PRE-05-Chapter Five

Chapter Five His love for the Lost—Blue Dick—Labors in the Murphy Movement—Singing "Lambs of the Upper Fold" at a Child’s Funeral.

Brother Shaw was an enthusiast, but his enthusiasm was the farthest possible remove from fanaticism. It had its origin in deep and earnest convictions, which found an outlet in ceaseless effort for the welfare of humanity. The world lying in wickedness was not a mere theory; to him it was a solemn, an awful fact. He realized the danger of his fellowmen, and warned them of their peril, and strove to snatch them as brands from the burning. Every human soul was, in his eyes, a gem of priceless worth—condition and circumstances went for nothing—under all surroundings, favorable or otherwise, he saw an immortal soul to be saved or lost. Where others saw only a helpless, wretched, hopeless outcast, he saw one for whom Christ died, who, under the influence of the gospel, might be cleansed from sin, have fruit unto holiness, and the end everlasting life. He remembered that the Master came to seek and save the lost; that his condescension led him to seek and lift up the lowly, and this led him to care for the souls of those for whom none else on earth seemed to care.

Sometimes his brethren, with less faith in God and humanity than himself, would discourage his attempts to reform and save some who seemed utterly abandoned and vile; but such opposition only added to his zeal, and made him increase his efforts in behalf of those whom men had forsaken, and who deemed themselves forsaken of God.

Among those who called forth his deep sympathy was one who is still living—changed beyond all that was at one time thought possible, and whom we trust will be one of the brightest stars in Brother Shaw’s crown of rejoicing. He was holding a meeting at some point on the Ohio River, where it was necessary for him to cross frequently. The first night of his meeting he went down to the river, but found the only ferryman to be a poor, ragged, besotted wretch, no hat on his head, his hair matted, his whole person filthy in the extreme, and giving evidence that he was even then under the influence of drink. His appearance was so forbidding, and his condition such that he was doubtful as to whether it would be safe to entrust himself in a frail skiff with such a ferryman, and had there been any other and safer means of getting across he would have availed himself of it. But there was no other chance, and with some misgivings as to the result he entered the boat. He soon found that, though under the influence of liquor, he knew how to manage his skiff, and feeling at ease on that matter, he began to talk with him. He asked him his name.

“Blue Dick,” was the reply.

“But,” said Shaw, “that is not really your name.”

“Well,” said he, “if I have any other, it has been so long since I heard it, I have almost forgotten what it is.”

Changing the subject abruptly, he asked, “Why don’t you quit drinking?”

“I can’t,” said the poor wretch.

“Yes, you can,” replied Shaw.

Wondering that a stranger should take any interest in him, he said, “Mister, do you think I could?”

“Of course you can,” said Shaw, in a kind and assuring manner. The poor fellow sat for some time in silence. It was long since any word of sympathy, interest or encouragement had fallen upon his ear, and the kind words of the stranger reached the heart which all his neighbors thought had ceased to feel. Deeply moved, he looked up and said, earnestly:

“Mister, do you really think I could quit drinking?”

“Have you a wife and children?” In a voice choked with emotion, and weeping bitterly, he said that he had. The way was now open. Shaw told him he was a preacher, and asked him to come and hear him.

“Why,” said he, “you would not let such a one me come; and if you were willing, others would not like to see me there.”

Shaw urged him to come, assured him that he should be welcome; that instead of being out of the reach of mercy, that it was such as he that Jesus came to save. Tenderly and earnestly he besought him to change his course, until the poor ferryman began to think that there might be hope even for him. On reaching the other side, Shaw paid him his fare, and, as he did so, he pointed to a saloon that was near, and said, “I do not like the idea of this money going to such a place as that; can’t you promise me that you will not drink any tonight, and I will come back, and you shall take me over the river again. “Blue Dick gave the required promise and they parted; the preacher going to the house of God, and the ferryman, with emotions such as had not stirred in his heart for years, standing in deep thought by the rapid river under the watching stars. After meeting, Brother Shaw went down to the river, found Blue Dick waiting for him, showing by his manner that he had kept his promise not to drink. He gave him a few words of encouragement, and obtained his promise that he would come and hear him preach the following night.

Great was the astonishment of many to see Blue Dick at church, and greater still to see the preacher, who had seen him come in and drop into the first empty seat that he found near the door, come up to him, take him by the hand, speak a few kind words to him, and ask him to come again. Night after night he came, and the warm hand of the preacher never failed to give that of Blue Dick a friendly grasp, and the fitting words spoken did not fail to strengthen the new purposes that were beginning to take shape in his mind. The coming of the one, and the marked attention shown him by the preacher, led some of the brethren to fear, yes fear, that this poor outcast might offer himself for membership; and they even expressed their fears to Brother Shaw, and predicted that it would ruin the church if one such as he should attempt to enter the fold. Brother Shaw, however, did not fail to show, in their loveliest colors, the tenderness and compassion of Him who came to give hope to the hopeless, to seek and to save the lost. The lost sheep, and the wayward, wretched, ruined prodigal seemed to point to Blue Dick, and Blue Dick himself began to think they meant him; and one night, when the preacher, with even more than his wonted earnestness, urged the despairing and lost to come to Christ as their only hope, Blue Dick rose to come forward and accept the gospel offer. The preacher went half-way down the aisle to meet him; angels doubtless, too, at that moment gave expression to their joy in glad song, and He who died to save the lost was, doubtless, glad to see that the lost was found. But, alas! while there was joy in heaven, the coming of poor Blue Dick to confess his Lord, to strive to lead a better life, did not send a thrill of joy through the church; some there were who, like the elder son in the parable, thought that the returned wanderer would never be other than a disgrace to the family, thought that Blue Dick had gone too far to retrace his steps, and that his newly-formed resolutions would be broken on the very first invitation to take a drink, and that he would soon sink to even a lower depth, if possible, than before. Such was the feeling of opposition with regard to him that Brother Shaw did not take his confession and baptize him for several days, feeling, doubtless, that until he could change their views on the subject, that their coolness would repel and discourage, rather than help and save. Before the meeting closed, to the wonder of the whole community, Blue Dick made a public confession of his faith in Christ, was baptized, and by his consistent life soon disarmed whatever of objection remained, and was regarded as a standing proof of the power of the gospel.

Years passed by; the faithful evangelist revisited the same place. Blue Dick was no longer there; he was transformed into Brother George M., one of the best members of the church; he was living in a comfortable home, surrounded by a loving and happy family, with every mark of neatness and thrift about them. As soon as Brother Shaw had entered this happy Christian home he who had been Blue Dick said: “Brother Shaw, kneel down and thank God for what he has done for me, that I, who when you met me was a poor, miserable, drunken sinner, have been lifted up, and, by the mercy of God, am what I am to-day.” Down they knelt; preacher, husband, wife, and children, all, all wept; but they were tears of joy; and when they parted it was in the glad hope of meeting in that blessed land where no partings shall be. The fact that Shaw, at one period of his life, had contracted a taste for strong drink, and had strength and resolution enough to abandon at once and for ever that which had so nearly been his ruin, gave him great power over such as had been enslaved by the same appetite. His own escape from the snare made him feel great interest and hope for the escape of others; and to such his own case was a proof that, though they had wandered so long and far in the path of criminal self-indulgence, a return was not impossible. He not only approved the various temperance reforms which sprang up, but became a bold and fearless advocate of them. He did not wait for them to become popular, but was always in the advance of every movement upon that question. His labors in the temperance cause alone would have made him a man of mark, and yet his work in that field was only an episode in the labors of his life. He was quite prominent in what is known as the “Murphy Movement.” Indeed, few men did more to further it than he. He was never more at home than when before immense temperance mass meetings; hundreds have signed the pledge under the influence of one of his impassioned appeals. In quite a number of places, North and South, he inaugurated the “Murphy Movement,” and thousands under his labors were led to renounce the rule of the demon drink. During the last few months of his life he enlisted about fifteen hundred persons into the temperance army; gaining one hundred and fifty at a single meeting only a few days before his death.

While engaged in a meeting in Kentucky he was greatly prostrated by his excessive labors. The sister at whose house he was stopping urged him to take some brandy, but he declined to touch it. The lady had some sent to his room and placed in his reach while he was asleep. When he awoke and found it so near him his old desire came back with fearful violence; he arose from his bed, fell upon his knees, and asked God for strength to overcome it, and, taking the bottle to the lady, told her how his long-slumbering appetite had been aroused, and begged her never again to place such a temptation in the way of anyone who had ever been under the influence of that monster evil. Being able to hold in check the fearful craving that early indulgence had created, gave him great power in persuading others, who had lost all confidence in their ability to control their appetites, to make a struggle to do so; and not a few did so successfully. Many of his religious converts were persons who had fallen into this fearful vice, but in his esteem none were so fallen as to be beyond hope of recovery; and many such to-day are worthy and useful members of the church, who attribute their present condition, under God, to the earnest and unselfish labors of him who had aroused them to make an endeavor to escape when hope had almost died in their hearts. He seldom held a protracted meeting without delivering during its progress one or more spirited temperance lectures, which in many cases proved to be a preparative for the successful sowing in many hearts the good seed of the kingdom of God. Much of this temperance work was performed in the open air, in public squares and like places, where large crowds, who seldom visited churches, could be reached. Some of these gatherings, as for instance at the Capitol grounds in Jackson, Mississippi, and Lafayette Square, New Orleans, were such as never had been collected before for a similar purpose, and impressions were made such as will never fade away. A striking instance of his sympathy and power to adapt himself to circumstances took place in Humboldt, Kansas. A wealthy and prominent Presbyterian family had lost an infant. Brother Shaw went, uninvited, to the funeral; the Presbyterian minister preached a funeral sermon from a text in the Old Testament, and, after the discourse, the little white coffin, covered with flowers, resting on a marbletopped table in the parlor, was opened, that the friends and heart-stricken parents might take the last look at the little unconscious sleeper. The scene was painful, the parting severe, when, amid the sobs and weeping, there fell upon their ears, in one of the tenderest, sweetest voices they had ever heard, the following words:

“1. Many children, dear to us while here,
Have gone, but we are told
That our absent ones in heaven appear,
Among the saints enrolled,
As the lambs of the upper fold.

Chorus.
For Jesus leads the tender lambs;
They are now in the land where they ne’er grow old.
How dear to us are the loving lambs,
The lambs of the upper fold.

“2. I see the throng, I hear the song,
‘Mid the angels on the other shore;
In the pastures green they are ever seen,
On Canaan’s peaceful shore,
In the land where they weep no more.
Chorus.

“3. Now let us live, to Jesus give
Our strength while young and old,
So when we are gone we may rest at home,
And walk the streets of gold,
With the lambs of the upper fold.
Chorus.

“4. Then let us go to the land above,
And be with the saints enrolled,
To bear the palm and wear the crown,
And share the bliss untold,
With the lambs of the upper fold.”
Chorus. The hearts of all were hushed, and the thoughts of the stricken ones were lifted from the lifeless clay to the dear lost one, in the arms of the Good Shepherd. Shaw, entering into the spirit of the occasion, had sung one of his own sweet hymns, under circumstances that gave it great effect. It was just what the broken hearts before him needed. He was warmly thanked by the friends. The mother afterward sent her grateful acknowledgments, and a request for a copy of the verses he had sung. And she reckons among her prized treasures the “Lambs of the Upper Fold.”