POOR fellow, he was dying! Appendicitis had seized him, mortally, in the prime of his manhood. But although the end was fast approaching, there was no thought of repentance in his heart; only rebellion, awful rebellion.
Summoning his fast failing strength, he got out of bed and walked round the bed. Wringing his hands and tearing his hair, he exclaimed, “I won’t be mastered! I won’t be mastered!”
His young wife fled in terror from the house. Three times he paced round the bed; the last time lie sank upon it and expired. Terrible end! “I won’t be mastered,” lie had said; but how can poor puny man resist the power of death!
One feels such a scene is almost too solemnly awful to put on paper. I do so only because it may be, reader, you are as little concerned about death, as if it were true that you could turn aside his dart and elude his grim grasp upon your life-cords. Death, friend, will one day claim you as his victim, and will brook no disputing of his claim. How soon you know not. He may lay his irresistible hand upon you suddenly, and in a moment usher you into the presence of God―into a lost eternity. But in whatever way, sooner or later, he will claim you as his lawful prey; and then, whatever be your present position and possessions, all that will be left of you here will lie within the compass of a coffin and six feet by two of the cemetery earth; and your soul, your precious soul, be in the company of Dives, unable to command a single drop of water―the smallest vestige of comfort or relief.
Oh, soul, awake! Awake to the dread realities of a lost eternity. Death and, after death, judgment await your unsheltered soul. There is one only Deliverer from the power of death, one only Refuge from the storm of judgment; but, thank God! He is “mighty to save.” He is the Rock of Ages. His name is Jesus. By His going into death and rising again, the bars of death have been burst, its bands rent asunder. His victory was for everyone who flees to Him as his or her Deliverer. His open arms, victorious, omnipotent, are stretched out, entreating poor helpless ones to find there the Refuge they need. “Look unto me and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth,” is the’ command of His grace, the entreaty of His love. Heed it, fellow-sinner, heed it today, lest death and judgment overtake thee. “Beware lest he take thee away with his stroke then a great ransom cannot deliver thee.”
F. L. H.