Not long ago I was asked to visit a poor dying man named C―, residing in the little watering-place of W―.
I started the same day, and was not long in finding the object of my search at a public-house in a rather low neighborhood.
Upon my inquiring after C―’s health, and expressing my wish to see him, his wife sent me upstairs, directing me to go into the first room I came to. Accordingly I entered a large comfortable-looking room, with three beds, on one of which lay a man of middle age. There was just light enough from a street lamp to discern his features, upon which the stamp of death was evident.
To my inquiries as to his health, C―answered that he had been ill several months and had no hope of recovery, intimating at the same time that he had brought it all upon himself, and was but reaping the bitter fruits of a dissolute life. I spoke of Christ Jesus having come into the world to save sinners; and taking up a large-print Testament that lay near him, could just see that the leaves were turned down, and several Gospel passages marked, no doubt by the Christians who had visited him.
Some of these I repeated, but he only responded with groans; then taking a bottle of liquor from under his pillow he drank, and seemed to gather up his remaining strength to utter the despairing cry, “Its no use: there’s no mercy for me!” Looking to the Lord for the right word, I again repeated slowly, “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” “The Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.”
With a look of anguish I can never forget, he said again, “It’s no use! you can’t tell, Ma’am, what a sinner I’ve been ― it’s impossible for you to imagine the sins I have been guilty of;” then, raising himself up in his bed, and pointing to the wall at its foot, “There it is, a long black list!” and with a shudder he sank back on his pillow. Seeing me about to speak he said again, “It’s no use ― every sin but murder ― you cannot know what a sinner I am.” I replied, “I do not want to know ― God knows, and you know, that is enough, and God says, ‘The blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, cleanseth us from ALL sin.’” Again he groaned out, “Oh, that long black list!” “Black and long as it is,” I replied, “it cannot go beyond ALL sin; and it is God Himself against whom you have sinned, who tells you that ‘the blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, cleanseth us from ALL sin.’”
Seeing he was exhausted, I knelt down and prayed for him, and turning to take leave of the dying man, he thanked me warmly, and asked me to come again.
I called the following day, and his wife said he was too far gone to see anybody else, as several had already seen him. I expressed my regret, as her husband had asked me to come, and I had promised. “Oh!” she said, “are you the lady who came yesterday evening as it was getting dark?” “Yes.” “Then you must go up; I was to be sure not to let you go without seeing him.” I went upstairs. There he lay, dozing heavily, and looking as though he would never wake again.
I waited about a quarter of an hour, asking the Lord that He would arouse the poor dying one, if He had any word for him by me. By and by he opened his eyes and asked, “Who is it?” I replied, “I came to see you last night, and I spoke to you of the precious blood that cleanseth from all sin.” In a moment he seized my hand in both his, exclaiming, with an energy that startled me, “God bless you! God bless you!”
“What is it?” I said; “have you believed God’s message of love?”
“Oh yes!”
“Has the precious blood of Jesus Christ cleansed you?”
“Yes! bless God that ever you came here-while you prayed it was.”
“Is the black list blotted out?”
“Yes!”
“And you know that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin?”
“Oh yes! Bless God!”
“Well,” I said, “we will bless God together, for it is His work, is it not?”
“Yes; bless God!” he fervently responded.
I felt so overwhelmed with this display of God’s wondrous grace in saving at the eleventh hour this poor sinner, and making me, unworthy one, the messenger of His grace, that it was difficult to find words; but the Lord heard and understood the thanksgivings and praise, and there was “joy in heaven”―”joy in the presence of the angels of God,” over one more returning prodigal―one more lost one found―one more dead one made alive again. Rising from my knees, we spoke a little more of God’s wonderful love in providing such a remedy for man’s desperate case, and the grace of the blessed Lord Jesus in dying to save sinners; and when I gave him my hand to say good-bye, he again took it in both his, fervently thanked God, and invoked His blessing upon me; adding a request to come again, to which I replied, “If the Lord will.” “Oh! don’t say ‘if’ ― promise you’ll come again.” I said, “I will come if the Lord give me strength. He has saved you, and you can leave all to Him now, can’t you?” “Yes, bless God! God bless you; good-bye!”
The following morning, I was too ill to rise from my bed, and my husband went instead, at ten o’clock, and found that this happy, saved soul had departed five hours before to be with the Lord, whose matchless grace had snatched him as “a brand out of the fire.”
I do not know that I can add anything except to entreat you, dear reader, if still unreconciled to God, not to go on in the hope that at the last you may find mercy, and, therefore, need not now concern yourself. The wife of poor C―, I dare say, thought the same. She appeared strong and well; and though civil in her manner, and quite willing I should speak to her dying husband, turned away when I addressed myself to her, as though she needed no word of warning.
About a week after the funeral, feeling anxious about her soul, I called at the house, and found the place all in disorder, the fire gone out in the grate, and poor Mrs. C―sitting before it, with disheveled hair; and judge, dear reader, how I was shocked to find, that she had lost her reason, and could understand nothing of “God’s glad tidings.”
The children were running in the street; the eldest boy, an intelligent-looking lad of about thirteen, came in, and, upon my inquiring, told me he did not know what was the matter with his mother: she would do nothing, and would eat nothing; but his uncle was coming to-morrow to see to her. He, too, was unwilling to listen to the message of salvation, and abruptly left the house.
The next time I went the place was shut up, and all I could learn from a neighbor was, that some friends had taken the poor woman and her family away.
Dear reader! I beseech you not to lay down this paper without considering where you are. Are you saved? Are you cleansed from your sins by the precious blood of Christ? Do not put off the question of your soul’s salvation till a “more convenient season.” ‘Tis the enemy of your soul that says, “Not now! ― To-morrow! ― When you lie on a sickbed.” But you may never lie on a sick-bed. To-morrow’s sun may rise upon you a lifeless corpse! How many as young, as healthy as you, have been suddenly cut off!
“Be not deceived; God is not mocked!”
“Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation!”
P.