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And this, oh, Africa! latest called of nations,- called to the crown of thorns, the scourge, the bloody sweat, the cross of agony,-this is to be thy victory; by this shalt thou reign with Christ when his kingdom shall come on earth. The deep fervor of Tom’s feelings, the softness of his voice, his tears, fell like dew on the wild, unsettled spirit of the poor woman. A softness gathered over the lurid fires of her eye; she looked down and Tom could feel the relaxing muscles of her hands, as she “said, “Didn’t I tell you that evil spirits followed me? O! Father Tom, I can’t pray,- I wish I could. I never have prayed since my children were sold! What you say must be right, I know it must; but when I try to pray, I can only hate and curse. I can’t pray!” “Poor soul!” said Tom, compassionately. “Satan desires to have ye, and sift ye as wheat. I pray the Lord for ye. O! Misse Cassy, turn to the dear Lord Jesus. He came to bind up the broken-hearted, and comfort all that mourn.” Cassy stood silent, while large, heavy tears dropped from her downcast eyes. “Misse Cassy,” said Tom, in a hesitating tone, after surveying her a moment in silence, “If ye only could get away from here,- if the thing was possible,- I’d ‘vise ye and Emmeline to do it; that is, if ye could go without blood-guiltiness,- not otherwise.” “Would you try it with us, Father Tom?” |