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Show copious enough to overflow on to his dear benefactors. The word especially lit up was this, •"Thy word is a lamp unto my feet." What is one of his days like in the hospital? Except in very cold weather, he rises early. He threads perfectly the mazes of that miniature city, getting at once his exercise and his communion. When the hospital opens, armed with a Gospel, or some other book, he goes from patient to patient reading, explaining, giving each a chance. When the response indicates an open, receptive soul, he blooms into gracious earnestness. Nor are they a vague unknown herd, but a dear, definite parish, which he most truly shepherds. He knows every sheep by name. He has a wonderful memory for voices. After talking with a new patient for a time, he knows him, and instantly recalls the voice and individual next time. His wistful yearnings over them are often confided to the kind doctor. Hearing of another poor blindman, cowed, dejected, persecuted for his religion, not allowed to attend church, Mr. Tong gladly made a pilgrimage thither. The contrast between the two men was eloquent, and the bitter Chao family actually surrendered, and sent their blind man back, the next term, with Mr. Tong when he returned to school. In the evenings, our friend teaches the patients to read and to sing. In the summer, his meetings are often out under the stars, and as informal as the Master's. The forlorn children in the hospital feel his touch, and now and again he has the joy of preparing men and boys for church membership. Some times he makes the service an experience meeting. "Look at me, Great Elder Brothers," he may say, "When I came I was blind, but now my heart eyes see. When I came I believed nothing. 17 |
