everlasting burnings, and rescue these captives from the thraldom of sin and Satan, to grace the triumphs of our sovereign King, and to shine for ever as stars in His diadem!
We cannot but believe that the contemplation of these solemn facts has awakened in many the heartfelt prayer, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do, that Thy name may be hallowed. Thy kingdom come, and Thy will be done in China?" It is the prayerful consideration of these facts, and the deepening realisation of China's awful destitution of all that can make man truly happy, that constrains the writer to lay its claims as a heavy burden upon the hearts of those who have experienced the power of the blood of Christ; and to seek, first from the Lord, and then from His people, the men and the means to carry the gospel into every part of this benighted land. We have to do with Him who is the Lord of all power and might, whose arm is not shortened, whose ear is not heavy; with Him whose unchanging word directs us to ask and receive, that our joy may be full; to open our mouths wide, that He may fill them. And we do well to remember that this gracious God, who has condescended to place His almighty power at the command of believing prayer, looks not lightly upon the blood-guiltiness of those who neglect to avail themselves of it for the benefit of the perishing; for He it is who has said, "If thou forbear to deliver them that are drawn unto death, and those that are ready to be slain; if thou sayest. Behold, we knew it not; doth not He that pondereth the heart consider it? and He that keepeth thy soul, doth not He know it? and shall not He render to every man according to his works?"
Through midnight gloom from Macedon,
The cry of myriads as of one,
The voiceful silence of despair
Is eloquent in awful prayer:
The soul's exceeding bitter cry,
"Come o'er and help us, or we die."
How mournfully it echoes on,
For half the earth is Macedon;
These brethren to their brethren call,
And by the Love which loves them all,
And by the whole world's Life they cry,
"O ye that live, behold we die!"
By other sounds the world is won
Than that which wails from Macedon;
The roar of gain is round it rolled,
Or men unto themselves are sold,
And cannot list the alien cry,
"O hear and help us, lest we die!"
Yet with that cry from Macedon
The very car of Christ rolls on:
"I come; who would abide My day,
In yonder wilds prepare My way;
My voice is crying in their cry,
Help ye the dying, lest ye die."
Jesu, for men of Man the Son,
Yea, Thine the cry from Macedon;
Oh, by the kingdom and the power
And glory of Thine advent hour,
Wake heart and will to hear their cry:
Help us to help them, lest we die.—(Anon.)
