low, who had tossed in pain and
feverishness for several days, caught sight of the words, 'And I will
give you rest.' He beckoned to me, and said, 'Rest! where can I get
it? Rest for body and mind, both! I am half mad--sick, as you see,
but sicker--as no one can see. Tell me how to get rest!' 'Did you
never hear of the way?--never hear of Jesus?' 'Tell me again.' I told
him the story of the cross. 'Died for my sins?' he asked. 'Yes, yours.
He saw you in your sins and pitied you, loved you, died to save you
from sin and give you rest; to make you happy.' 'I have never been
happy--never. I have been too wicked. And he _really_ died for me? I
never felt it before. It never seemed to me a real thing.' 'I hope you
will come to feel it the most real thing. Have you seen the lines--

"'None but Jesus, none but Jesus,
Can do helpless sinners good'?

"'It's true. I know it is none but Jesus! I've tried everything else.'

"'I'll go to Jesus, though my sins
Have like a mountain risen,'

I repeated. 'I can't go. I feel that I can't do anything. I am here a
very wretched man; and that is all.' 'Just leave yourself to God,
then,--

"'Here, Lord, I give myself away,
'Tis all that I can do.'

That's all you have to do.' 'Is that verse here?' I showed it to him
on the quilt. 'I'll keep it before me. Oh for rest! a little rest!' he
groaned again. Not long after he found it,--found peace in believing,
and left his hospital bed, happier than he had ever been before.

"An Irishman lay under the Scripture quilt. One day when nearly well,
he was looking at it. 'Is that radin?' he asked, putting his finger on
the text. 'Yes.' 'Sure, and what does it say?' I read, 'And God shall
wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more death,
neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain.' 'Ye
might rade that,' he said, pointing to another text. 'I love them that
love me, and they that seek me early shall find me.' 'It is the Lord
who says this,' I added after the text. 'Sure, it's good to a lonesome
pareson to hear what you rade.' 'So it is. There is no book like the
Bible in dark and trying hours.'

"At last came the boy who had the best right to the comfort of our
Scripture quilt,--the son, of whom the good woman who made it spoke
in the note attached. It was a strange circumstance that he should
have come to lie beneath it, but so it was. He had lain there nearly
senseless for more