Prisons and Prayer; Or, a Labor of Love

Elizabeth Ryder Wheaton

Elizabeth Ryder Wheaton

Prisons and Prayer; Or, a Labor of Love

Dedication

To the Railroad Officials who have so generously and cheerfully provided me transportation; their EMPLOYEES, whose kindness has so many times lightened the weariness of my journeys; the State and Prison officials, who have heartily welcomed me and set before me open doors; the THOUSANDS OF PRISONERS AND OTHERS who have shown by word and deed their appreciation of my efforts to help them to a better life; to the many who have in any way ministered to my necessities or offered an encouraging word by the way, and to my SPIRITUAL CHILDREN, these pages are cheerfully inscribed by The Author.

THE HARVEST TIME

The seed I have scattered in springtime with weeping,

And watered with tears and with dews from on high,

Another may shout while the harvester's reaping,

Shall gather my grain in the sweet by and by.

Chorus—

Over and over, yes, deeper and deeper,

My heart is pierced through with life's sorrowing cry,

But the tears of the sower and the songs of the reaper

Shall mingle together in joy by and by;

By and by, by and by, by and by, by and by,

Yes the tears of the sower and the songs of the reaper

Shall mingle together in joy by and by.

Another may reap what in springtime I've planted,

Another rejoice in the fruit of my pain,

Not knowing my tears when in summer I fainted,

While toiling, sad-hearted, in sunshine and rain.

The thorns will have choked and the summer sun blasted

The most of the seed which in springtime I've sown,

But the Lord who has watched while my weary toil lasted

Will give me a harvest for what I have done.

    —W. A. Spencer

Words and music copyright, John J. Hood, Philadelphia.

Preface

Dear Reader: Over twenty years have passed since God called and commissioned me to go to those that were bound. Within five years from the time I entered upon the work, I had been enabled to preach the gospel in every state and territory and had held meetings in nearly every state-prison in the United States and in the prisons in Canada and Mexico. My first trip to Europe was made in 1890. I have not only held meetings in prison, but have endeavored to "preach the gospel to every creature"—to those in authority, governors, prison and railroad officials, and trainmen, as well as to those in churches, missions, prisons, hospitals, alms-houses, dives, brothels, saloons and the slums. In all places God has fulfilled His promise to be with me and has given me evidence that my labor was not in vain in Him.

When I was made to feel that the Lord required me to write of the victories He had wrought and of the work yet waiting to be done I was amazed and am still, though it is more than ten years since God first told me to write for Him. Early left an orphan, my childhood was spent in the country where I had to walk two miles across the fields and through deep snows in order to get to school, and my life-work has been crippled by my lack of education. How then can I write? Yet the command of the Lord has been upon me and the cry of the needy has rung in my ears. Words cannot describe the cruel wrongs, the awful injustice, the scenes of desolation and degradation that have come to my knowledge. Much has been done, much is being done; and yet, O how much still needs to be done, in behalf of those in prison! Wrongs that are indescribable still cry to God for vengeance in this our own land. Cruelties that are beyond the power of language to describe still exist, and the cry of the oppressed comes up to the ear of Him who has declared "Vengeance is mine, I will repay."

One reason I have for writing, is to show the great need of Holy Ghost workers—those whose hearts God has touched—to carry the gospel to those whose lives are darkened, blighted and blasted, and tell them of a mighty deliverance from the bondage of sin, and of freedom in Christ.

Reader, if you could see the many inside prison walls going insane, you would not wonder