SOME while ago, the newspapers contained the notice of the suicide of a young man. The world promised him much. There was nothing known against him amongst his friends. The cause of his end was a mystery.
Amongst his papers were found the following lines: ―
“To sleep the sleep―the sleep of death!
No more to live in this world of care,
And grudge it not my parting breath, ―
For without gold is little comfort here.”
“No future life do I hope to have,
Nor wish for fabled paradise;
But eternal sleep, from all care free,
By an easy death is paradise for me.”
Many breathe the hopeless desire― “No future life do I hope to have!” and would gladly welcome the assurance from beyond the grave that there is nothing, and that when they die they will be nothing. How smoothly, then, would the way of pleasure and of sin run “Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die.”
Whether the disbelief in a future for the man who is without God, without Christ, and without hope in the world is growing, it is hard to say, but, unquestionably, the doctrine is increasing. We divide between the belief and the doctrine, since, let men say what they will, there is within the human breast a voice which, in spite of all reasonings, declares there is a future for me!
“I was about to put an end to myself,” said a dejected woman to an evangelist, the other day.
“That is more than you could do, poor sinner; you were about to begin life in a new state of existence, that is all,” was the reply.
Escape from the coils of the enemy of souls, poor sinner; seek salvation, for you need it. Yes! need it you do, for, if you die as you are, your eternity of endless misery will begin.