With almost every one there is a measure of thoughtful, solemn feeling connected with the passing away of the old year, and the coming in of the new. It is a moment when we are disposed to look back, and take in at a glance, the whole twelve months. Scenes are recalled, both of joy and sorrow—of warning and encouragement. Many things crowd into the mind and plead for utterance. One we will relate, though not uncommon, as a warning voice to privileged, but careless, young men.
A young man, who had been often warned of his sin and danger by a kind friend, was taken ill. His friend, knowing that his constitution had been much impaired by late hours—“night work”—feared the worst. He at once communicated the painful circumstances of his case to a christian friend who lived near to where the young man was lying ill. This friend went at once to see him. He found him in great bodily suffering. He had caught cold; inflammation had set in; his throat and chest very bad; his breathing oppressed; his voice feeble; and altogether very ill: indeed, a complete wreck, though with the features of a once fine young man. Treatment could do little for him. But, what was worst of all, his mind wandered.
When conscious, he would own, so far, the wrongness of his past life. When pressed as to the awful nature of sin, and the fearfulness of eternal judgment, he seemed to give a shudder, and fixed his eyes on the one that stood at his bedside; but when a hopeful answer was anxiously looked for, his reply was the feeble wanderings of a mind evidently unhinged. This was terrible to witness. The body gone, the mind gone—for the moment—all seemed utterly gone. Imagine the agony of the mind that stood by that pitiful bedside, and saw, by faith, the future as clearly as the present; but painfully realizing its utter helplessness. To see an immortal soul quivering on the brink of eternity, and to feel one’s utter feebleness to help that soul, is agony indeed, and a peculiar kind of agony.
A moment’s consciousness returns. The tender, compassionate love of Jesus, the power of His blood, His willingness to save, were plainly set before him. A few broken sentences were uttered—he hoped he would find mercy—he remembered the advice of the good young man, as he called him—but again he is incoherent. His voice, his words, and a kind look to his mother, who stood at the end of his bed, stirred up the deep feelings of a mother’s heart, who was crying wildly that he might he saved, and that she might meet her dear son in heaven.
Prayer now seemed the only resource. After prayer—during which he seemed sensible of what was going on—a few tracts were left, so that if the mind became calmer, he might read of the cleansing power of the blood of Jesus.
He lived about a week, but repeated visits found him worse and worse, both as to body and mind. His mother thought he had managed to read one of the tracts. The last visit was a melancholy one. He was death stricken. His voice was nearly gone, he could only speak in a low whisper. But he was anxious, and struggling, to flee from that bed of death. “Bring my clothes, mother,” he said; which she did, and spread his coat on the bed cover. He wanted his socks drawn on, which she did to soothe him. And then it was, “Send for a cab to take me away from this.” It was heartrending. One who stood at the foot of his bed, by way of kindness, said, “You be quiet a little,—I will fetch a cab and take you for a drive.” A drive! thought the visitor, a fearful drive it must soon be, if mercy prevent not. Why deceive a soul, even to soothe it, in such circumstances? Speak plainly. Trust God: He only can clog the wheels of the chariot in its downward course, and gave the soul, even on the deep descent to woe unutterable. There is nothing too hard for the Lord. We have known a soul converted after the feet were dead cold; and the thief on the cross was saved in the agonies of death.
As all hope of being in any way useful to the poor dying young man was now gone, the visitor prayed and left. He struggled on much the same way for twenty-four hours, and then—and then—the righteous tribunal of God—thither we dare not venture. God is merciful and gracious; adored be His name!
What a solemn lesson for those who are faithfully warned but remain careless about their souls! O! that they might listen to its warning voice. Never did it enter that young man’s mind, that when his last illness came, he would be so totally unable to think about divine things. How dangerous to delay till such a moment. He was more or less delirious the whole time of his illness. He was incapable of doing anything for himself, and every one else was incapable, excepting God only.
Why, Ο why, young man, young woman, shouldst thou hazard thy eternal happiness for the veriest trifles—the merest vanities of a fleeting hour? Is it not folly and madness the most inexcusable—the most unaccountable! Hear, Ο hear the voice of loving, tender, earnest warning now! And hear, too, the sweet voice of kindliest invitation—“COME!” It is a voice from the lips of Jesus, “Come unto me!” And mark His gracious promise, “Him that cometh unto me, I will in nowise cast out.” On no consideration—on no account, cast out. All who come are received. Why not then compel thyself to stand still in thy mad career—to turn round—thy face to Christ and heaven, thy back to the world?
And what so noble—what so blessed—what such pure faith as to come when He bids thee, in place of being dragged by the fear of death, and the dread of approaching judgment? Now lay down thy weapons of rebellion—throw off thy garb of careless indifference—give up entirely thy worldly ways—break with thy worldly associations: the wrench may seem great, but not so great, be assured, as to be wrenched at last from God, and Christ, and heaven, and from many thou lovest there, and be cast into the burning lake of hell. Oh! what a wrench; but a wrench that can never be healed. Friendless, forlorn, forsaken, desolate, and miserable, but with all thy faculties to brood over thy hopeless condition! this must be the terrible end of a Christless soul; but it is to save thee from this end that we thus plead with thee. Oh! that we could speak to thee in words that burn, that thy heart might be moved to immediate repentance and true faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.
Count not on the opportunities of a deathbed. Be warned by the solemn example before thee. Some have thought that most men die as they live. Be this as it may, it is certainly a fearful provoking of God, to sin against light and knowledge—against daily warnings—against the living example of godly people in the same house. Thus to slight Christ, salvation, the word of God, thy precious soul, the joys of heaven, the torments of hell, the tears and prayers of thy father and mother, is surely a character of guilt of the deepest dye. And all this may be done with a show of amiability and good conduct; but with an icy, sullen indifference towards the blessed Jesus, that could only be endured by the longsuffering of God Himself.
Bow, then, my beloved young friend—Ο bow now at the feet of Jesus; bathe them with thy tears, anoint them with thy most fragrant ointment. Let thy love and gratitude flow out to Him. Have unwavering confidence in His love, and in the power of His blood. And, oh! wonderful to say—glory to His name—the past will be forgiven and forgotten as if it had never been—thy sins all forgiven—thy soul saved—thy peace made with God—thy home and rest, with all the ransomed of the Lord, in thy Father’s house—thy happy portion, Christ Himself, with all His love and glory.
Happy, on! happy the people that are in such a state as this. Happy with the declining old year, and happy with the dawn of the new year, and happy when years shall be numbered amongst the things that were.