Take two illustrations of what God is now doing by the gospel. One from the higher circles, and one from the lower—or, rather, from the lowest of the low.
1St. Alice was an only child, an heiress. Lovely and accomplished, she lived for this world, and this world offered her no ordinary attractions. Idolized by her parents, and beloved by an accepted suitor, she knew not the meaning of a wish ungratified.
But an unexpected visitor arrived at the mansion. A pale messenger came to Alice. A hectic flush suffused her beautiful face, rendering it, if possible, more lovely still. The eagle eye of affection soon perceived, that the seeds of consumption had been laid. The skilled physician pronounced the heartrending verdict that her days were numbered, and that the career of love and self-indulgence would soon close.
Alice sank by degrees, and as she lay on her couch, surrounded with all the luxuries that wealth could procure, began to think how sad it was to leave her loving friends and all her brilliant prospects, and to go—where? where?
She could not find an answer satisfactory to her soul.
So she sent for the High Church clergyman.
He came. The family were assembled. He produced a missal. They all knelt round the bed. He intoned the service for the sick. Having received her confession, and pronounced absolution, he, with peculiar genuflections, administered the sacrament, and placing his hands on her, blessed her, and pronounced her a good child of the Church. He departed, perfectly satisfied with his own performances, and assuring the parents that all was right.
Was Alice satisfied?
She had submitted to all. She had endeavored to join in the service, but in her inmost soul she felt a blank.
“Father,” said she, “ I am going to die. Where am I going?”
The father gave no reply.
“Mother, darling, can you tell me what I am to do to get to heaven?”
No reply save tears.
“William, you who were to be the guide of my life, can you tell me any tiling of the future?” No response.
“I’m lost! lost!” she exclaimed. “Am I not, father? Is there any one who can tell me what I must do to be saved?”
At length the father spoke, “My child, you have always been a dutiful daughter, and have never grieved your parents. You have regularly attended the Abbey Church, and helped in its services, and the minister has performed the rites of the Church, and expressed himself satisfied with your state.”
“Alas! father, I feel that is not enough. It is no rest to my soul. It is hollow—it is not real. Oh! I am going to die, and I know not where I am going. Oh, the blackness of the darkness! Can no one teach me what I can do to be saved?”
Blank despair was pictured on her countenance. Misery overshadowed the circle. They were overtaken by a real danger. Death was in their midst. Eternity was looming before them. They knew not how to answer the agonizing appeal of an immortal soul, awakened to a sense of sin—to a dread of appearing before God—to the terrors of hell.
Alice was attended by a little maid, who was in the habit of frequenting a meeting held in a barn in the village, where prayer and praise were offered up in simplicity, and where they sang the old hymns—
“There is a fountain filled with blood,
Drawn from Immanuel’s veins,
And sinners plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains:”
and
“I lay my sins on Jesus,
The spotless Lamb of God;
He bears them all, and frees us
From the accursed load:”
and where she heard words which reminded her of the good old pastor.
She longed to tell her mistress that she might “wash and be clean,” but felt diffident. At last she took courage, and just as the Israelitish captive said unto Naaman’s wife, “Would God my lord were with the prophet that is in Samaria, for he would recover him of his leprosy,” she told her mistress, “There is a preacher in the village who proclaims salvation through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, and urges us to accept the forgiveness freely offered in the gospel.”
“Oh, that I could see him,” exclaimed the dying girl.
Alice besought her father to invite the strange preacher to the house; and, though he thought it extraordinary, her wish was law.
Again the family were assembled, and the man of God entered the room. The dying girl, raising herself, appealed to him. “Can you tell me what I must do to obtain rest for my soul, and die at peace with God?”
“I fear I cannot.”
Alice fell back. “Alas!” said she, “and is it so? Is there no hope for me?”
“Stay,” said he, “though I cannot tell you what you can do to be saved, I can tell you what has been done for you.”
Jesus Christ, the Savior God, has completely finished a work by which lost and helpless sinners may be righteously saved. God, who is love, saw us in our lost and ruined state. He pitied us, and in love and compassion sent Jesus to die for us. “God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” He shed His precious blood on the accursed tree in the stead and place of sinners, that they might be pardoned and saved. “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.”
“And have I nothing to do?”
“Nothing, but to believe. No doing, working, praying, giving, or abstaining, can give relief to the conscience burdened with a sense of guilt, or rest to the troubled heart. It is not a work done in you by yourself but a work done for you by another, long, long ago. Jesus has completed the work of our redemption. He has said, ‘It is finished.’ Through faith in Him you have pardon. It is impossible for a sinner to do aught to save himself. It is impossible to add anything to the perfect work of Christ. Doing is not God’s way of salvation, but ceasing from doing, and believing what God in Christ has already done for you. ‘God hath given to us eternal life, and this life is in his Son.’”
“I do believe that Jesus died on the cross for sinners; but how am I to know that God has accepted me?”
“Jesus, the God-man, has ascended into heaven. He has presented His blood before God, and has been accepted for us; and when you believe, you are accepted in Him.”
The awakened sinner listened with breathless attention. She received the word of God, which revealed Christ to her soul. The glad tidings of salvation fell as balm upon her wounded spirit. Her face was lit up with heaven’s sunlight. Looking upwards, she exclaimed, “Oh, what love! what grace!
‘Jesus, thy blood and righteousness
My beauty are, my glorious dress.’”
and in a few days she departed to be with Christ. —Tract Depot, 9, Paternoster Bow.
C. B.
2nd. About this time the gospel tidings had spread over a large tract of country, and many were the subjects of divine blessing. In visiting the cottages from place to place I heard of a notorious reputed witch, whose evil power was stated to be fearful in the destruction of stock, and in turning all the dairies into utter confusion. The belief prevailed that the losses of persons who have the misfortune to offend these so-called witches, were very serious. A godly woman, near to whom I lived, had experienced some troubles of this kind, and the statements of various individuals, who bore witness to what they had seen of the disasters occurring for many days successively, led me to visit the old woman who bore this dreadful character. The people strongly dissuaded me from it, saying she had sold herself to the devil, and that it was not safe for anyone to go to her. Turning a deaf ear to all this, I called and found her ill in bed: surely, if looks betray character, she certainly had a very bad one. After some inquiries as to her health, and what she was suffering from, I asked her if she expected to get better. She replied, “No.” “Where will you go if you die?” I asked.
She stared at me fiercely, like a tiger about to spring from his lair. I gently put my hand on her shoulder, and she screamed out, “I’s going to hell! Is wicked! I’s going to hell! I’s wicked!” “But why do you wish to go to hell?” “I don’t want to go, but I’s forced to go.” “But who is it that forces you to go to hell?” “The devil,” she said; “ I have served him all my life.” “But did you never hear of God, and of His Son Jesus Christ, who came down from heaven to save us from going to hell?” “No.” “Did you never hear of God?” “No, I can’t read; I’s wicked.” “But do you not know what love is? Had you a child?” “Yes, I had eight.” “But don’t they love you?” “No, they robbed me.” “Did not your husband love you?” “No, he turned me to doors.” “And did you never love anyone?” “No, I’s wicked, I hate all—I everybody.” Finding all was of no avail, I asked her if she would like a few nice things to eat. “I can’t have it. No one will gee it to I.” “Oh yes, I will give it to you, this very night I will send it to you.” Her amazement was equal to her horror before. “Will ee sure?” “Yes; so you see somebody loves you. Now I want to tell you that someone else loves you, and He sent me to tell you about His love.” “Who is that?” “It is the great God, the King of the world. He lives up there above the sky. This great King made all things. He made you. This great King has one Son, whom he loves very much, because He deserves to be loved; yes, this great King loved you so much that He sent His Son all the way down from heaven to die for those who, like you, have been committing sins all their lives. And He has sent me with this letter to read to you, that you may not go to hell but to heaven. I then read to her some of John 3, and sought to instruct her mind, and tried to make her understand who the great King of the sky was, and how He would not turn away from her. “But will He hear a poor old thing like me?” “Yes,” I said, “ He will.”
“But what shall I say to un?” “Just tell Him what you are afraid of. Tell Him what you have told me, that you are wicked.”
She at once looked straight up to the ceiling as if she saw someone there, and said, with all the vehemence of despair, “Ο Lord, the King of the sky, have mercy on a wicked old ooman like I—I have been a wicked old ooman an all my life.” She kept saying this till she cried bitterly. I then taught her that beautiful passage—“The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin.” This she repeated after me until she had it in her memory. I then left her; and before I called again, she sent for me. Her first words were, “The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin.” I asked her who Jesus Christ was. She said, “ He is the Son of the King of the sky.” “Well, what has He done for you?” “O, He has died for me!” I need not say much more, only that she found out that God loved her, and this soon made her love everyone. I saw her many times subsequently, and each time found that the word had taken deeper root in her heart. She confessed to a life of the greatest wickedness, although she said she was not guilty of the crime for which she was forcibly driven from the parish in which I reside, about fourteen months before this time. The last words I heard from her were, “Oh, I be a wicked old ooman, but I’s not afraid: ‘ The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin.’“—Tract Depot, 9, Paternoster Bow.
G. B.
The silver trumpet’s sounding
The year of jubilee;
And grace is all abounding,
To set the bondmen free.
Return, return, ye captives,
Return unto your home,
The silver trumpet’s sounding—
‘The jubilee is come.’
Forsake your wretched service,
Your master’s claims are o’er,
Avail yourselves of freedom,
Be Satan’s slaves no more.
Return, &c.
A better Master’s calling,
In accents true and kind;
He asks a loving service,
And claims a willing mind.
Return, &c.
He offers you salvation,
And points to joys above:
And, longing, waits to make you
The objects of His love.
Return, &c.
In living faith accept Him,
Give up all else beside;
While grace is loudly calling,
Look to the Crucified.
Return, &c.