THE lights of the Public-house were shining on the bar and its surroundings, and falling on the faces of those that stood there drinking. The laugh, the song, the curse, the impure jest was heard, amid the jingling of the glasses and the constant orders to the bar-tenders.
All at once there is a sound of breaking glass and a heavy fall.
What is it? A man has fallen, along the floor fainting, dying, or they falter at the word as they crowd around, and lift him up, but it has to be pronounced, he is—DEAD. A strong powerful man to look at, a man of forty it may be; broad-chested and with large limbs, now dead; lying there with the gas light shining upon his dead face.
They take him up and carry him out, pick up the broken glass, and scatter the sawdust over the floor. It is of no use making too much fuss over it, it will hinder trade. Talk of politics, the weather, the living, anything to drive away thoughts about that cold form up-stairs, and that soul that has just passed into eternity.
I saw the body of that man in the post-mortem room of the hospital. The doctors examined him to find out the immediate cause of death. Their knives were sharp, their opinions learned, and (I dare say) based upon scientific principles; but not one of them hinted at the real cause of it all. They said he died a drunkard, and on account of drink; they described its action upon the heart and brain in words I could not understand.
They gave their verdict; and it was printed in the newspapers. But as they thus disposed of his body, I seemed to hear the voice of God speaking, and it said, “Wherefore as by one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin,” and “The soul that sinneth, it shall die;” and then the final word seemed to ring around the room, God’s verdict as to his soul, “nor drunkards shall inherit the Kingdom of God,”
Oh! it seemed solemn to one to gaze thus upon the cold face of a man whose soul had gone to torment. It was sin that brought him there, and “the wages of sin are death.”
I always feel it to be a solemn thing to gaze upon the faces of living men and women who are on their road to destruction. Reader, where are you going? You may die suddenly; you may die to day. Look at your face in the mirror now. What do you see? “Myself,” you answer. But how do you see yourself? As God sees you—as a sinner Your face may be fair; you may be young or old; your cheek may be flushed with health, or pallid with sickness; but unsaved you are a sinner in your sins, and “the soul that sinneth it shall die.” Those eyes of your’s, what shall they gaze at in eternity? Shall they “see His face?” Your tongue, shall it praise Him then? Or shall you weep and wail, with the lost in hell, in an eternity of torment? “Why will ye die?” As you look at your face, look within; think of your sin-stained heart, and then through the rain of the tears of penitence look to Jesus; look away from self to Christ. Blessed Jesus, Saviour, Friend, ―the sinner’s Friend.
He calls you now. “Come unto me, and I will give you rest.” Down on your knees sinner, and as you kneel, so come to Christ, saying: ―
Just as I am—without one plea.
But that Thy blood was shed for me;
And that Thou bid’st me come to Thee,―
O Lamb of God, I come!