"Drink, little children, freely drink—
These waters are for you;
The springs of life are ever fresh—
The wells of mercy new."
Gen. 21:1-211And the Lord visited Sarah as he had said, and the Lord did unto Sarah as he had spoken. 2For Sarah conceived, and bare Abraham a son in his old age, at the set time of which God had spoken to him. 3And Abraham called the name of his son that was born unto him, whom Sarah bare to him, Isaac. 4And Abraham circumcised his son Isaac being eight days old, as God had commanded him. 5And Abraham was an hundred years old, when his son Isaac was born unto him. 6And Sarah said, God hath made me to laugh, so that all that hear will laugh with me. 7And she said, Who would have said unto Abraham, that Sarah should have given children suck? for I have born him a son in his old age. 8And the child grew, and was weaned: and Abraham made a great feast the same day that Isaac was weaned. 9And Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, which she had born unto Abraham, mocking. 10Wherefore she said unto Abraham, Cast out this bondwoman and her son: for the son of this bondwoman shall not be heir with my son, even with Isaac. 11And the thing was very grievous in Abraham's sight because of his son. 12And God said unto Abraham, Let it not be grievous in thy sight because of the lad, and because of thy bondwoman; in all that Sarah hath said unto thee, hearken unto her voice; for in Isaac shall thy seed be called. 13And also of the son of the bondwoman will I make a nation, because he is thy seed. 14And Abraham rose up early in the morning, and took bread, and a bottle of water, and gave it unto Hagar, putting it on her shoulder, and the child, and sent her away: and she departed, and wandered in the wilderness of Beer-sheba. 15And the water was spent in the bottle, and she cast the child under one of the shrubs. 16And she went, and sat her down over against him a good way off, as it were a bowshot: for she said, Let me not see the death of the child. And she sat over against him, and lift up her voice, and wept. 17And God heard the voice of the lad; and the angel of God called to Hagar out of heaven, and said unto her, What aileth thee, Hagar? fear not; for God hath heard the voice of the lad where he is. 18Arise, lift up the lad, and hold him in thine hand; for I will make him a great nation. 19And God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water; and she went, and filled the bottle with water, and gave the lad drink. 20And God was with the lad; and he grew, and dwelt in the wilderness, and became an archer. 21And he dwelt in the wilderness of Paran: and his mother took him a wife out of the land of Egypt. (Genesis 21:1‑21).
GEN 21:1-211And the Lord visited Sarah as he had said, and the Lord did unto Sarah as he had spoken. 2For Sarah conceived, and bare Abraham a son in his old age, at the set time of which God had spoken to him. 3And Abraham called the name of his son that was born unto him, whom Sarah bare to him, Isaac. 4And Abraham circumcised his son Isaac being eight days old, as God had commanded him. 5And Abraham was an hundred years old, when his son Isaac was born unto him. 6And Sarah said, God hath made me to laugh, so that all that hear will laugh with me. 7And she said, Who would have said unto Abraham, that Sarah should have given children suck? for I have born him a son in his old age. 8And the child grew, and was weaned: and Abraham made a great feast the same day that Isaac was weaned. 9And Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, which she had born unto Abraham, mocking. 10Wherefore she said unto Abraham, Cast out this bondwoman and her son: for the son of this bondwoman shall not be heir with my son, even with Isaac. 11And the thing was very grievous in Abraham's sight because of his son. 12And God said unto Abraham, Let it not be grievous in thy sight because of the lad, and because of thy bondwoman; in all that Sarah hath said unto thee, hearken unto her voice; for in Isaac shall thy seed be called. 13And also of the son of the bondwoman will I make a nation, because he is thy seed. 14And Abraham rose up early in the morning, and took bread, and a bottle of water, and gave it unto Hagar, putting it on her shoulder, and the child, and sent her away: and she departed, and wandered in the wilderness of Beer-sheba. 15And the water was spent in the bottle, and she cast the child under one of the shrubs. 16And she went, and sat her down over against him a good way off, as it were a bowshot: for she said, Let me not see the death of the child. And she sat over against him, and lift up her voice, and wept. 17And God heard the voice of the lad; and the angel of God called to Hagar out of heaven, and said unto her, What aileth thee, Hagar? fear not; for God hath heard the voice of the lad where he is. 18Arise, lift up the lad, and hold him in thine hand; for I will make him a great nation. 19And God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water; and she went, and filled the bottle with water, and gave the lad drink. 20And God was with the lad; and he grew, and dwelt in the wilderness, and became an archer. 21And he dwelt in the wilderness of Paran: and his mother took him a wife out of the land of Egypt. (Genesis 21:1‑21)THE story of Ishmael will carry us a great way off from the children of Bethel: we must make a, long journey backwards, not over miles, but over years: we must travel back a thousand years, for Ishmael lived about one thousand years before the children of Bethel.
It is our minds, not our bodies, that can make such journeys as these. What wonderful things are those minds which God has formed for Himself; they can go forward and think about the "pleasures for evermore " which are at God's right hand; those "things which God has prepared for them that love him;" but we ourselves cannot go forward in a moment with our minds, we must go on, step by step, and moment by moment, to the journey's end.
Neither can we go backwards: our minds may often go backwards, and sometimes memory may have a pleasant tale to tell of yesterday, or a few days, or weeks, or years ago; or sometimes it may be a sad tale, and we may wish that we could travel back like memory, and do differently, but it cannot be.
Ishmael must have wished this, for memory had, one day, a sad tale to tell him, as you will hear.
Ishmael was a favored child, for Abraham was his father; his home had been among those tents on the plains of Mamre, where the Lord Himself had appeared to Abraham; Ishmael had formed part of that household of which God Himself had taken note, saying, "I know him [Abraham] that he will command his children and his household after him, and they shall keep the way of the Lord."
Abraham's command of his household was no doubt lovingly exercised over Ishmael, for he loved Ishmael, and God had, in answer to Abraham's desire, promised great blessings to this son, though his mother, Hagar, was but an Egyptian bondwoman or slave.
Isaac, the child of promise, Sarah's firstborn and only son, was the heir, not only to Abraham's riches, which were great, but heir of the promises which God had made to this man of faith.
Great joy filled the hearts of Abraham and Sarah when Isaac was born; we may be sure, too, that most of those servants, over whom Abraham was so good a master, would share heartily in welcoming the little son. But the one who might have been expected to be most ready in rejoicing, for the sake of the father who had been so good to him, was full of other thoughts—selfish thoughts, unkind thoughts, perhaps jealous thoughts; and jealousy is a dreadful and sinful feeling; it comes from selfishness. Ishmael, very likely, thought within himself, "I shall not have so many good things now that Isaac, the true heir, is here;" selfishness would put such a thought as this into his heart, and when selfishness is allowed in the heart it fills it up so that there is little room for love; instead of love comes jealousy, and jealousy is the very opposite of love. "Jealousy is cruel as the grave."
I can only guess from Ishmael's behavior what his thoughts may have been, but God could read exactly all that was in his heart.
Abraham, in the midst of his thankfulness and joy over the promised child, little supposed what thoughts filled the heart of his elder son. Sarah, we may be sure, cared tenderly for her baby, and God we know, in a special way, would protect this heir of blessing. Ishmael's evil thoughts hurt no one but himself; and Isaac grew on, and the day of his weaning, which, in ancient times and in those eastern countries, was a grand day for grand children, arrived.
On this day Abraham made a great feast; every tent would be filled with rejoicing, abundance of food would be provided for all, and no hard work would be done. Ishmael had, no doubt, his full share of all the good things, for in Abraham's heart there was surely love enough for two sons, and he would not cease to care for Ishmael because God had given him Isaac.
Abraham must have been very busy that day, for all the servants, on such an occasion, would wish to speak a word to the beloved master, and would desire a word from him in return; but Sarah, who probably was more quietly engaged with the little son, on whose account all this feasting was going on, had time to observe the conduct of Ishmael.
Ishmael also, like every naughty boy, would take care to keep out of sight of his good father, but perhaps he was not so mindful of what Sarah might see or say; at any rate, it so happened that Sarah saw the son of Hagar mocking.
We are not told what he was mocking at; perhaps it was at the little weaned child, who was, I dare say, in his eyes, a long way behind himself in strength, in stature, and in capacity, as in years, for Ishmael was at this time more than thirteen years of age. Perhaps he mocked at, or despised, the joy of the aged father and mother. Oh, how like was Ishmael then to the children of Bethel, one thousand years later! Time, even thousands of years, cannot change the heart of man; it was evil in the days of Cain; it is the same heart, evil, in the days of Ishmael; evil in the days of Joash; evil to-day; so “he that trusteth in his own heart," God has said, "is a fool." Ishmael was like a great blot upon the scene of gladness among the tents of Abraham. When Abraham sat down with Sarah, at the end of the day, to speak of all that had taken place, and to give thanks, with her, for the goodness and faithfulness of God towards them, the tale to be told of Ishmael came like a great shadow over the brightness.
Oh, how sad for a son to be a blot and a shadow in the home!
God was not going to allow a shadow from the unruly heart of Ishmael to darken the brightness and mar the peace of the home to which He had sent the child of promise. Sarah asked that Ishmael, with his mother Hagar, might be sent away from the pleasant tents.
The thing was very grievous in Abraham's sight, because of his son.
How much love is in the heart of a father even for an unruly son; and God, who knows all about children, has provided that it should be so. What would have become of any of us, if we had not found a parent's love ready to forgive again and again.
I am sure that the night which followed the day of gladness, was a sorrowful one to Abraham: God Himself spoke to him, and comforted him concerning Ishmael, and early in the morning Abraham got up.
Now was to begin Ishmael's time of sorrow.
Perhaps he had little guessed, when he had lain down in his comfortable tent the night before, that it was for the last time. Hagar was to be sent away with her child, and I fear she deserved to share his punishment. I do not think she had taught him to honor Abraham and Sarah as she should have done, for the same rude spirit which had made Ishmael mock had, a few years before, been seen in Hagar. Still, whatever they deserved, it must have been painful to Abraham to send them away; he did what he could to provide them for their journey, for he gave them bread and also a bottle of water. We read, "Abraham rose up early in the morning and took bread and a bottle of water and gave it unto Hagar, putting it on her shoulder."
In this country we generally carry small burdens in our hands, and if we want to sling or hang such a thing as a basket or bag we hang it on the arm; but in eastern countries, small burdens are usually carried on, or slung over, the shoulder; and the bottle given by Abraham to Hagar was like a bag made of skin, perhaps the skin of a calf or goat, and filled with the precious water.
Here we have water, generally, in such abundance that we are little able to conceive how precious it was in the heat of those eastern lands; it was also scarce, for miles of wild and barren country often lay between one river and another, and unless a well were found in the way, what was to become of the poor traveler if, like Hagar and Ishmael, he went on foot instead of being carried by the useful camel or swift dromedary over the scorching plain that lay between the rivers of refreshment?
But Hagar and Ishmael had to go: it must have been sad to see the child, who had long been tenderly nurtured in all the abundance of Abraham's tents, thus going forth to wander in the wilderness of Beersheba; none but his poor mother with him, possessing nothing but the bread and the bottle of water. It was early morning when they started, and the air no doubt was cool and pleasant, and walking over the first few miles, after the night's rest, may have been easy work: but while Hagar and Ishmael journeyed, another mighty traveler was going his way also.
Do you know what traveler I mean?
It is the sun—" Which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race. His going forth is from the end of heaven, and his circuit unto the ends of it; and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof."
The sun, perhaps, has only appeared to you as a pleasant friend: on a winter's day, however sharp the frost that has clothed every blade of grass and every bare twig with cold, white, crusty winter coats, if the sun shine out, how lovely all immediately becomes! and who that can run and jump minds the cold frost, when his friend, the sun, is at hand to share it with him? In summer time, too, the sun is welcome; what delight it is to find him already before you, beginning his long bright journey across an unclouded sky; and as he rises higher, and sends down hotter beams than are quite agreeable, how glad we are to sit beneath the shade of a tree where, sheltered by the cool, fragrant leaves, the heat he has spread only reaches us pleasantly! But very differently appears the sun to the one who may be so unhappy as to be exposed to his fierce, beams in a hot, barren place, such a place as the wilderness, of Beersheba. Then the sun is a terrible enemy.
The sun may have risen hot and fierce over the tents of Abraham, but he and his household could retreat within, and find shelter from the burning rays. Hagar and Ishmael had no place of retreat, they must go on; Ishmael must have felt now what it was to be homeless. Every moment, as the sun rose higher, his beams would be fiercer; the ground itself would be filled with heat, and would scorch the weary feet of the travelers; the rocks which often stud such wildernesses would no longer afford a moment's shelter; the hot air, no doubt, parched their mouths, and they drank again and again of the water from the bottle; no cooling fruits could be plucked in that wilderness; nothing was above them, nothing below their feet, nothing around but heat, cruel, beating, thirsty heat, and at last their one refreshment was gone—"the water was spent in the bottle."
Yes, the water was spent, but the heat was not spent; it still poured down its fury upon the fainting head of young Ishmael; his steps grew slower, for the terrible thirst, which there was nothing to quench, would dry up all his strength until at last, thankful no doubt for even its tiny shade, his mother cast him under one of the shrubs.
That was all she could do, poor helpless mother; she could not give him the one thing he needed—a drop of water; she could not bear to see him suffer, so she went on, while he lay at death's very door beneath the wilderness shrub.
Ah! he was now as weak as the weaned child whom he had yesterday mocked, but whom to-day he must have sorely envied, in the plenty and shelter of that home which he had so lightly cast from him. Hagar "went, and sat her down over against him a good way off, as it were a bowshot, for she said, Let me not see the death of the child; and she sat over against him and lift up her voice and wept."
But all the weeping could do Ishmael no good; he still lay there moaning beneath the shrub. Sorrow cannot save us, nor deliver us out of the consequences of sin, but what sorrow cannot do mercy does; we have seen Ishmael's sin, then Ishmael's sorrow, now we have the beginning of the sweet tale of mercy. And what does this tale begin with I the other parts began with Ishmael; it was Ishmael's sin, it was Ishmael's sorrow, but mercy begins with God. God heard the voice of the lad.
We learn God's all-hearing ear. "He that planted the ear shall He not hear." He who heard the faint voice of the dying child had also heard the voice of the unruly lad, when in all the pride of yesterday's strength, and all the darkness of yesterday's sin, he had mocked one who, though a weak little weaned child, was yet the heir of the promises made by the God of glory to Abraham, and a vessel of blessing to all people of the earth. We learn God's ear: but when we learn God's heart we learn mercy, for “He delighteth in mercy."
God's all-hearing ear heard the feeble voice of the child beneath the shrub, and immediately God's heart began to act. The angel of God called to Hagar out of heaven.
Was it to remind Hagar of her former sin, and of how all the misery which filled her heart might be traced back to herself? Was it to tell Hagar that the destitution of her son was the righteous reward for his pride and ingratitude of yesterday?
No; this was true, but it would not have been mercy, and mercy was to reach the sorrowing mother and the fainting son. What words of tender pity the angel of God spoke! “What aileth thee, Hagar? fear not; for God hath heard the voice of the lad where he is; arise, lift up the lad, and hold him in thine hand; for I will make him a great nation." Then God opened her eyes: first He had opened her ears; she had heard the message of mercy; then He opened her eyes, and she saw the provision of mercy, “She saw a well of water." Yes; in the midst of that scorching wilderness, a well of water. She lost no time: her bottle was empty, and how gladly she must have filled it and carried it to the needy lad; how gladly he, too, must have opened his parched lips to the welcome draft; how, again and again, he would refresh himself with the life-giving water! Thirst was forgotten, death was driven away; fainting, weariness, crying, all was swallowed up in the water of mercy. “God was with the lad, and he grew, and dwelt in the wilderness and became an archer."
To this day, the wandering son of Abraham is not for gotten: twice to Abraham and twice to Hagar God had promised to make of Ishmael a great nation, and God never forgets His promises.
Ishmael's character was not what we should think suitable to a receiver of mercy; he was “a wild man, his hand against every man, and every man's hand against him;" one who fought for himself, who gained possessions and power for himself; and, to this day, the same fierce, wild, and grasping habits are to be seen in the Bedouins or wandering Arabs of the desert, who are descendants of Ishmael. It is a law among them neither to sow, to plant, nor to build houses: they need not to sow or plant, for they feed upon the fruit of other men's labors; they need not to build, for it suits them best to dwell in lonely caverns, from which they can rush out upon the unprotected; they are desert savages, who live by plundering those travelers who may be unfortunate enough to come within their range. No mercy do these wandering outlaws show; they are more like descendants of the cruel hyena, than like sons of the lad who once drank from that well in the desert.
Ishmael may have made many another weary journey, and passed many another thirsty, needy hour, between the day of his first wandering in the desert of Beersheba, and the time when, a skilled archer, dwelling in the wilderness of Paran with his Egyptian wife, he became, according to the promise of God for Abraham's sake, the father of twelve princes, and the founder of a great nation.
Ishmael drank of that water and thirsted again. Mercy came to the deliverance of Ishmael, and he took of it and went on his way.
Are there any like Ishmael?
Those who drink of the water which Jesus gives shall never thirst: it is the Water of Life.
Mercy is as mindful now of human needs as in the day of Ishmael. This world would be barren and dreadful indeed but for mercy: mercy is continually around your path; every good thing you ever enjoy is a mercy sent to you from God, for Christ's sake. Besides the every day mercies, are there not many who can tell of special mercy that met them in the rough way? the heat, the need, and the barrenness of life, troubles of all sorts, troubles that made the heart faint, and that brought forth the bitter cry. And mercy heard that cry, as it heard the voice of Ishmael, and relief came; the need was met, the supply was sent, the strength was restored, the heart was comforted.
But is that all that mercy can do? Does the mercy of God content itself with giving a few drops by the way, and leaving the one who drinks of it to thirst again?
Oh, no! this is not the heart of God: the everlasting God gives everlasting blessing. The mercy of God is like a vast river: so deep, it can cover all sins—"Their sins and their iniquities will I remember no more:" so wide, it reaches out to all sinners—"Whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely;" so long, it flows on into eternity—"His mercy endureth forever."
The river of mercy does not flow only to give you a refreshing draft, and leave you to travel on along the stream of time; the stream of time leads to the dark, deep river of death, and there is, as you know, a great gulf, beyond that river of death—"After death the judgment;" but the river of mercy waits to carry the traveler — oh, how swiftly and how surely! — to God's bright eternity of gladness.
And who can be carried by this river? Is it the strong? If you stand by a river, and throw in there a strong iron bar, will it make a swift journey by its great strength? No, it will sink in the earth below the water. It is not the strong who will make a way through mercy's tide.
Is it the worthy? Throw a bag of silver or gold now into the river; will the waters prize its worth and carry it along? No, it will sink and lie buried with the iron bar. The passengers on that river are not the strong or the worthy.
But cast in a dry, barren stick, or a worthless straw, and how quickly it is carried beyond your reach! Yes, the passengers on Mercy's River are the weak and the worthless.
Oh, who would be the money bag or the strong bar, sunk helpless and motionless in the bed of the river—cold, dark, and lifeless! Would you not rather be the little, worthless straw, carried on and on by waters of mercy to the home of glory? There is no way to that bright and blessed place, His presence, where there is fullness of joy, but by the River of Mercy.
“Nothing but mercy 'll do for me,
Nothing but mercy full and free
Of sinners chief, what but the blood
Could calm my soul before my God?
Save by the blood He could not bless,
So pure, so great, His holiness;
But God in mercy gave the Lamb,
And by His blood absolved I am."
The waters of mercy are fresh to-day, but the river has been flowing through this needy earth for thousands of years.
“Soon as the reign of sin began,
The light of mercy dawned on man!
When God announced the blessed news—
The woman's seed thy head shall bruise."
Ah! the woman's Seed, Jesus the Savior, has been the channel of mercy to poor sinners. The source of the River is the very heart of God. Mercy is that, in the heart of God which made Him look down with pity upon all the sorrow and dreadful suffering, the confusion and ruin that sin had brought upon this earth which once He had seen to be “very good." God saw all the misery and waited four thousand years, while He taught man his need of a Savior, and then He gave the Seed of the woman, Christ; “The Father sent the Son to be the Savior of the world."
Perhaps you have seen a river flowing on until it comes to a dam, or great barrier, stretched from one bank to the other, all across. Oh, how the waters rise, and swell, and sway as they beat against this dam; but they cannot flow by. So with mercy: mercy dwelt ever in the heart of God, but there was a barrier to its outflow; this was righteousness. Mercy in God pitied the ruined and sorrowful and dying sinners who filled the whole world. Wonderful mercy it was; divine mercy that could look down thus in pity upon those who had, through their own self-will and folly, brought all the sorrow on themselves; all, like thousands and thousands of Ishmaels, suffering from the consequences of their own sin, for all are sinners.
"The Lord looked down from heaven upon the children of men to see if there were any that did understand and seek God: they are all gone aside, they are altogether become filthy; there is none that doeth good, no, not one."
No man is righteous: "There is none righteous, no, not one." But God is righteous, and He could not, though He pitied the sinner, take him into heaven in his sinful state, for God is holy. He cannot bear sin, He hates iniquity. Neither could God pass over all the sins which we had committed, for He is righteous, and righteousness must execute the judgment which it had pronounced against sin. So Jesus came, the Son of God, yet the Savior of the world.
“Wondrous was God's love in giving
Jesus for our sins to die;
Wondrous was His grace in leaving,
For our sakes, the heaven on high."
Jesus had done no sins; He was perfectly spotless- "A Lamb without blemish and without spot." In Jesus sin was not; yet, upon the cross, He bore all the wrath of God against sin, all the punishment due for sin: there is now no punishment awaiting those who believe in Jesus. “Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other." The precious blood of Christ washes away from the believing one every spot which sin has made. The holiness of God, the righteousness of God, the love of God, the mercy of God, all are magnified in receiving the sinner, for Christ's sake, whether it be a man, a woman, or a child, the moment they hear of Jesus the Savior, and put their trust in Him. Like the worthless little straw, they are carried along by the River of Mercy.
The river of God's grace,
Through righteousness supplied,
Is flowing o'er the barren place,
Where Jesus died."
There is no barrier now. Righteousness and holiness, power and justice, all help on the flow of the river; it has passed over all its banks, it has become a flood. From one end to the other of the wide, sin-stained desert of this world, the flood of mercy spreads; the black man, the white man, the poor man, the rich man, the ignorant man, the little child, or the sinner of a hundred years, all need, and all may share in this river of mercy. Oh, will any be content with a few drops when such a swift, mighty flood waits, at their very feet, to carry them on to glory! Will any let the river flow by? Of what use will it have been to have tasted of the mercy of God at some time of earthly need, as did Ishmael, if, after all, you find yourself shut out from the God of mercy forever and ever!
And will any be thus shut out? Yes.
Not because their sins were many: for "the blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, cleanseth us from all sin." Not because they had nothing to recommend them: for the name of Jesus is an all-powerful claim. Of Him it was said, “This man receiveth sinners," and He has said, "Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out" Why, then, will any be shut out? Because they come TOO LATE! There are no bounds to the river of mercy, but there is a close to the day of mercy. “Now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation."
But "when once the Master of the house is risen up and hath shut to the door, and ye begin to stand without and to knock at the door, saying, Lord, Lord, open unto us, and he shall answer and say unto you, I know you not whence ye are, then shall ye begin to say, We have eaten and drunk in thy presence, and thou hast taught in our streets; but he shall say, I tell you I know you not whence ye are, depart from me all ye workers of iniquity, there shall be weeping, and gnashing of teeth."
And can any thus warned let the day of mercy all go by?
Who could believe such a thing, but alas! it is true. What can make any men, women, or children thus neglect and refuse the precious offer of mercy? Often little things: one is a love of pleasure; children are in danger of being caught in this snare; perhaps they forget that the river of mercy is the way to the river of God's pleasures, and so they lose the precious time, the accepted time, while they content themselves with the withering flowers of earth.
We read in the history of Greece of a foolish man who, caught in the snare of pleasure, let the moment of an earthly deliverance pass by; his name was Archias; he was ruler in a Grecian state; he was a selfish man, and just as the selfish cannot love, so are they little loved.
Archias was hated by those over whom he ruled, and they wickedly made a plan to destroy him. Archias knew not, as day after day passed by, that it was bringing him nearer and nearer to the day of a terrible ending. But a warning was sent to him: one friend, notwithstanding his folly and selfishness, felt pity for him, and he knew of the wicked plan, he knew that the last day was come, and he sent a messenger riding in great haste to Archias, carrying with him a letter describing all that had been planned and showing a way of escape. The messenger on arriving found that Archias was holding a great feast; but as he said that he had come from Athens with a letter of great importance, he was at once admitted to the presence of the ruler.
“My lord," said he, “the person who sends this letter earnestly begs that you will read it at once, as it speaks of something very serious."
Archias was full of pleasure; he did not wish to read the letter, he never guessed his danger, he thought only of enjoyment. “Serious things to-morrow," he cried laughing; he dismissed the messenger, he cast aside the letter, and he continued the feast; but to-morrow never came to Archias, the mercy shown to him was wasted upon him, for the day of its use was past. That same night, those who had planned together rushed forward, in the very midst of the feast, and killed him; he had put off till too late.
Ah! "too late" is a dreadful word; it is the word of those who "stand without and knock."
Another hindrance is the thought of getting to glory by a way of our own imagining: a way of our own will never bring us to God, yet many love a way of their own better than the way of mercy, and they love to lead or drive others along such ways.
A poor Indian once longed to know how his sins could be atoned for. He went to one of his priests; this priest pretended to teach the way to happiness, but alas! it was a way of his own. He did not tell the poor Indian of Jesus, the One who "put away sin by the sacrifice of himself;" he taught the poor sinner that it must be his own suffering to put away his sins, and a dreadful suffering was the way he taught. He knew not the way of peace, he knew not the way of mercy; he said to the poor Indian, “Take off your sandals," which are the shoes worn in India, and are like soles of shoes only, "and drive iron spikes into them, and then, upon these dreadful spiked shoes, you must walk four hundred and eighty miles."
Oh, what a cruel invention! how cruel is the dark heart of man! But the heart of God pitied the poor Indian, and the flood of mercy was to meet him even in that dark, distant land. He had not gone very far on his dreadful journey, when pain and weariness obliged him to rest under a tree: God saw the suffering Indian's bleeding feet, and his poor, anxious, sin-burdened heart, and He sent the message of mercy to the very place where he sat. A missionary came to preach under that tree, and his text was this; “The blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, cleanseth us from all sin." God sent the message, and opened the understanding of the ignorant heathen: while the missionary was yet preaching the poor man rose, exclaiming, “This is what I want; this is what I want;" and soon, taking the dreadful sandals from his feet, he threw them away.
You have heard of Jesus; many times you have read or heard that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin; have you replied, like the poor Indian, This is what I want I Have you owned to God that you are a poor, guilty, perishing sinner, and that only His way will do for you? Just as the perishing Ishmael cried from under the wilderness shrub, and God heard the voice of the lad where he was, so God will hear you, wherever or whoever you are, or whatever you have done. And have you done what Ishmael perhaps did not? Have you thanked God for His provision of mercy? Have you thanked the Lord Jesus who died for you? "Who his own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree." “By whose stripes ye were healed." Oh, how blessed thus to cast ourselves, as little worthless straws, into such a strong deep river of mercy!
In this country, none may be taught such dreadful ways as the spiked sandals; but whether we try our own prayers, our own tears, or our own good doings, or whether we live in to-day's pleasure, all are alike dreadful in this,, that they will never carry us to glory, but will leave us to drift along the river of time into the gulf of death.
It will make but little difference in eternity whether a, sinner has walked on spiked sandals, or sailed in pleasure, boats to that dreadful place called in Rev. 20:1515And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire. (Revelation 20:15), the lake of fire.
God is rich in mercy; He needs not the help of man's tears to swell the flood. All who find peace and acceptance in His presence say alike; “not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to his mercy he saved us."
On rolls mercy's tide; as full and as strong as on the first day of the barrier's removal: in England, in Ireland, in Scotland, in the vast continent of America, how freely have its waters poured, and how freely still they flow!
In lands of popery, in dark African forests, in sultry Indian plains, in distant Australian bush, in lonely Ocean homes, everywhere, the river has reached. It has reached you. Is it carrying you?
Let me tell you, before I close, how the river ran into a dark house, and how it swelled there until, one after another, it carried all the family. Oh, how ready the river is to flow into all homes, and to gladden all hearts! Sad is the lot of poor, dark idolaters who, surrounded by walls of man's inventing, and sunk in the darkness of man's superstition, see not the river of mercy; but how far sadder, in these favored lands, where light and life and love shine on every hand, must be the lot of those who neglect such mercy!
Like Ishmael, who mocked the heir in his weakness, and was sent forever from his presence, those who hear of the Savior, and receive Him not, will be found to have added to all their sins this one awful sin; they will be found guilty of despising the Christ of God, "Whom he hath appointed heir of all things;" and in the day of earth's rejoicing, when Christ comes to take all, He will be seen as the Judge of those who dared once to despise Jesus, the Man of grace and the Savior of the world. Oh, vainly then will those who have neglected grace long for one drop from the river of mercy to cool their tongues. No cry then will bring, as did Ishmael's dying voice, a drink from a well in the desert. There are no wells in the dark, dark desert of the sinner's eternity. And what do I mean by a sinner? Do I mean one whom every one can point at as wicked? The hardened evil-doer, the one whom all would shrink from? No; the sinner may have a pleasing outward appearance. By the sinner, I mean simply the one who remains in his sins; who has not come to Jesus, and had his sins forgiven, and their-stain washed away. They may be the sins of less than ten years, but they are enough to shut out from heaven. Each may know, even a child, whether of them it could be said, “I write unto you, children, because your sins are forgiven you for his name's sake."
“Jesus can all our sins forgive,
And wash away their stain;
And fit our souls with Him to live,
And in His kingdom reign.
To Him let little children come,
For He has said they may;
His bosom then shall be their home,
Their tears He'll wipe away."
It was by a child, a little girl, that the door of the home into which the river of mercy ran, was first opened to the precious waters. The little girl's name was Jane, and her home was indeed a dark one. I do not mean by this that it was a home in those wonderful ice regions where, for three months together, the sun is absent, and the total darkness of night continues for ninety days at a stretch. No; the sun shone into Jane's home as freely as it does into yours; the darkness in which Jane and her parents, her brothers and sisters lived, was that far worse darkness spoken of in the Epistle of John; the darkness of those who know not Jesus, the light of life. Jane and her parents did not dwell among the heathen; the river of mercy was flowing near them; but they had never heeded it, they did not read the word of God, they did not pray, they did not go where they could hear the way of salvation. In some respects the home was a comfortable one, for these people were not among the very poor in earthly goods, but oh how poor they all were since they had not Christ! for "He that hath the Son hath life, and he that hath not the Son of God hath not life."
What was there, in such poverty and darkness, to prevent this whole family-from sinking down into everlasting darkness?
Nothing but mercy!
God, who is rich in mercy, began to touch the heart of little Jane. Jane began to think that her behavior was not all that it ought to be; this was the light coming in; when people are well satisfied with their own ways and their own hearts it is because they are in darkness. The walls of cellars sometimes appear, to those in them, to be covered with beautiful, shining diamonds: has any one spent thousands of pounds in studding those lonely, dingy walls with precious stones? Oh no; open the door, let in a little light, bring a few lanterns, and what do you see? Not diamonds! What looked like diamonds is really nothing precious, but a loathsome mixture of damp and dirt, and masses of fungi, those horrible poisonous growths which find their birth and nourishment where death and darkness reign. These cellars are a picture of the heart of man: nothing belongs to the natural heart that will be found precious in the light of the presence of God. Jane tried to do better, but soon she found not only that her ways were bad, but that she was full of bad feelings-foolishness, anger, self will, disobedience, and deceit.
Then poor Jane thought, “I have no one to teach me to do right; this is why I am so bad."
The wish to be taught was a right one; but Jane made a mistake in supposing that teaching could set her bad heart right, or make her ways good. The first use of teaching is like the light in the cellar, it shows us that in us is no good thing, then the light shows the Savior of the lost. But God had put the wish to learn of better things into her heart; and after the wish, He opened the way. Jane heard that about a mile from her home there was a school, where, on Sundays, children might come and be taught the scriptures.
Jane's heart said at once, like the poor tortured Indian, “This is what I want." She asked her parents to allow her to go to this school on Sundays; but they were very angry at her request. Alas! they were some of those who "loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil." They were not angry when their child wasted all the bright hours of the Lord's day in idleness, but they were angry when she wished to spend those hours in learning of Him. Poor Jane knew not what to do: she was not rude to her parents, as once she would have been if denied a wish, but she was very sad, for now she feared there was no hope of learning to be better; she went out, and as she walked along the road, though it was a pleasant summer's evening, she could only cry.
But somebody else was walking along that road; somebody who was sent of God to meet the sorrowing child: but he did not know it; he was surprised to meet a little weeping girl. He asked the cause of her tears, and he spoke so kindly that, though he was a stranger, Jane soon told him of the wish that was in her heart, and of her parents' anger.
“I teach in that school," said the stranger; “shall I go home with you, and ask your parents again to allow you to attend?"
Jane was half afraid, for these dark parents were not kind or forgiving; yet the longing for light, which God Himself had put into her heart, could not be stilled, so she stilled the fear and said, "Yes."
The parents were indeed very angry when they heard the stranger's request: the father at once gave his poor child a hard blow, but after the visitor had talked kindly and seriously with them for two hours, they very ungraciously gave consent, and the next Sunday, how happy was Jane when she found herself seated among the learners!
Oh, how eagerly she listened! and soon she learned a wonderful lesson; she learned that sin was the cause of her bad feelings, and that the ways she was displeased with were sins, and were far more displeasing to the Holy God than to herself, though to her they soon felt like a great burden. When Jane went home the first Sunday, she prayed that God would give her a heart to fear and to obey her parents. A few weeks passed on, and soon she had a happy tale to tell: “My sins," she said, " were like a great weight, but now they are gone, for the Savior has found me, the Savior who loves me, who says-Seek me early, Seek me now."
When Jane had tasted the precious love of God for herself, she longed that all in her home should taste it too, and she prayed earnestly for her father, her mother, her brothers and sisters. They all, no doubt, saw a difference in Jane's behavior; perhaps, like her, they began to be not quite pleased with themselves and their ways; but when the heart has been long used to sin, how hard it grows; it grows like a rock, and great blows are sometimes needed to break it.
A blow came upon the father: it was God's hand, in answer to the little girl's prayers, beginning to break the father's hard heart. He became very ill; every day he grew worse; he felt very unhappy.
Whom did he turn to?
Not to his poor dark wife, or his elder daughter, nor to his sons, nor to the neighbors with whom he had spent many an idle hour in days of pleasure; but, in this day of sickness and sorrow, he turned to his little girl, whose prayer God had heard, and whose heart had been learning, day by day, to love and obey the hard, ignorant parents. “Jane," he said, one day when he had sent for her to his room, "I am very ill. Do you think I shall get well?"
Little Jane could not keep back her tears at this question, so gently asked by her stern, strong father. "I hope so," she said, “oh, I do hope so;" then she tried to dry her tears and speak more calmly. “But if it is God's will, dear father, that you should soon die, where will your soul be?"
The father knew not what to say: where indeed, where would his poor, sinful soul be if he were to die?
He looked at his child in silence,
“Shall I call some one to pray for you, dear father?" she said.
“Oh! my child," replied the humbled man, "will you pray for me? will you pray for your poor, wicked father?"
“Dear father," said Jane, "I have often prayed for you; but I will pray again now."
Then little Jane knelt, beside the bed; she knew God as her Father, and she could tell Him simply all that was in her heart; the poor man was melted, as he followed the prayer of his child; God stirred up his heart, and he began to pray too. Soon he too found mercy.
The peace and quietness of his heart perhaps helped his body, for he began to mend; and, after a few weeks, he was able once more to go out.
And where do you think he first went? He took his little girl's hand, and went with her to tell his kind visitor how sorry he was for having received him so rudely, and to thank him for teaching little Jane, who had, in the goodness of God, been made, in her turn, a messenger of mercy to himself. After this the home was no longer a dark one; the mother, the brothers and sister, one after another, were brought to know Jesus the Savior, and to rejoice as they found themselves carried along on the bright waters of the River of Mercy.
“For thou, Lord, art good and ready to forgive, and plenteous in mercy unto all them that call upon thee."
"I have trusted in thy mercy: my heart shall rejoice in thy salvation."
"For thy mercy is great above the heavens, and thy truth unto the clouds."
See that mother with her child,
Toiling through the desert wild:
Why is he so lonely there?
Why without a father's care?
Ah! young Ishmael once had
Everything to make him glad;
But he mock'd the promised heir,
And with him he cannot share.
He must tread his weary way,
Fainting 'neath the rising day;
Till at length, with bitter cry,
Cast beneath a shrub to die.
Shall his cry go forth in vain?
Hagar, full of grief and pain,
Leaves him, with despairing tears,
For to see his death she fears.
But there is the God above—
God of Light and God of Love:
He has seen his evil ways,
All his sin of former days.
Yet has heard his anguish-cry,
Mark'd his need with pitying eye:
Mercy's tide shall freely flow;
Abraham's God shall Ishmael know,
Abraham's God is still the same;
Grace and truth by Jesus came.
Mercy's river floods the waste;
All who come shall mercy taste.
Though the tide of sin abound,
Mercy still beyond is found:
Since the day of grace arose,
Mercy free and boundless flows.
All the dreary desert way
Cannot darken mercy's day;
But its close, will come at last,
And its hours are fleeting fast.
Then, in vain all bitter cries;
They who Christ in grace despise
Shall behold, with deep despair,
Christ in judgment, as the Heir.
Sad God's mercy to reject,
Such salvation to "neglect;"
And have naught but deep despair,
Though a Savior be the Heir.
Hearken, then, to wisdom's cry:
Let not mercy's day go by;
But with Christ in glory share,
Once, the Savior; now, the Heir.