I thought he meant himself. "Not I," he said; "I
mean God. Why don't you give Him a chance? Talk about men giving you a
chance--why, God is waiting for a chance to help you!"
Just then my old friend the Devil came in; he always does when he thinks
he is going to lose a convert; and he said in his own fine way, "Oh,
what rot! Why didn't God help you before this? Don't bother about it;
you have a nice suit; get out of this place and sell the duds and have a
good time. I'll help you. I'll be your friend." He's sly, but I put him
behind me that time.
It was easy enough for this man to talk about God giving me a chance,
but he didn't know me--a hard, wicked sinner, who if half the crimes I
had committed were known I'd be put in prison for life. Would God help
such a one? I knew I was clean and had a good suit of clothes on, but,
oh! how I wished God would give me another chance! But I felt as if He
had no use for me.
The man put his hand on my shoulder and said, "I want to be your friend;
will you let me?" I said I'd be proud of such a friend. "Now, Dave," he
said, "there's One better than I who will stick to you closer than a
brother; will you let Him be your friend?" I said I would, though I
doubted if He wanted any part of me, but I was going to make a try; and
the young man and myself knelt down in the Tabernacle, corner of Broome
Street and Centre Market Place, on the 16th of September, 1892, and I
asked God to have mercy on me, cut the drink out of my life, and make a
man of me, if such a thing could be done, for Christ's sake.
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