IN the fall of the year 1892, the streets of Manchester were placarded with huge posters headed in glaring scarlet letters with the startling words―
“WE ARE ALL GOING! WHERE?”
“What an important question,” said the writer of this paper to himself, as he caught sight of one of these placards, and crossed the street to learn its import.
He thought perchance some earnest man had adopted this way of calling the attention of passersby to the fact that they were traveling to eternity, and of engaging their interest in the question of where they would spend it.
But on looking at the placard, he found that it was only the announcement of a play then going on in one of the city theaters. The second line of the poster supplied the answer to the striking question at the top, We are all going! Where?” To the
FOLLY THEATER.
Alas, that so many in that vast city were treading the paths of folly and sin, but thank God it was not true that all were going that way.
But there is a bourne to which we all are going, both the reader and the writer of these lines—yes, it is solemnly true of us all, “we are all going, but the momentous question is where?”
We are all going from Time into Eternity, but is it to heaven or hell?
When you think of the millions that have passed Christless and hopeless into the grave, you may think yourself happy that you are
NOT GONE, BUT GOING!
As you saw that young man’s body laid in the tomb the other day, “Oh!” you said, “there’s another poor fellow gone.”
Get down on your knees and thank God that you are not yet gone.
Reader, consider that very soon we shall have to say that word of you, that you are gone, gone from time with its golden opportunities of being saved; gone to face the God whom you have trifled with, and whose grace you have despised.
Come with me into yonder saleroom for a moment. The auctioneer is at his desk selling some valuable property. “Going!” he cries, “this handsome article, going at ten dollars, will anyone say twelve? Twelve dollars, going at twelve, going, going, going, gone!”
Change the scene. Time is the auctioneer with glass and sickle in hand. The valuable article that he is selling is
YOUR SOUL.
“Going!” he cries, “a never-dying soul, going! sold to the devil for a song, or bought with the precious blood of Christ. One or the other, going! going!” Oh! how soon the sands of his hour-glass may be run out, and instead of saying “going, going,” he will have to pronounce over you the awful word “gone.”
The question we shall have to ask concerning you then will be, “Gone, but where?” Now our question is “Going, but whither?”
Nay, friend, do not throw this paper aside because it is pointed and personal.
The importance of the question is self-evident; you cannot deny that you are going. Every beat of your heart, every throb of your pulse, every tick of the clock tells you that you are going.
The Word of God assures you that this is so. Let the writer of these lines, in all love to your soul, echo the same words in your ears, “Going, going, going!” and do not be offended if again he asks the earnest question, WHERE?
H. P. B.