The exhorter shook off
the whisperer and went on with his impassioned plea. He, too, was well
worth looking at, and better worth listening to--this inspired young
backwoodsman, Peter Cartwright. His swarthy face was pale with the
pallor of fanaticism, and his dark eyes were aflame with some mystic
fire. His long black hair was wildly blown by the wind which bore his
broken words still more brokenly:--
"Such a time as this has not been seen since the day of Pentecost.... A
sacred flame is surely sweeping sin from the earth.... Come all ye. Take
up your cross and follow Him.... Heaven's gate stands wide to-night....
Praise the Lord!... Come in.... Come at once.... Do not delay--or the
gate may close, never to open again. Come! Come with me to the mercy
seat. I was once like you. My soul, like yours, was rent in agony. I
wept, I strove, I prayed, I was in utter despair ... just as you are
now.... Sometimes it seemed as if I could almost lay hold on the
Saviour.... Then--all of a sudden--such a fear of the devil fell upon me
that he appeared to stand right by my side ready to drag me down to
hell.
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