TWO or three months since, I was traveling with my father on one of the electric railways which begin to intersect the busy city of London in all directions. As we waited on the platform he asked me, “Did you hear of the sad accident which recently happened here?” My reply being in the negative, he said, “A gentleman was explaining to some friends the working of the machinery, and as he did so he touched the rails with a metal ruler which he held in his hand; he wasn’t thinking what he was doing, but his touch completed the circuit of the electric fluid, and he fell lifeless to the ground.”
Just then the train came up, and we, joining the throng of passengers, went on our way; but those words followed me, “He wasn’t thinking what he was doing.” Poor fellow! how one’s heart ached for him! that such a simple act should be fraught with such disastrous consequences; alas! for the loved ones who would wait his return in vain. And yet, what of the crowds all around us, are there not many, very many of them in a like case?
See that young man, tall, strong, stalwart. All his leisure time is spent in athletics, cricket, football; his bicycle he usually rides all day on Sunday, because his health demands this, he says; for these things he is selling his soul, because “he isn’t thinking what he is doing.”
Or that man of middle life, haggard and careworn, shrewd indeed is he as to all that concerns his business; none can make better profits than he; even now he is planning how to increase his turnover, and add to that ever-growing balance at the bank; for money he is going to sell his soul; but then, he isn’t thinking what he is doing.
There also goes the skeptic. Nothing so vulgar as money-making engrosses him. Mark that fine head, that noble brow. He is too intellectual to believe, he prefers to doubt and reason, to talk of higher criticism and modern thought. He was made in the image of God, but he will exchange his soul for philosophy and vain deceit. He does not think what he is doing.
But there mingles a weary woman in the crowd. From early morning until late at night she makes and mends, and cares for the little ones entrusted to her. She has no time to think of her own soul or theirs. How one pities her! She will let care rob her of her soul. Oh! if she would only think what she is doing.
There are others still. Here is a fair maiden, hardly out of her teens. She is fair to behold, and life smiles upon her. She has no cares. A round of pleasure fills up her days. Picnics, the races, regattas by day; and as though’ that were not enough, she must have concerts, balls, and the theater at night. Flung into the vortex of what men call society, what will become of her? Will she sell her soul for pleasure because she does not think what she is doing?
Thus the eager crowd surges on, and there stands One among them whom they know not, One who wore a thorny crown, whose eyes of love wept over sinners long ago, whose hands were pierced for them on the cruel tree, and instead of business, or care, or pleasure, He offers Himself to be a Saviour, a Friend, an everlasting Portion, His Father’s Love-Gift to the end of the ages.
Instead of the service of sin, He offers His service sweet; instead of the mammon of unrighteousness, the true riches; instead of doubt, knowledge; instead of care, His peace; instead of fast-fleeting pleasure, pleasures for evermore.
Now risen, ascended, and glorified, on His Father’s throne, in the person of His messengers, He comes to the crowds again, and speaks in tones of love.
“Soul, for thee I left My glory,
Bore the curse of God;
Wept for thee with bitterest weeping,
Agony and blood.
Soul, for thee I died dishonored,
As a felon dies;
For thou wert the pearl all priceless
In thy Saviour’s eyes.
Soul, for thee I rose victorious,
Glad that thou wert free;
Entered heaven in triumph glorious,
Heaven I won for thee.
Soul, from heaven I speak to woo thee,
Thee the lost and lone.
Earth may fail thee, sin undo thee,
All the more Mine own.”
Oh! Christless soul, if thou hast never thought before, think what thou art doing. Life’s little span will soon be at an end―eternity lies before thee; and yet the affairs of today absorb thine every thought, and those of that long tomorrow give thee no concern. Hast thou ever considered that the first sound that will greet thee in those mansions of the blest will be a voice of welcome, a song of praise, a sound of One saying “Rejoice with Me”? and as surely as this is so, so surely will it be that if thou dost reject the Saviour, neglect salvation, and go down to a lost eternity, the first sound that will greet thee from the dark shades of eternal night will be the mocking taunt from those lost like thyself, “Art thou also become one of us?”
Let me plead with you, whoever you may be, my reader, pause now, and think what you are doing; let there come a big selah (pause and consider) into your life; trifle no longer with the mercy of God and your never-dying soul, but accept now Christ and His salvation for the joy of His heart and for your eternal blessing.
“Reject Him not, O man!
He speaketh from above;
He offers thee Himself, and all
The fullness of His love.
Was ever love like His,
So boundless and so free?
Love for the sinfullest,
Love for thee!
L. R.