Some time ago I was at my home in New York. Walking up Sixth Avenue a man came along, walked by me, and looking around: "Oh how do you do? how do you do?" said he. "Who are you?" said I. "I know you; I saw you down at the Fulton Street meeting, and I saw you here in Lyric Hall today, leading the meeting." "Well," said I, "Who are you?" Said he: "I live in Albany -- I shall never forget the fourth day of August." "What happened then?" said I.

He replied: "I was a drunkard, and I was home on the floor drunk, and my dear little girl, six years of age, came home from Sunday school, knelt down by my side, put her arm around my body, and I there, drunk, but not so drunk that I did not know what I was about; and she drew her little hand over my face, and said, 'I love you papa;' and then she drew the other hand over my cheek, and said, 'yes, papa, and Jesus loves you too.' That made me angry, and I pushed her off, and got up , and went out angrily."

"The very name of Jesus touched my sinful heart. I went down to the saloon, but every pat of my foot upon the pavement seemed to say, Yes, papa, Jesus loves you too,' and when I went into that saloon, and got a glass, and took it up in my hand, something was saying all the time, 'yes, papa, Jesus loves you too.' I could not drink it, and thank God, I did not. I dashed it down and came home, and called for my little girl. Her mother led her out, and I got her up in my arms, and kissed her again and again. I never loved that daughter as I did then. That little sermon, 'Yes, papa, Jesus loves you too,' led me to give up my cup, and led me to Jesus. I have not drank a drop since; and last Sunday I joined the church with my wife." -- Albert P. Graves