I have been in that old church in New England where Jonathan Edwards preached his great sermon, “Sinners in the hands of an angry God.” He had a little manuscript which he held up so close to his face that they could not see his countenance. He went on and on until the people in the crowded church were tremendously moved. One man sprang to his feet, rushed down the aisles and cried, “Mr. Edwards, have mercy!” Other men caught hold of the backs of the pews lest they should slip into perdition. I have