WE know not a more solemn thought than that the open door, which now admits into the sheepfold of Christ all who believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, will soon be closed; and that, when it is too late, many will be distressed to enter in, but shall not be able. It will be too late. How dark and terrible the prospect of those must be, having knocked in vain fix admission, shall hear the Master address then from within, “I never knew you, depart from me all ye workers of iniquity.” A little while before He invited them in, saying, “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” How affectionate the appeal! How desirable the rest! How gracious ark universal the invitation! How mad, how foolish how inconsistent, then, to slight such an offer Man was then within the grasp of faith, angels waited but for the decision; but the only Saviour was rejected. Hell triumphed. Jesus will come while they are still undecided, and then in vain they seek the pardon which was once so earnestly and constantly pressed upon them. Could these unhappy people but enjoy for one short moment the privileges the reader of this paper at present enjoys, how incalculably precious would it be to them. Not all the gold of Ophir would buy it not all the glory of Solomon secure it. Now pardon can be obtained, admittance granted and that awful foretaste of hell, with its burning flames, suffocating smoke, eternal darkness, tormenting devils, upbraiding conscience, parching tongue, would then be averted; but then it will be too late; they must go into everlasting punishment, into an ever-burning hell, which they were again and again exhorted to avoid, by flying to Him, who pledged His word, saying, “him that cometh to me, I will in no wise cast out;” but they never came, and therefore never obtained the blessing.
O that my reader would take warning, and at once flee to Him, who said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life; no man cometh unto the Father but by me.” “Now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation.” Or, on a dying bed he may exclaim, in unutterable agony, the harvest is past, the summer is ended, and I am not saved. God grant it may be otherwise, that, “On a Father’s love relying, Trusting to the Saviour’s dying, He may sleep in Jesus, crying Heaven is mine.”