THEY were two brothers, respectably connected, sons of a bank manager in the south of England. Outward circumstances were used, not as God’s mercies, but abused, and made only a means of gratifying their desires. Pleasure was their goddess, and in pursuit of her they were wrecked. Habits, once as airy as gossamer threads, had, insensibly to them, grown into heavy chains. Throwing aside all the outward restraints of polite society, they soon became confirmed drunkards. All the pleadings of friends, the shame of being branded with a drunkard’s name, did not deter them. Drink had destroyed their true manliness. Their power of will paralyzed, their sole object was to satisfy the horrible craving that was now their master. The sin which once had been a servant of their pleasure, as they thought, had at last grown into the devil’s very taskmaster, grinding his besotted slave’s body and soul into perdition.
The elder brother was laid on a bed of sickness. Brought face to face with death, it sobered him. He made many promises that if God would restore him to health, he would reform his ways. He needed not reformation, but transformation. He needed not a patching up, but to become a new creature in Christ Jesus.
His condition was very much like the people of Charleston, U.S.A., a year or two ago, when the earthquake half destroyed their town. As the ground shook, and the awful majesty of the Creator was felt, amid the falling ruins and the rumbling and the crashing, many were the scoffers and libertines found on their knees in prayer. “Conscience makes cowards of us all.” Shakespeare spoke truly, and his dictum applies to the proud infidel as well as to the poor widow. But no sooner was the visitation withdrawn than fear left them, and they ran riot in the old channels of lust and pleasure. “There is no fear of God before their eyes” (Rom. 3:18).
So with this young man. Restored to health, he used his newly gained strength in the old ways. “The dog is turned to his own vomit again, and the sow that was washed to her wallowing in the mire” (2 Peter 2:22). So say the Scriptures, and how true in his case, like thousands of others.
A second time he knew the weariness of a sick bed. The body, worn out by its sins, is laid down to die. Nature could not stand such a strain, and eternity and the young man were brought face to face. His fear was appalling.
A nurse ministered to the poor sufferer.
“Ann,” he said, “pray for me, pray.”
“I cannot, sir,” she replied.
“But you must,” was the almost fierce rejoinder.
The attendant, seeing his soul-anguish, and thinking to quiet him, said, “Repeat after me the Lord’s Prayer.”
“Our Father which art in heaven.”
Feebly the dying man repeated the beautiful words―words foreign to the drunkard’s lips, little known or understood by him.
“Hallowed be thy name.”
Again an almost whispered response. The eyes were fast glazing in death, ―the death-sweat breaking out upon the drunkard’s brow.
A sentence or two more were repeated by the nurse, and feebly followed by the dying man, but only one or two more.
He faltered in his response. The nurse became alarmed. His speech failed him. Eagerly she scrutinized the features. They were fixed in death. He was gone. The soul had winged its unwilling flight into eternity.
“Where will he spend it?” is the almost heart-sickening inquiry. We cannot tell. His repentance the second time may have been worth no more than the first time, ―the unwilling repentance of one who has neither strength nor time to pursue his evil course any longer.
The young men had been blessed with a God-fearing aunt. When the news of the elder nephew’s death reached her, she lost no time in seeing her remaining nephew.
“Alfred,” said she, “let your brother’s end be a voice of warning to you.”
She told him of a Saviour and a Saviour’s love. The same old Book which told that no drunkard should inherit the kingdom of God, also told of a Saviour who had come from peerless heights of glory “to seek and to save that which was lost” (Luke 19:10). Surely he was lost. “The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth (us) from all sin” (1 John 1:7). Surely he needed cleansing.
Shocked no doubt by his brother’s end, uttering, it might be, an impotent cry of distress, as he felt himself the hopeless slave of a cruel master, he heeded not his aunt’s loving warning, but swept on in his reckless journey to hell.
“It’s no good now, aunt,” were the words which escaped his lips, sounding more like a death-knell than aught else.
The green grass was soon to wave over another sinner’s grave. The poor body was soon to sleep the long slumber of death, till the voice of the Son of Man should be heard ringing into the grave, thrilling the earthly clay with fresh life, and bringing it forth reunited to the soul before His judgment seat―the great white throne―to answer for the deeds done in the body (John 5:28, 29).
But, oh! dear reader, the stern Judge of that dread day is now a loving Saviour, seeking to win thy confidence in tones of melting tenderness. Constraining love led Him to the cross with its untold sufferings, and now, in the brightest glory, with redemption and resurrection glories adorning the once thorn-clad brow, He sends thee this message of mercy through the gospel, which “is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth” (Rom. 1:16).
Alfred’s course was not long continued. One day as he was entering his house, the end of these things came. He was seen to drop down to the ground. The power of speech gone, he lingered but a few hours and then passed into eternity, with its solemn issues.
“There is no man that hath power over the spirit to retain the spirit; neither hath he power in the day of death; and there is no discharge in that war; neither shall wickedness deliver those that are given to it” (Eccl. 8:8). So wrote the wisest man that ever lived.
Not a, single word passed his dying lips to express his last thoughts. His death was like a blank. Gone into eternity. But HOW?
My dear reader, you may not be the outward slave to sin these two young men were, but let me ask you a pointed question, ― “Are you saved?” “Without shedding of blood is no remission” (Heb. 9:22).
You have a little world of your own, greater or smaller as the case may be. Is Christ in it? Are your companions and friends followers of the crucified Jesus? Is Christ in the books you read? The center of your world and the regulator of it is your heart. Is Christ filling the citadel―the heart? If not, you are guilty of crucifying the Lord of glory―taking sides with a world guilty of His blood.
Time is flying fast. Eternity is drawing nigh.
Take heed to this voice of warning then. List to the loving call of the Saviour of sinners: “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28). Hear the gracious invitation of a pardoning God: “Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool” (Isa. 1:18).
If in mad folly you put aside this message of warning and invitation, let me ask you, in the solemn silence of the midnight hour, to ask yourself these two questions: ―
1. “How shall we (I) escape if we (I) neglect so great salvation?” (Heb. 2:3.)
2. “What shall it profit a man (me) if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?” (Mark 8:37,38.)
But if, through the grace of God, you are led to ask, “What must I do to be saved?” we make answer according to the unchanging and unchangeable Word of God, “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved” (Acts 16:31).
A. J. P.
FAITH is the soul’s upward, not its inward, or its outward look. If you want to be miserable, look in. If you want to be distracted, look out. If you want to be happy, look up, and see Jesus only.
W. T. P. W.