Some years ago, if a stranger had passed through the pleasant village of G―, he could scarcely have failed to notice a house, standing in its own beautiful grounds, surrounded by clumps of evergreens, while the flower beds upon the lawn were bright with lovely flowers, and he might have thought the owner of such a home one to be envied. Ah! how little we know the real state of those whom we pass heedlessly by in this journey of life!
Come with me to one of the rooms of this beautiful house. Stand at the door a minute and listen. Hark! what are those agonized words repeated over and over again?
“I am dying, I am dying, and I am fearful to die.”
Is there no ray of hope to lighten that fearful gloom? No, not one! Long hours has the owner of the house lain there, tossing restlessly on his pillow, repeating those terrible words, and none can comfort him.
A strong, fearless man he has been, with the indomitable energy of the North from whence he came, tinging all his life of over seventy years, during more than thirty of which he has been a most regular attendant at church. Strictly honorable in all his dealings, priding himself upon a blameless character, and keeping, as he fancied, the ten commandments as his rule of life.
Well, does not all this avail him now Cannot he find comfort in the hour of need from this same blameless life of so many long years? Let his own words answer: ― “I am dying”―it was true; none dared contradict him– “I must meet a holy, hol3 God, and I am fearful to die.”
It was even so; all those years of self-righteousness were seen to be valueless now that the light of eternity was poured upon them; all those fortresses of good doing: were broken down by one stroke from the hand of the One who doeth wonders, and he saw himself at last as a lost sinner.
For days his distress of soul had been so great that his attendants knew not what to do; at last it was suggested that they should send for a christian neighbor. He came at once, and was soon seated by the side of the poor sufferer, whose haggard face, surrounded by masses of iron gray hair, showed the anguish of his soul. His eyes gleamed with almost wild intensity as he turned them upon his visitor, and said―
“What must I do? I am dying, and I am fearful to die.”
“You can do nothing,” was the reply; “but Christ has done for you all that you need, all that God requires from you. He died upon the cross as the One who was able and willing to bear the punishment of your sins. He is alive in the glory now; He will receive and pardon you now.”
“But that is not all―it cannot be all; have I nothing to do? God is the holy, holy, holy One; oh, I cannot meet Him so!” This was the poor man’s cry.
For nearly two hours the visitor stayed, and then left, having placed a large text with the words, “By Him all that believe are justified from all things,” where the eyes of the sick man might rest upon it. Hastening home in deep anxiety, he wrote at once to a friend, who had been greatly used of the Lord in bringing peace to souls, asking him to visit Mr. W. He did so, and the result will best be learned by again taking our stand at the door of the sick room. As the first visitor once more enters he is welcomed with the words―
“I am glad to see you,” and the former agonized tones are changed for those of happy assurance as the sufferer continues, “I am not afraid to die now I see that Christ died for me, and has made me fit to meet God. No, I am not afraid now,” and truly the change in his face told of the change within. “To think,” he said, “that I have been a religious man for thirty years, and yet never knew before God’s way of salvation!”
Reader, are you at peace as you remember that you also have to meet a holy God? L. T.