“THAT do I believe? that is my own affair; every man has a right to his own opinion.” Stay, stay! man has no right to have opinions of his own about his salvation, since “God commandeth all men everywhere to repent and believe the gospel.” And though man may play the unbeliever here, such hardihood will in the end bring terror and endless misery.
An infidel, who claimed the right of believing what he considered reasonable—that is, who believed what he wished and nothing more—lay moaning upon his deathbed: “I am going—I am going I don’t know where.” Another dying in the same condition, said, “I am taking a leap in the dark;” whilst others, bold deniers of the Scriptures, have perished in despair.
Some do not like to believe anything which may interfere with their ease and pleasure—they live without the fear of God, and die as careless and indifferent as they lived—they “have no bands in their death.” Of such we hear daily, “Died so comfortably; never gave a sigh—just slept away!” But, oh! the unutterable woe of the spirit, when having left the body it discovers the reality of eternity, and begins its endless lamentations. Alas! alas! with how many thousands has it been thus, who are NOW at this very moment in hopeless misery, while their infidel followers on earth scorn or neglect their precious opportunity?
How frequently when the godly fall asleep speaking of Christ, of glory, of happiness, the unbelieving watchers by the bed will whisper, “How his mind wanders; he is delirious! But you know he always had these fancies.” And thus they quiet their own guilty consciences, which declare to them, “You know neither the Christ, nor the glory, nor the happiness of this dying one.”
Let our readers ponder the true story we are about to relate, for God forbid that in such matters as these we should add one word of fancy to the narrative. A lady, who had often heard, with a jesting spirit, the gospel preached by some poor and simple men, was taken seriously ill, and upon her sick bed became greatly alarmed as to the state of her soul. She longed to be sure she was going to heaven, but knew not whom to seek to tell her of the way. Then she thought of the despised out-of-door preachers, and begged her husband to send for them. In his pride he said he would not have such men in his house, and though his unhappy wife pleaded with him that for love to her soul he would let someone come, who could tell her how she might be saved, he would not yield. He told her she could have the sacrament if she liked, but she knew too well in her inmost soul that no sacraments could take away her sins. At last her agony of soul increased so fearfully, and her cries, “What must I do?” were so terrible, that they became unbearable to her husband, and he bade the doctor stop “the delirium” by administering opiates! A vein was opened—the subtle fluid was injected, and the cries of soul-agony ceased; the moanings, “What must I do to be saved?” were stilled, and the sufferer fell into a deep sleep.
In the very act of death, just as she was dying, the hapless lady awaked and looking round, cried, with a fearful shudder, “Oh, dreadful! oh, horrible!” —and her soul was in eternity.
Do you believe that this was merely the fancy of a disordered brain? Do you think that these thoughts of sin, of judgment, of eternity were delirium?
Be warned, be warned! and while you have health and strength still granted to you use the opportunity to seek and to find pardon and peace through Christ’s blood.