to rest one day under the shade of a spreading tree. As he
lay there, a missionary approached and began to preach the gospel. He
announced as his theme the words: "_The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son,
cleanseth us from all sin_." Whilst the evangelist still preached, the
man sprang up, tore off his sandals, and cried aloud: "That is what I
want! That is what I want!" And he became a living witness to the fact
that the redeeming blood of Christ _does_ cleanse from human guilt.'

'_That is what I want!_' cried Southey's pilgrim on the coast of
Malabar.

'_That is what I want!_' cried Luther in the Wartburg.

'_That is what I want!_' cried Bunyan at Bedford.

'_That is what I want!_' cried Donald Menzies at Drumtochty.

'_That is what I want!_' exclaimed young Hedley Vicars, as his startled
eyes fell upon the tremendous words that seemed to leap from the Bible
on the table. '_The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from
all sin._' 'That is what I want! That is what I want!'

Hedley Vicars appropriated the priceless gift held out to him, and his
whole life was transfigured in consequence. His life--and his death!
For, on that fatal night before Sebastopol, it was with Hedley Vicars as
it was with the soldier with whom the poet has familiarized us.
Everybody knows the story. Two men of God moved in the darkness across
the field on which, that day, a battle had been fought.

And now they stand
Beside a manly form, outstretched alone.
His helmet from his head had fallen. His hand
Still firmly grasped his keen but broken sword.
His face was white and cold, and, thinking he was gone,
They were just passing on, for time was precious,
When a faint sigh caught their attentive ears.
Life was still there, so bending down,
They whispered in his ears most earnestly,
Yet with that hush and gentleness with which
We ever speak to a departing soul--
'_Brother! the blood of Jesus Christ, God's Son,
Cleanseth from every sin._'

The pale lips moved,
And gently whispered 'hush!' and then they closed,
And life again seemed gone.

But yet once more
They whispered those thrice blessed words, in hope
To point the parting soul to Christ and heaven--
'_Brother! the precious blood of Jesus Christ
Can cleanse from every sin._'

Again the pale lips moved,
All else was still and motionless, for Death
Already had his fatal work half done;