WHEN the excitement, occasioned by the discovery of gold at Pike's Peak, first broke over the country, a young man, fired with a desire to be in the field of the new Eldorado, bought an Indian pony, got together a few things, slung them in a little bag behind him, and set off.
After two days he came to a long stretch of barren country—about forty miles—which he must cross. Heedless of any thought of danger, with the rising of the sun he started across the sterile desert. It was a beautiful day, clear and cold; the path through the tall grass was well marked, and for hours the ride was made with pleasant and good speed. A little past noon the sky became overcast with dull, gray and flying clouds. Nothing for a time was thought of this, but presently the snow began to fall— at first a few stray flakes, then faster.
The first thought of anxiety began to creep into the young man's heart. Then, with increasing anxiety, came increasing sense of cold.
But now another horror came. How or when he knew not. He had suffered the pony to step aside from the fast-filling path. But he could easily find it again. A pull of the bridle to the right, a hundred yards in that direction, but still no path; now a standstill. Where was he? No sun in the sky to show the direction, no path underfoot, no compass— for that had not been thought of. Darkness, like prison walls, gathered about; blinding snow falling all about, clinging to him like a winding-sheet; the cold now piercing to his bones; the conviction now fastening upon him, "I am lost in the snowstorm on a trackless prairie.”
Then thoughts of death came and pressed him hard—thoughts of his mother in the faraway Southern States, even the thought, would his body ever be found? Then the mental scenery was shifted, and eternity opened up before his vision. The great White Throne was set. Heaven and hell were in view. There was the rejected Savior seated as Judge. Then thoughts of his sins. He was going to die, and go— where? Not to heaven; he knew he was not fit for heaven. He had rejected Christ. To hell—alas, where else? He remembered his mother's prayers, his Sunday school teacher's counsel, and the Bible given to him, which he had despised.
All this time the cold seemed not to abate. The pony was wandering aimlessly about. Then came the fatal sense of drowsiness. This awakened him to fear. He had been dreaming and freezing. Now terror seized upon him. Leaping from the pony, or rather tumbling off, he gathered his numb limbs under him as best he could and began to stamp on the snow and beat about with his arms until circulation was again felt.
Then, with the instinct of self-preservation, the thought of a fire occurred. Instantly falling down on hands and knees, groping in the now darkness and snow, he began to pull up large handfuls of grass, and, beating the snow, lay it in a pile. Then, as God would have it, his hands fell on a little, low, brush growth—a kind of hazel bush. Quickly breaking its little branches and laying them on the pile of grass, the thought came, now a fire and all will be well; a piece of newspaper for kindling and then a match.
A match! The heart almost stopped beating. Did he have a match? Many had he used in lighting pipe and cigar, but had he any left? Instantly finger and thumb went into his vest pocket. For a moment hope died and then revived. Yes, there was a match, but just one! One little sulfur match—only one. That young man's life, and perhaps his eternity too, were wrapped up in that match. For should that fail him, he might die in his sins and go to hell. From a frozen prairie to a burning hell. No pleasing contemplation that.
One match! What do you suppose would have bought him that match? One hundred of them could be bought in the next settlement for a cent, and yet if Pike's Peak, with all its stored wealth, could have been crumbled into diamonds and laid at his feet as the price of that match, he would have laughed the offer to scorn. Why? Because it was a match? No; but because it was the ONLY match lie had. If that had failed him he was a lost soul.
When he drew the match across his sleeve his heart had well-nigh stopped beating! Do you wonder that his eyes almost started from their sockets as he watched, with a great lump in his throat, that little pale blue flame as it seemed now to die out and then struggle for life, until at last— oh! thank God—it reddened into fire, and kindled the paper waiting to receive it, and the fire was built that saved his life.
His only match! What did he do with the stump? Ah! if I had had the charred stump of that match I would have framed it and hung it in my study, and I would have written this legend under it, "His only match—it saved him.”
- - -
Reader, your salvation does not rest on your only match, but—
It does rest on your only day of grace.
"Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation." (2 Cor. 6:2.)
Next year, next month, next week—to-morrow, may be too late. Come now to Jesus.
It does rest on your only believing the Gospel. "Only believe" (Mark 5:3636As soon as Jesus heard the word that was spoken, he saith unto the ruler of the synagogue, Be not afraid, only believe. (Mark 5:36)) said Christ to one of old, and now He says it to you. By no other means can you be saved. He does not say, "Pray," "Resolve," "Work," but "Only believe.”
It does rest on your only Savior—Jesus. "There is none beside Me" (Isa. 45:21), says He, and again: "There is... one Mediator between God and men, the Man, Christ Jesus." (1 Tim. 2:5.) Oh, remember that there never will be a second Savior to atone for the guilt of rejecting the first Savior. He is the only Savior of sinners—your only Savior.
Remember it well! You are living in your only day of grace; you have within your reach your only means of salvation: it is "only believe"; and Jesus is just now offering Himself to you as your only Savior. S. J. B. C.