SOME eighty years ago, on a sloping side of the Righi, one of Switzerland's loveliest mountains, stood the pretty village of Goldau. The blue lake below reflected the exquisite landscape in its calm waters: and over the peaceful hamlet the towering peak of the Rossberg reared its protecting head, as if to shield the nestling chalets from every storm; all nature smiled around, and no thought of danger crossed the minds of the simple villagers, as they went about their daily occupations. But one bright summer's day a stranger came up the mountain side, and passed through the village to the peak above. That evening, on his return, a dread cry of alarm spread through Goldau. The stranger was a learned man, a man of repute, a general in their army—no timid coward seeking to affright them; yet he it was who now circulated an awful prophecy of danger.
The Rossberg, which they had always looked upon as their mighty protector from the terrific storms that swept across the mountains, that very Rossberg, he said, would infallibly prove some day their worst enemy. He told them that, for all its apparent immovability and strength, the peak consisted but of loose stones, with light soil beneath, which must sooner or later yield to heavy rains, when the whole enormous mass would crash down upon the valley beneath, overwhelming them in its fall. Terror filled the hearts of the inhabitants; the faces of the hardy mountaineers were blanched with fear; women wrung their hands in horror and dismay; and as night fell, the sounds of wailing and distress were heard in every cottage. But morning dawned, and the glorious sun shone out, lighting up with its rosy hues the gigantic crags. The Rossberg, that had seemed to frown so threateningly over-night, now looked softly and tenderly down upon Goldau, as it lifted its head into the blue heavens. The stranger had gone from the village, and the warning voice that had so disturbed its tranquility was no longer heard there.
“Bah!" said some, scoffingly, "an old wife's tale! Our mountain, that has stood since the world began, will surely stand to the end of it. What fools we were to take the learned general's words so to heart! “Others made a pilgrimage to the summit of the Rossberg, to judge for themselves if there were any foundation for the alarm. They came back shaking their heads wisely and doubtfully, and yet returned to their homes, taking no steps to escape from the threatened danger. For many days the agitation continued, the more timid urging that whilst there was time they should fly from the coming evil. But autumn was succeeded uneventfully by winter, and winter by spring; at last even these, overpowered by the incredulous and indifferent, forgot their fears.
Years went by, and the Rossberg still stood immovable. Some who had been foremost in the panic had lived out their days peacefully in their native village, and had sunk into their quiet graves. Children, who in terror then had clung crying to their mothers' side, had grown into strong men, and were now ready to tell, with a sneer of scorn on their lips, of the nightmare of their infancy. Twenty years had passed over their heads since the stranger's warning had so disturbed. Goldau, and yet all things continued as they were from the beginning. There is no record that one single person fled from that city of destruction in consequence of the solemn prediction so emphatically given.
The inhabitants were saying, "Peace and safety," little thinking that the unusually heavy rains of that very August were to accomplish the sudden destruction, from which there was no escape: when with an awful crash, as of long-suppressed thunder, shaking to 'their foundations the surrounding mountains, and making the earth tremble as it fell, down came the towering crag of the Rossberg, overwhelming in its fearful descent the ill-fated Goldau and two neighboring hamlets, and choking up the sweet lake that had so long bathed its foot. So sudden was the blow that not one house escaped, and more than a thousand souls were at that moment launched into eternity.
And now, reader, as you have listened to this terrible tale, what opinion have you formed of the conduct of the villagers of Goldau? I think I hear you exclaim at their folly and foolhardiness—warned of coming destruction, and not flying from the place. You say severely that as they rejected all warning they richly deserved the fate, which was only too long delayed.
But wait before you pronounce a hasty, though perhaps a righteous judgment. Let me ask you a pointed question: Are you doing likewise? "Wherein thou judgest another, thou condemnest thyself; for thou that judgest doest the same things.... and thinkest thou this, O man, that judgest them which do such things, and doest the same, that thou shalt escape the judgment of God?" Have you not been warned of a far more terrible impending judgment, that falling upon you would destroy both soul and body for all eternity? Has no warning note of coming danger sounded in your ear in these closing hours of the day of grace? Have you not been told, as were these poor villagers, that destruction is hanging over you? And how shall you escape if you neglect so great salvation?
Far worse than the terrible overwhelming landslip will be that awful coming day of the "wrath of the Lamb" to those who have refused His mercy. In that day those who now turn a deaf, indifferent ear to His offers of salvation, will in abject terror call upon the mountains to fall on them—seeking the fearful fate of Goldau, in the vain hope of hiding themselves from the face of Him who comes to tread "the winepress of the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God." Are you, in the heedless spirit of the Swiss mountaineers, saying, "Where is the promise of His coming? for, since the fathers fell asleep, all things continue as they were from the beginning of the creation.”
Ah, take heed! You are dwelling in slippery places—living in a false security blinded by the god of this world. Let this one more warning word arouse you to a sense of your position and your danger. Fly while it is called to-day to Jesus, who delivers from the wrath to come. Ere to-morrow's sun has risen the solemn words spoken by our God long-ago may be fulfilled. "Because I have called, and ye refused; I have stretched out My hand, and no man regarded; but ye have set at naught all My counsel, and would none of My reproof: I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your fear cometh; when your fear cometh as desolation, and your destruction cometh as a whirlwind; when distress and anguish cometh upon you. Then shall they call upon Me, but I will not answer; they shall seek Me early, but they shall not find Me." D. &. A. C.