storm; the lightning flashed into the attic, lighting up for a moment every corner of it, and showing Christie old Treffy's white and trembling face. Then all was dark again, and there came the heavy roll of the thunder, which sounded like the noise of falling houses, and which made old Treffy shake from head to foot. Christie never remembered such a storm before, and he was very much afraid. He knelt very close to his old master, and took hold of his trembling hand. "Are you frightened, Master Treffy?" he asked at last, as a vivid flash again darted into the room. "Yes, Christie, boy," said old Treffy; "I don't know how it is; I used not to be afraid of a storm, but I am to-night." Poor Christie did not speak, so Treffy went on:— "The lightning seems like God looking at me, Christie, and the thunder seems like God's voice, and I am afraid of Him. I don't love Him, Christie; I don't love Him." And again the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled, and again old Treffy shook from head to foot. "I shouldn't like to die to-night, Christie," he said; "and the lightning comes so very near me. Christie, boy, do you know what sin is?" he whispered. "Yes," said Christie; "it's doing wrong things, isn't it?" "Yes," said Treffy, "and I've done a many of them, Christie; and it's thinking bad thoughts, and I've thought a many of them, Christie; and it's saying bad words, and I've said a many of them, Christie. But I never cared about it before to-night." "How did you come to care about it to-night?" asked Christie. "I've had a dream, Christie, boy, and it has made me tremble." "Tell me it, Master Treffy," pleaded Christie. "I was thinking of what you said about loving Jesus, and I fell asleep, and I thought I was standing before a beautiful gate; it was made of gold, Christie, and over the gate there was some shining letters. I spelt them out, and they were, 'Home, sweet Home,' Christie, and I said to myself, 'I've found it at last; I wish Christie was here.' But just then someone opened the gate, and said, 'What do you want, old man?' 'I want to come in,' I said. 'I'm very tired, and I want to be at home.' But he shut the gate, and said to me very gravely and sorrowfully, 'No sin can come in here.' And Christie, I felt as if I was nothing but sin, so I turned round and walked away, and it grew very dark. And just then came the thunder, and I awoke; I can't forget it, Christie; I can't forget it," said old Treffy. And still the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled, and still old Treffy trembled. Christie could not comfort him, for he was very much afraid himself; but he pressed very close up to his side, and did not leave him till the storm was over, and there was no sound but the heavy downpour of the rain on the roof of the attic. Then he crept back to bed and fell asleep. The next morning it all seemed like a bad dream. The sun was shining brightly, and Christie rose and opened the attic window. Every thing looked fresh and clean after the rain. The dull heavy feeling was gone out of the air, and the little sparrows were chirping in the eaves. It was Sunday morning, and on Sunday evening Christie was to hear the clergyman preach in the mission-room. Oh! how he wished it was seven o'clock, that he might go and find out what old Treffy wanted to know! The poor old man seemed very restless and unhappy all that long spring day. Christie never left him, for it was only on Sunday that he could watch beside his dear old master. He could see that old Treffy had not forgotten his dream, though he did not speak of it again. And at last the long, weary day wore away, and at six o'clock Christie washed himself and prepared to depart. "Be sure you mind every word he says, Christie, boy," said old Treffy, earnestly. The mission-room was only just open when little Christie arrived. A woman was inside lighting the gas and preparing the place for the congregation. Christie peeped shyly in at the door, and she caught sight of him and ordered him off. "Isn't there going to be any preaching to-night?" said Christie, in a disappointed voice. "Oh! you've come to the service, have you?" said the woman. "All right you can come in, only you must sit still, and you mustn't talk or make a noise." Now, as poor Christie had no one to talk to, this was rather an unnecessary speech. However, he went in very meekly, and sat down on one of the front benches. Then the congregation began to arrive; old men and little children; mothers with babies in their arms; old women with shawls over their heads; husbands and wives; a few young men; people with all kinds of faces, and all kinds of characters, from the quiet and respectable artisan's wife to the poor little beggar girl who sat on the form beside Christie. And, as seven o'clock struck, the door opened and the minister came in. Christie never took his eyes off him during the whole service. And, oh! how he enjoyed the singing, the last hymn especially! A young woman behind him was singing it very distinctly, and he could hear every word. Oh, if he could only have remembered it to repeat to old Treffy! The words of the hymn were as follows:— <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "There is a city bright, Closed are its gates to sin, Nought that defileth, Nought that defileth, Can ever enter in. </div> <div class="stanza"> Saviour, I come to Thee, O Lamb of God, I pray, Cleanse me and save me, Cleanse me and save me, Wash all my sins away. </div> <div class="stanza"> Lord, make me from this hour Thy loving child to be, Kept by Thy power, Kept by Thy power, From all that grieveth Thee. </div> <div class="stanza"> Till in the snowy dress Of Thy redeemed I stand, Faultless and stainless, Faultless and stainless, Safe in that happy land!" </div> </div> And after the hymn came the sermon. The clergyman's text was Revelation 21:27: "There shall in no wise enter into it any thing that defileth." He spoke of the Heavenly City of which they had just been singing, the bright, beautiful city, with its streets of gold and gates of pearl. He spoke of the river of the water of life, and the trees on either side of the river. He spoke of those who live in that happy place, of their white robes and crowns of gold, of the sweet songs they ever sing, and the joy in all their faces. The clergyman also told them that in that bright city sorrow was never found. No weeping there, no tears, no sighs, no trouble. No tired feet on that golden pavement, no hungry ones there, no hot burning sun, no cold frost or snow. No sickness there, and no death, no funerals in heaven, no graves in the golden city. Perfect love there, no more quarreling or strife, no angry tones or discordant murmurs, no rude, rough voices to disturb the peace. And all this for ever and ever, no dread of it coming to an end, no gloomy fears for the future, no partings there, no good-byes. Once there, safe for ever. At home, at rest, with God. "Would you like to go there?" asked the clergyman's voice. And a quiet murmur passed through the room, a sigh of longing, an expression of assent. And little Christie whispered softly to himself, "Like to go there! ay, that I would, me and old Treffy and all." "'There shall in no wise enter into it anything that defileth,'" said the clergyman's voice. "'Closed are its gates to sin.' My friends, if there is one sin on your soul, heaven's gates will be closed against you. 'Nought that defileth, nought that defileth, can ever enter in.' If all my life I had never sinned; if all my life I had never done a wicked deed, or spoken a wicked word, or thought a wicked thought; if all my life I had done every thing I ought to have done, and had been perfectly sinless and holy, and yet to-night I was to commit one sin, that sin, however small a sin in man's eyes,—that sin would be quite enough to shut me out of heaven. The gates would be shut against me for that one sin. No soul on which there is a speck of sin can go into that bright city. "Is there one in this room," asked the clergyman, "who can say that he has only sinned once? Is there one here who can say that there is only one sin on his soul?" And again there was a faint murmur round the room, and again a deep-drawn sigh; but this time it was the suppressed sigh of accusing consciences. "No," said the clergyman, "there is not one of us who can say that. Every one of us has sinned again and again and again. And each sin is like a dark blot, a deep ink-stain on the soul." "Oh!" said little Christie, in his heart, as he listened to these words, "whatever will me and Master Treffy do?" And Christie's thoughts wandered to the lonely attic and to old Treffy's sad, worn-out face. "So it was all true," he said to himself. "Miss Mabel's words, and Master Treffy's dream; all too true, all too true." If Christie had been listening, he would have heard the clergyman tell of the way in which sin could be taken away; but his little mind was full of the one idea of the sermon, and when he next heard the clergyman's words he was telling his congregation that he hoped they would all be present on the following Sunday evening, as he intended then to preach on the second verse of the hymn, and to tell them, more fully than he had time to do to-night, what was the only way to enter within the gates into the city. Christie walked home very sadly and sorrowly; he was in no haste to meet old Treffy's anxious, inquiring eyes. And when he reached the dark attic he sat down by Treffy, and looked away from him into the fire, as he said, mournfully:— "Your dream was quite right, Master Treffy. I've heard it all over again to-night. He preached about it, and we sang about it, so there's no mistake now." "Tell me all, Christie, boy," said Treffy, pitifully. "It's a beautiful place, Master Treffy," said Christie; "you'd be ever so happy and comfortable if you could only get there. But there's no sin allowed inside the gates; that's what the clergyman, said, and what the hymn said too:— <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "'There is a city bright, Closed are its gates to sin.'" </div> </div> "Then there's no chance for me, Christie," said the old man, "no chance for me." And hours after that, when Christie thought Treffy was fast asleep on his bed in the corner, he heard his poor old trembling voice murmuring again and again: "Closed are its gates to sin, closed are its gates to sin." And there was another ear listening to old Treffy's voice. The man at the gate, of whom Bunyan writes, had heard the old man's sorrowful wail, and it went to his very heart. He knew all about old Treffy, and he was soon to say to him, with tones of love, as he opened the gate of rest: "I am willing with all my heart to let thee in." <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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