The name of John Randolph, of Roanoke, Virginia, may be found in any good dictionary of biography. First a congressman, and then a senator of the United States, he was an orator and statesman of no small talent. Brilliant, sarcastic, witty, his incisive speeches became the dread of his opponents, and before long he had earned the name of "The Schoolmaster of Congress." His great abilities marked him out for promotion; and in 1832, the year before his death, he was appointed Minister Plenipotentiary of the United States to Russia.
Young Randolph in his early years had the great blessing of a Christian mother, who carefully taught him portions of Scripture and sought to instill into his heart the truths of God's holy Word. On arriving at manhood, however, he turned from his mother's faith and became a deist. He procured a large library of infidel books, and for many years argued against and denounced Christianity. However, later in life, Randolph confessed that with all his arrogance he had never been able to shake off entirely the influence of those early teachings.
At the age of sixty John Randolph was dying. The end was rapidly approaching. As a few friends gathered in his room, the old man—old before his time—sat up, haggard and worn with misery. A blanket was wrapped around him, head and all. With despair in his eyes, and with pinched lips and trembling voice, he cried: "Remorse! Let me see the word! Get a dictionary; find it! I must see it; that word, Remorse!”
A dictionary, however, was not at hand.
"Write it!" he shrieked. "I must see it.”
The word was written on his card, under his name.
"Write it again, above," he shouted.
It was done. He took the card, and read with despair and anguish—
Remorse
John Randolph
Roanoke, Va.
Remorse
With horror in his face, and the card still in his hand, the brilliant statesman and diplomatist breathed his last. The bandage that the enemy of souls had bound around his eyes was torn off, and before he died he was given to see the ghastly sham of infidelity. He was made to realize how powerless the honors of earth are to satisfy the heart; and how utterly lonesome in the presence of death is one who does not know Christ, the Savior.
My friend, if there is any bandage closing your eyes against the light of the gospel, may God in mercy remove it. To have one's eyes divinely opened means not only to see oneself as God does—in the true light as a vile, offensive sinner—but it clears the vision to behold Christ as a willing and mighty Savior. To behold Him and to trust Him thus means eternal salvation for the soul, and satisfaction for the heart forever.