THE passengers for the west have taken their seats, and the train is passing out of the depot. Moving slowly at first, its speed soon increases, and now it is rushing at the rate’ of sixty miles an hour.
But see! The red flag is waving from the signal-box, there is danger ahead. Does not the driver of the engine perceive it? It would seem so, for he waves his hat in response, yet he does not shut off the steam, nor slacken speed one jot. On flies the train faster and faster till presently, a crash, a smash, and scores of deathless souls are launched into eternity.
But what of the engine driver? “Oh,” you reply, “he must be either a raving madman or a willful murderer.”
Is that what you think? Then let me ask, my unsaved sinner, which of the two are you? For that reckless driver is but a picture of yourself.
Are you not DRIVING YOUR SOUL onward to awful fate in spite of many a danger Signal flashed before your eyes?
That sickness that you had a short time ago, what was that? A warning from God to your soul!
That serious expression that held you for a short spell — ‘twas another flash from the red flag.
This paper being put into your hands — ‘tis but another echo of the warning note.
Friend, will you hasten on to certain ruin in the teeth of all these, and a thousand other danger signals? Then it seems very much as if you were a raving madman — mad, ravingly mad, to treat your soul in such a fashion.
Do you object to the title? Then it must be that you are a willful murderer, a murderer of that hapless soul of yours. O sin of sins, THE SIN OF SOUL-SUICIDE!
Will you not come to a halt? Will you not pause, and look up, and say, “Lord Jesus, I was just about to step over the brink of the fathomless abyss, but instead of that I take one step to Thee for refuge, I flee to the shelter of Thy blood.”
What would be the result? Every throb of your pulse would then carry you nearer, not to an awful doom, but to eternal joys. Then come to the Saviour just now.
H. P. B.