COLD and lifeless lay the corpse of one whom I had often spoken to. He was genial in disposition, and prosperous in business, but I fear he was a Christ rejecter. It was in a Canadian city. We were holding gospel meetings. And the one of whom I write came, listened, and seemed to be impressed. I had a long talk with him, and sought to show him the danger of turning away from the only Saviour for sinners, but as we parted, he said, “It is all true, no doubt, but I can’t take Christ now.” I left that city, and returned to it again after a short absence. As I stepped from the railway car to the platform at the station, a friend met me, saying, “You won’t have heard of poor B―; this morning at two o’clock he died.” The first words that started to my lips were, “Was he saved?” and sad indeed did the answer of my friend make me: “No, we could not say that; he died apparently without hope.”
That evening I stood beside the coffin, and gazed upon that face now still and dead, and sorrow surged through my heart. He might have been saved, but would not; he might have passed into realms of endless joy, but for aught we knew he had gone to woe, and darkness, and wailing. Almost had he decided for Christ― almost was he wrapped in the arms of the Saviour’s love; but we fear he had missed it, and that he had gone from earth’s business, pleasure, and friends to eternal damnation.
I turned from gazing on that face to speak a word of comfort to the sorrowing young wife, but could not—the words would not come, though the tears did. I had to get away from that house of death, with the lump in my throat, and the sorrow “without hope” for him who had gone.
Oh! to die is solemn, deeply solemn, but to die without Christ, without hope, this is truly horrible—to miss heaven, and to land in hell, to be almost pressed to the bosom of the Saviour’s love, and yet to be held in the grip of eternal darkness. This is woe, speechless, and eternally horrible. May this never be the portion of my reader.
Yet if still Christless, the danger is terrible. It may be that before Tomorrow’s light you may be cast from this world-rudely cast by death into the great Forever to which you are traveling. Oh! say, how wilt thou do then? Look forward, my reader, into eternity, see the hell to which time is carrying you, and flee to Christ, the only Saviour, while yet you may. Will He receive you? Yes, thank God. Yes! He calls to such as thee, and eternal melodies are in His voice― “Come,” He says, and “I will give you rest.”
Let not the world hold you. Let not your friends keep you away from this Saviour. Take Him now, and you shall find Him able to bring you clear away from your danger. You shall find His precious blood able to cleanse away your foulest sins. His love will fill your heart with joy, and upon your lips shall be placed the song of redemption. Believe now on Him once dead, but now alive for evermore.
J. T. M.