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Robert Murray McCheyne preached in Dundee in Scotland in the early 1800s.  Ruthe and I visited the church building and I stood in his pulpit. He died at age 29, after seeing a tremendous revival.

 

Each Saturday he visited the dying in order to prepare his heart, so that on Sunday he might plead with souls the more earnestly.  Yet, he said,

I have not been like a shepherd after lost sheep, nor like a physician among dying men, nor like a servant bidding you to the marriage, nor like one plucking brands from the burning!  How often have I gone to your houses to try and win souls, and you have put me off with a little worldly talk.  I dared not tell you that you were perishing.  How often have I sat at some of your tables and yearned for your souls, yet a false shame kept me silent!  How often have I gone home crying bitterly, ‘Free me from blood-guiltiness, O God!’

 

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