It happened years ago at Bridlington Quay, one of the bright, favorite spots on the seacoast. It was just the time of the equinoctial gales. About midday the sky became dark and cloudy, and a fierce storm sprang up from the southeast, bringing in with it a heavy sea, and close, drifting rain. Few they were who ventured to brave the weather in order to watch the foaming sea and the huge, mountainous waves that ever anon dashed in wild fury right over the pier, and poured like a waterfall into the inner harbor.
Among the number was a young nurse, who was on her way to the pest with some letters. The tumult of the angry sea attracted her, and passing through the gardens she made her way: to the steps leading to the pier, for from here the best view of the bay was to be had. There she stood, eagerly gazing on the sight, as billow after billow strove to be the first to reach the shore. Little dreamed she of impending peril—little heeded the death knell which each deafening roar of the surging sea brought ever nearer. Scarcely a minute had she been watching there when a monster wave, suddenly rising to a tremendous height, dashed up the pier steps, curled all around, and swept her down—down into the awful turmoil below!
Is no man at hand to help? Yes! Look! Up leaps a hardy fisherman—no danger too great for him when there is a life to save. Many a one had in days gone by thanked God for those strong arms and that dauntless courage. See! he snatches up a life buoy nearby and fastening a rope around his waist plunges in to struggle with the seething surf. At length he reaches her. Seizing her head he tries to keep it above the water. Bleeding and bruised, she looks up piteously at him, and cries in agony, “Oh, fisherman, save me!”
Briefly the brave sailor answers, “I will if I can,” and strives more mightily than before to gain the welcome shore. Ere this, another (a professional swimmer) has jumped in to the rescue, and is lending his help in the terrible battle. Hurray? the steps are almost reached. A few moments more, and rescued, safe! But—that instant, the life buoy breaks. Both the girl and the gallant fisherman are again at the mercy of the furious wave. Soon he is drawn back, weary and exhausted with the fruitless struggle; soon, too, the sea yields up its prey—now a lifeless form.
Would you like to know why the life-buoy gave way? Not long after, it was discovered that it had been filled with small bits of cork, in place of the firm folds, one upon another, of which it should have been made—a wretched makeshift, which, coupled with long exposure to the weather, caused such a complete collapse at the critical moment.
Friend, what is your life buoy? When the wave of eternity washes you away —and God alone knows how soon that may be—to what are you trusting to bring you in safety to the far-off heavenly shore? There is only one life buoy which can carry you safely: that is the complete, perfect work of Christ, who died for your sins upon the cross. Oh, do not trust any other; do not rest on anything you have ever done, or will ever do. All the good things you can ever do will only be like the hits of cork, and all put together will only break into pieces at the last moment. Cling to Christ, and He will bring you home safe. Nothing else ever can or will.
“Underneath are the everlasting arms.” Are you afraid of their not being able to carry you? Then why not trust them at once? You don’t know when the wave may come, and if you have not the hip buoy on, it will be too late to begin thinking of it then.
ML-10/16/1960