"I'm Greatly Concerned About Your Soul." — A Reader’s Guide

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In Category - Theology

Authors: M. A. C. Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2020 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Conversion -- Christianity Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 4,282

Reading time 19 min

Text sections 1

"I'm Greatly Concerned About Your Soul." — A Reader’s Guide can be approached with a clearer sense of reading commitment from its source measurements: 4,282 words, 19 min estimated reading time, and 1 detected text section.

The text analysis averages about 23.4 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Conversion -- Christianity,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #62003

This 19th-century Welsh tract recounts a sceptical farmer's conversion after a neighbour's anguished plea, 'I'm greatly concerned about your soul.' The narrative traces the community's persistent prayer, the farmer's internal struggle, and his eventual surrender to faith, offering a compact study in evangelical persuasion.

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
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Text length15 pts
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Edition quality

File: pg62003

Read the Text

Transcribed from the c1890’s Jarrold’s edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org

[Picture: Public domain cover]

NORWICH CHEAP TRACTS. No. 42.

“I’M GREATLY CONCERNED ABOUT YOUR SOUL.”

IN a small village in one of the Welsh counties, there lived an old Independent minister who was peculiarly blessed in being settled amongst a people who worked well with him, and did all in their power to lessen his labours. They were a prayerful people, and thought no work too arduous, and no sacrifice too great, which would bring honour and glory to the Saviour’s name. Whilst in this state of peaceful prosperity, the attention of this little flock was aroused by hearing of a new tenant, who had come to reside at a farm, two or three miles from the little village. In due time he was visited, but much to the astonishment and deep sorrow of the people, they found him to be very sceptical in his notions; nay, worse, he was all but an infidel. Great was their distress when they discovered this; they did all in their power to try and make him see the truth. Tracts, bibles, and many other books were sent; letters, and invitations to attend the chapel, but all of no use, he took no notice, and at last they almost gave way to despair, for nothing seemed to move him.

One night, after a public meeting in the little village chapel, Mr. S—, one of the members, went into the vestry to the minister and said, “Sir, what must we do for Mr. R— to make him see his danger?

“Nothing more,” replied the minister, “can be done; we have done all we can do, and now we must leave it in the hands of our Heavenly Father.” Mr. S— then went home, but felt that he had not done _all_ he could, and would therefore try again. He retired to his own room, and paced up and down the whole night in great agony of mind. No prayer would escape his lips, but with his hands convulsively clasped and his head raised to heaven, he inwardly wrestled with God in prayer for the conversion of his erring brother. The following morning he saddled his horse and rode off to see Mr. R—, who was busy at work in his fields. He dismounted, and after the usual salutations, stood for a moment gazing at him without speaking. He knew not how to say that which he had on his mind—he felt quite unnerved, the tears came into his eyes and rolled one after the other down his cheeks, but no words would come; at last with a desperate effort he exclaimed—“Sir, I’m greatly concerned about _your soul_.” Then as if he were ashamed of shewing his emotion he hastily mounted his horse and rode off without another word. Mr. R— stood motionless after seeing this outburst of feeling, repeating, “Greatly concerned about _my soul_, greatly concerned about _my_ soul, then surely it is time I began to be concerned myself.” He went on with his work, and tried to forget what he had heard, but the words still kept ringing in his ears, “I’m greatly concerned about your soul.” He went home and occupied himself with books, and did all in his power to drive off what he considered disagreeable thoughts; but on they came, faster and faster, allowing him no peace. All that day and night, that important sentence was uppermost in his mind, and he lay tossing on his bed exclaiming—“Oh! _why_ am _I_ not concerned about my own soul?” As soon as morning dawned, he rose, and having breakfasted, went to the little village and called upon the minister. He related what had passed, and then said, “Oh sir, why am _I not_ concerned about my soul, and yet others are for me?”

_Minister_. “Because you have never prayed to be made so.”

_Mr. R—_. “But will He whom _you_ call God, answer the prayers of one who has never acknowledged Him all his life?”

_Minister_. “Yes, if you ask in _faith_, and for the sake of _His_ Son Jesus Christ. ‘Seek, and ye _shall_ find, knock, and it _shall_ be opened unto _you_.’”

Mr. R— then left, but returned again in a few days saying that he had prayed earnestly to God to awaken him to a sense of his danger, and he was now anxious to devote himself to his Saviour.

_Minister_. “Do you believe in Christ?”

_Mr. R—_. “With all my heart.”

_Minister_. “Are you willing to give up _all_ to Him if He should require it?”

_Mr. R—_. “Yes, _all_.”

_Minister_. “How can you account for this great difference in your feelings in so abort a time?”

Continue Reading →

The tract opens with a Welsh village whose Independent minister and congregation enjoy a period of 'peaceful prosperity.' Their harmony is disrupted by a new tenant, a sceptical farmer who resists all overtures—tracts, Bibles, invitations. The community's distress escalates until one member, Mr. S—, after a sleepless night of wordless wrestling, rides to the farmer and, weeping, utters the title phrase. The farmer, stunned, repeats the words to himself: 'then surely it is time I began to be concerned myself.' This initial scene establishes the tract's central mechanism: a single, emotionally charged statement as a catalyst for spiritual awakening.

A Community's Persistent Effort

The opening pages depict a collective campaign. The congregation sends 'tracts, bibles, and many other books' and issues 'letters, and invitations to attend the chapel.' The minister, after exhausting human means, declares 'we have done all we can do, and now we must leave it in the hands of our Heavenly Father.' Yet Mr. S— cannot accept this. His all-night vigil is described without spoken prayer—only 'his hands convulsively clasped and his head raised to heaven' as he 'inwardly wrestled with God.' This physical detail underscores the intensity of intercessory prayer as a form of labour. The tract thus frames conversion not as a solitary event but as the culmination of communal persistence, where one member's refusal to give up becomes decisive.

The Farmer's Internal Conflict

After the encounter, the farmer, Mr. R—, attempts to dismiss the words: 'He went on with his work, and tried to forget what he had heard.' He occupies himself with books, seeking to 'drive off what he considered disagreeable thoughts.' Yet the phrase 'kept ringing in his ears.' The excerpt provided does not reveal the full arc of his struggle, but the pattern is clear: external resistance gives way to internal repetition. The tract likely traces his progression from annoyance to conviction, using the persistent echo of the neighbour's concern as a psychological lever. Readers observe how a single sentence, delivered with visible emotion, can penetrate a hardened exterior and initiate self-examination.

Structure as Persuasion

The narrative proceeds through a series of contrasts: the community's unity versus the farmer's isolation; the minister's resignation versus Mr. S—'s relentless action; the farmer's initial indifference versus his eventual repetition of the key phrase. The tract's brevity—under 4,300 words—means each scene must carry weight. The author, identified only as M. A. C., uses direct speech sparingly but to great effect. The title phrase itself becomes a refrain, repeated by the farmer as he processes the encounter. This structural repetition mirrors the psychological process of conviction, where an external word becomes an internal preoccupation. The tract thus models how a short, emotionally charged narrative can function as a tool of evangelism.

Evidence from the Excerpts

The available text covers only the opening incident. Key details include: the setting in 'a small village in one of the Welsh counties'; the minister described as 'old Independent'; the congregation as 'a prayerful people' who 'thought no work too arduous.' The farmer is labelled 'sceptical' and 'all but an infidel.' Mr. S—'s approach is notably nonverbal—he stands 'gazing at him without speaking,' tears rolling down his cheeks, before the desperate exclamation. The farmer's response is to repeat the phrase 'greatly concerned about my soul' three times. These specifics ground the tract in a particular cultural and theological milieu: Welsh Nonconformity, with its emphasis on personal conversion and earnest prayer. Readers should note that the full text may develop these themes further, but the excerpts establish a clear dramatic premise.

This tract rewards attention to its economy of means. Every element—the sleepless night, the wordless prayer, the repeated phrase—serves the single aim of depicting a soul's turning. Readers may wish to track how the author sustains tension across the remaining pages, and whether the farmer's conversion is portrayed as instantaneous or gradual. The work stands as a compact example of Victorian evangelical literature, where narrative and doctrine intertwine.

The rain that Tuesday kept me indoors with that old Welsh tract, its farmer’s stubborn resistance slowly giving way. I found myself thinking about how persuasion works—through patient presence, not argument. That thought lingered, and I reached for something else on the shelf, strangely fitting: The Church Handy Dictionary — Inside the Classic. Reading it felt less like study, more like overhearing a quiet conversation between centuries.