As I stepped on the platform in a town hall one evening to preach the gospel, the following request was put into my hands: “Prayer is requested for a young man in the last stage of consumption—unconverted.” The effect of this appeal on the meeting, as on myself, was great; and much feeling was manifested, while prayer was offered up for his salvation.
At the close of the meeting I learned where he was to be seen, and called on him the following morning. His mother, who opened the door, was in a state of great agitation when she saw me—exclaiming, “Oh, I am glad to see you! But, oh, my son—my poor son—I am afraid it’s too late—he’s dying!” “But do you know who I am and what I am come for?” “Oh yes,” she replied, “this time last year I was at the town hall, and was brought to know Jesus, and that makes me feel so anxious about him; he has always been careless about these things.”
“But we must not despair,” I said, “we must have faith in God, and speak plainly to your son.” “Yes,” she replied, “ that’s true, but I don’t think he will be able to speak to you, for he has had such a drumming in his head all the morning that he can’t bear us to speak to him; but I will run upstairs and see if he is any better.” All this was said as with one breath, and many tears were flowing.
When left alone in the parlor, I could only cry to God to magnify His own grace in such an extreme case. The young man was evidently at the gates of death, and this drumming in the head, humanly speaking, took away all hope.
Shortly, his mother came rushing in, saying, “the drumming has ceased and he will be glad to see you—I have told him about you.” I was shown into his room and left alone with him—a wise thing to do in such a case. He was the picture of death. His lips black, his cheeks yellow, his eyes sunk far down in their sockets; and so low that he scarcely noticed me. What is to ‘be done? I thought. What can I do? He is all but dead. It seemed cruel to disturb him. But his mother’s anxiety—his hopeless state—the freeness of the gospel—the power and grace of God, rushed through my mind. The following, as nearly as I can recollect, are the words that passed between us.
Bending over his bed, I said, “You are very ill, my dear young man.” “Yes,” he replied in a low whisper.
“You know that you will soon be done with this world.” He did little more than signify yes. “And have you a hope for the next world?” He shook his head as if he did not know, but looked concerned. I then felt it was time to be plain, at the risk of paining him, and distinctly said— “You know you must either be in a place of perfect happiness or awful misery in a very short time, perhaps in a few hours.” This evidently disturbed him. He looked anxiously at me; but not knowing whether he was angry with me, or anxious about his soul, I again said, looking and speaking very earnestly— “You know there are only two places in the next world—heaven and hell.” These words greatly disturbed him, and making an effort to raise his head from his pillow. I saw he wanted to say something; and he did say something that I can never forget. With deep emotion, he managed to say, “O, sir, I don’t want to go—to an everlasting hell.” This was heart-breaking. His pitiful looks, his pitiful voice, and these thrilling words, “an everlasting hell,” were almost more than I could stand. I had never heard the expression before, and it struck me forcibly. At the same time, the thought passed through my mind, that God was at work in his soul; I then said— “I don’t wonder at that, my dear young man, and I hope you will not go; but unless you are washed in the blood of Jesus, what is to become of you? You know there is no sin in heaven.” He was now greatly alarmed about his state, and in a kind of desperation cried out —“I will be washed in the blood of Jesus, but tell me how I am to be washed.”
My heart leaped for joy when I heard these words. I felt sure that the Lord had begun the good work, and was encouraged to speak plainly to him about his state and the way of salvation. I explained to him the meaning of the expression, “washed in the blood of Jesus,” and also, God’s ways in grace with penitent sinners. The Lord evidently strengthened his poor feeble body for the moment. The conversion of the thief on the cross occurred to me as a suitable subject to bring before him, so I endeavored to explain the fact and the character of his conversion. He was greatly interested; and when he saw that it was only through believing in Jesus that the thief was saved, he made an effort to cry out—“I will believe in Jesus—I will believe in Jesus.” I considered the battle now fought and the victory won. He had been made willing in the day of God’s power: not so much from the words he spoke, as from the deep emotion of that poor, emaciated body. Of course I cannot write all he said, or give any idea of his anxious, beseeching looks.
Before leaving him, I asked him a few questions as to his past life; and as what he said of himself describes many others, I give it here. He told me that he had been a shoemaker by trade, that he never had been wild, but generally spent his Sundays in idleness, or reading the newspaper; he did not work at his trade on Sunday, and occasionally went to some place of worship, if a friend called to go with him. This, alas, is the way that thousands spend their Sundays; not openly wicked, but utterly careless about their souls.
I left him, as I believed, in the Lord’s hands, after spending about an hour with him. But I must be allowed to notice a little incident which will be full of interest to every christian mother’s heart. As I opened his bedroom door to leave, there was his mother listening with her ear against the door, fondly hoping she might hear some word that would give her hope. The moment I closed the door behind me, all her anxieties were expressed in these words, “Have you any hope?” And when I said, “Yes, I have; thank the Lord, he will land in heaven, I believe;” she gave expression to her feelings in thanking the Lord for His goodness with many tears.
I called next morning, and found him alive, but very low. His expression was calmer. He gave me to understand that he was thinking about Jesus on the cross, and the thief that was saved by His side. After a short conversation and prayer, I wished him farewell; believing that he was now looking to the Lord. The following week I received two letters from christian friends who visited him after I left. Both assured me that there was good reason to believe that he had fallen asleep in Jesus. Twelve months after, when visiting the same place, I called on his mother and heard from her the particulars of his end. He lived two days after I last saw him, and when departing he told them he was going to Jesus—not, as we may say, to an “everlasting hell,” but to an everlasting heaven.
And now, dear reader, but for the solemn warning, and also for the encouraging circumstances of this extreme case, there would be no reason for giving it publicity. Years have passed away since it happened, and I never intended to publish it; but I now yield to the desire of others. But, oh, that word—that awful word—“Everlasting hell”—made a deep, deep impression on my mind. It can never be erased. I had never heard the expression before; and then, the circumstances! The death-like object—the hoarse, sepulchral tone of voice in which it was uttered—the pitiful, beseeching look accompanying these fearful words—“O, sir, I don’t want to go to an everlasting hell”—graved in deep lines those words of agony on my soul.
Reader—dear reader—what impression have they made on thine? If thou art a Christian, let them move thee to increased devotedness; and to increased faith in God, however desperate the case may be. His mother told me a year after, that she considered him like dead when I came, for he had given up taking food, and his feet and ankles were cold. But if thou art unconverted—what shall I say? What a voice that death-bed has for thee! What a solemn warning voice for every unconverted soul! Imagine thyself for a moment there—look on—listen—the days of this life ended—the pleasures of sin all gone—the sting remains—misspent Sundays only remembered to condemn—the boisterous voice of folly heard no more—earth, with all the heart holds dear, receding from the view, and falling from the trembling hand—the gates of death are opening slowly but surely, and there is nothing before the guilty soul but “an everlasting hell.” No, dear reader, no, nothing but “\an everlasting hell,” unless grace prevent as in the case of the young shoemaker. But, the Lord be praised, the grace that saved his soul, is as free to thee—to all—as it was to him. Only, thou must repent of thy sins, and look in faith to Jesus. The great work of redemption is finished, God is glorified, the enemy vanquished, sin has been put away, God has been brought into the scene of death, and is mighty to save. There is no hindrance now, if thou wilt only bow at the feet of Jesus. Honor my Son—is the one and the fair demand of God. He has vindicated God’s character, He has met man’s need, He has put out sin, He has brought in grace. He has done all, and the soul that refuses to own and honor Him must perish, but the penitent soul that humbly bows at His blessed feet, and owns Him as the Savior, is saved there, then, fully, and forever, to the glory of God, the honor of the Lord Jesus, and the joy of all heaven.