SOME years ago, a boy was sent one winter day, when the murky clouds threatened an early storm, with a message to his father, a shepherd on the Cheviots. Soon after he left, home, the snow began to fall. Blinded by it, he missed his way, wandered across a moor, and never reached the place he had been sent to. His dead body was found several miles from home, on the melting of the snow three weeks afterwards.
Another boy was once sent an errand, on a winter night, to a place some distance; and, when on his way, was overtaken by a snow storm. He was so bewildered by it that he could not find the place he wished to reach, though he sought long and earnestly for it. At last, knowing that he was in great danger, he cried out as loud as he could, “Lost, lost, lost!” His cry was heard by a gentleman in a house not far off. He sought for him, found him, and thus saved him from death.
What a solemn thing it is to be brought to the very verge of death, and yet to escape death! what a terrible thing it is to perish with the full knowledge that a place of safety is within sight, and almost within reach!
Dear reader, you are by nature like the boy lost in the storm. A voice is calling, —do you not hear it? — “Come unto Me.” God’s wrath for unpardoned sin is hanging over you. Perhaps you feel, in your conscience, as if the storm were already coming on. Flee to Christ, who is the refuge from that storm. What will you do when the door is shut and the night comes—the blackness of darkness forever?
ML 12/30/1906