SEVERAL years ago I was passing through a village in Cheshire, and was distributing gospel leaflets by the way, when I noticed an old man engaged in mending the road. Accosting him, I inquired how matters stood about his soul. He gave me, with evident self-complacency, an account of his own goodness. He went regularly to his church, he was honest, he always paid his debts, did not tell lies, did not curse and swear, he was always ready to do a kind turn for a neighbor, and so forth!
Poor fellow, how blind he was! I endeavored to show him that all these things, while good and right in themselves, formed but a foundation of sand on which, to build for eternity!
I had to leave him, feeling sad enough at heart, but just a little farther on I encountered an old woman. She was bent with the weight of years, and toiling feebly along, supported partly by a stick and partly by the arm of a younger person. So I went up and said, “Well, friend, you seem very feeble, evidently you have traveled long and far upon the road of Life, but tell me, are you on your way to the bright home above?” Her eyes sparkled at the question. “Oh, yes!” she replied. “Well, but what reason have you to say so? How do you expect to reach there?” “Only through the PRECIOUS BLOOD OF JESUS!” Truly my heart leaped to hear the words, they sounded like the genuine “ring of the metal.” We had a little interesting talk, and I found she was indeed a dear old pilgrim, journeying Zionward. Oh, it was so refreshing to meet her, and just after the other one, too! This dear old saint has since then gone in to see the “King in his beauty.”
Now, a word to thee, my reader. That old man was brimful of himself. It was all the great big capital letter “I.” I do this and I do that, or else I don’t do this or that! Not a syllable, mind, about the Saviour! Turn we now to the dear woman; with her it was exactly the reverse. Not one word about herself. No, she spoke of “JESUS only!”
Suffer this plain, loving question, —On what foundation art thou resting? Is it Self, or is it Christ? Ah, beware, beware, I entreat thee!
Off the coast of Kent lie the Goodwin Sands. What are they? Most dangerous quicksands. Many a gallant vessel has been stranded and wrecked on those perilous shoals, her hull gradually sinking until at last it has disappeared entirely from view. Many a poor mariner has miserably perished there! But, oh, Satan has his more terrible quicksands, of self-righteousness, on which myriads of silly souls are resting, and sinking, alas, down, lower and lower, until they land in an eternal hell! Dear reader, art thou able to say, in the words of the sweet hymn―
“On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand
All other ground is sinking sand!”
J. V.