Twelve hundred years ago a conference of Saxon chiefs was called to consider if they should permit certain new Christian teachers to address them. An old chief speaks:
“Life to me is as though we are seated by the cheerful board in the bright firelight, with storm and darkness outside. Suddenly a bird flies in at the window. For a few minutes we see it in the firelight, then it passes out into the darkness.
“So is our life, we see it for a short time, but know not whence it comes nor whither it goes. If these strange preachers can tell us this, let us hear them.”
To every man at times come quiet thoughts on life and death—the same solemn thoughts as our Saxon forefathers had 1200 years ago. How vital, how priceless the words of Christ to whosoever will hear Him!
Early one July morning, Dr. Wolston was called to the bedside of a middle-aged lady he had been attending. A glance at her face told him that she was dying.
Looking into the doctor's face as he lightly felt her pulse, she said.
“Doctor, am I dying? Don't be afraid to tell me. You know I am quite ready, so you may tell me the truth fearlessly.”
“Yes, my dear friend, I think you have come nearly to the end of life's journey. Your pilgrimage is over, and you will soon be at home with the Lord.”
“Do you really mean that?" was her quick reply, as a smile of deep joy and a flush of glad surprise lit up her handsome face.
“I do indeed," replied the doctor. "I think before the sun has gone to his rest today, you will have gone to yours forever.”
“Oh, that's glorious! Do you mean that today I shall be absent from the body, and present with the Lord?”
“Yes, that is just what I mean.”
“Then I shall see Jesus today, my precious Lord and Savior. Oh, what good news!”
Then fixing her eyes on her husband, she exclaimed: "John, did you hear what the doctor has been saying? He says I am going to see Jesus today; that before the sun sets I shall be forever with Him, in all the rest and glory which His precious blood has secured for me. Is not that glad tidings? I feel much at leaving you and all the dear children; but you will all meet me in heaven. I know. You will be there I know my love.”
Then turning to the children, and calling each endearingly by name she added: "You will be there, won't you? and you?—and you? —and you? —and you, my youngest? Yes, you must all meet me there.”
Crying profusely, as they all were, she bade them not to weep for her, as she added:
“Think of this, the doctor says I am to see Jesus today. Yes, today I am to see Him, and be with Him forever!”
She paused a moment or two, and then turning to the doctor abruptly exclaimed,
“Doctor, you told me I was dying. That is a mistake.
“THIS IS NOT DEATH; THIS IS VICTORY!"
Soon after noon, she joyously passed into the presence of her Lord.
The difference between the end of a believer and the end of an unbeliever is immeasurable. To the former it is "victory." To the unbeliever it is defeat and damnation. Reader, which is before you, victory or despair?