AWAY in one of the most beautiful islands of the West Indies nestles a small town not far from a well-known volcano. In that town lived John—. He was a shrewd man of business. Commencing in a very small way, he had gradually risen, till at length he possessed one of the best shops in the neighborhood.
By his straightforward dealings he had won the confidence of the merchants, and his credit was good.
Having married, he settled down to enjoy the well-earned fruits of his industry. Plans and schemes for the future were filling his mind. He was saying to himself, “What shall I do?” With much goods laid up for many years, his barns were all too small.
But in these plans God had no place. And now God was about to speak to him. For some time there had been but little rain. Parched and thirsty, the very ground seemed to cry out for rain, and at last it came. In tropical abundance the heavens seemed to pour out their treasured store.
Quickly the little stream flowing by his house became an angry torrent. Higher and higher the waters rose, till at length overflowing its banks, ii burst in uncontrollable fury upon John’s homestead.
How shall I describe the terror of that moment! In the dark hours of the night, amidst torrential floods, the sleepers were awakened.
Where should they flee for safety? To whom should they appeal for help? How near had dead come, and yet they were saved. But as the morning broke, the light shone down upon a ruined man.
Stunned by the calamity for a moment, he was unable to do anything, but as time passed on his energy recovered. Again he made another start. Moving to a fresh spot, he opened in business, and after a few years, he was once more in comfortable circumstances.
Yet, strange to say, indifference and carelessness still marked him; in fact, he was now pursuing at openly wicked course. In the midst of it, God again spoke to him.
Some miles away on the slopes of the mountains are situated the Botanical Gardens. The curator is busy in his office. Suddenly he springs to his feet. Astonishment is depicted on his face. Look, his eyes are fixed upon a small tube of quicksilver. What does it mean? The barometer was falling in an altogether unprecedented way. He carefully examines the instrument. Yes, it is in good condition. Anxiously he watches it. Slowly it falls lower and lower. What should he do? One thing at least suggests itself; and quickly round that island, from town-to town and village to village, flashes the warning message: “Atmospherical disturbance threatening, beware!”
That night the hurricane in all its unspeakable fury burst upon them. Death and destruction were the finger-posts that marked out its trail. Sweeping across the island, it left a broad track of broken homes and broken hearts behind.
Amidst the darkness of those midnight hours, amidst the deafening scream of wind, amidst the deluge of rain, the home of John ―was struck; and as the cyclone passed on in its path of might, it left a ruined family behind.
Within that man’s heart another storm was raging. Impotent in the presence of omnipotent power, his hand had been forced to relinquish what it had grasped so tightly.
Like a wrecked and stranded vessel, the morning found him. Would he humble himself before God, or would he still brave His displeasure.
A few more years passed, and I stood beside him.
“Come with me,” he said, “and I will show you something.” Entering his house, he handed me a large smooth stone; then turning to me, said, “Do you see this,” and pointed to his forehead, upon which was a long dark scar.
What did it mean? What was the connection between the stone I held and the scar upon his face?
The volcano had been in eruption, and from it fire and destruction had been belched. Amidst the rocks and debris thrown up was this stone. White with heat, it had fallen at his feet, grazing his face in its downward flight. Another inch, and he would have been crushed.
I seized the occasion to plead with him about his soul, but all in vain. The laws of nature were alone answerable for it all, and God was shut out. As I left him with a sorrowing heart, I said, “The brand of mercy has been put upon you; when we next meet, you may be bearing the brand of judgment.”
Reader, has this story of God’s patience no voice to you? How many warnings and pleadings have you neglected?
Remember, if you die in your sins a Christ neglecter, upon your brow shall be placed the indelible stamp of God’s wrath. Will you not turn to Him ere you put down this paper? Repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ will admit you into that happy throng of whom we read―
“His name shall be in their foreheads.”
E. L. M.