But I prayed on, and said, 'Lord if there be mercy for me, let me
find it!' ... At last, in the midst of this awful struggle of soul, I
came to the foot of the altar--here--where I am begging you to come....
And then it was as if a voice out of heaven said to me, 'Thy sins are
forgiven thee.' ... Glory! Glory! Delight flashed all around me. Joy
unspeakable sprung up in my soul. It seemed to me that I was already in
paradise. The very trees, the very leaves on the trees, seemed to be
singing together and praising God.... Will you share this divine peace
with me? Will you come with me this night to the foot of the cross?...
Then come now--now--for this may be the accepted hour of your
salvation.... Come.... If you wait, you are lost ... lost!"
But these simple, broken words are only the cold and lifeless echo of
Peter Cartwright's fiery, living eloquence. Nothing can ever bring that
back as it really was. None may hope to tell those who never heard him
what it was like. No one, perhaps among the numberless thousands who did
hear him, ever knew what the power was, by which this unlettered
backwoodsman swayed multitudes at his will.
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