WHEN I was a little boy, like most children, I was very fond of going to see my grandmother and as she and my parents lived in the same village, my visits, as you may suppose, were very frequent. Not far from my home was a small brook, in which a fisherman had placed some large trunks with holes pierced therein, in order to catch the small fish, and make them his prey. As these trunks were close to the water’s side, small groups of children might be often seen either running to and fro on their tops, or amusing themselves with the water by which they were surrounded. Now, it so happened, that on my way to my grandmother’s cottage, I must pass this brook, and seldom did I leave my mother without being told not to go too near the water’s edge, but especially to keep away from the fish-trunks. For some time I obeyed her voice; but on one occasion I stopped to look at the boys who were playing thereon, and one of their number invited me to join them. At first I refused; but when he and his companions laughed at me, my pride was nettled, and to show them that I was not a coward, I was soon in their midst, and playing as merrily as though the word of warning had never reached my ear. But my joy was of short duration, for, by some mishap, I lost my balance, and fell headforemost into the water. How I got out I do not know, but I did get out, though, as you may suppose, in a very sorry condition, and that to the delight of my associates, who, like myself, had been terribly frightened. And now, what was to be done? Return home I dare not, for I dreaded my parent’s anger. Her unheeded words sounded in my conscience, and the thought of her presence filled me with dread. Under these circumstances, I soon resolved what to do, and whither to go. With my grandmother lived her only daughter, my father’s sister, and with this aunt I was quite a favorite. I judged that she at least would pity me; and to her I went at once. I could scarcely speak for crying; but my sad plight told its own tale, and produced just what I expected. She wept over me, stripped me of my wet clothes, and put me in a nice warm bed.
The news of my misfortune had spread rapidly, and soon I heard my mother’s voice relating the repeated warnings she had given me — warnings which, had they been heeded, would have prevented my accident — and the severe chastisement I deserved and ought to receive; but the entreaties and intercessions of her who dearly loved me, saved me from her merited displeasure. I was allowed to remain the night; the next day I was taken home, and received with a mixture of sorrow and of joy — of sorrow because of my disobedience, of joy because of my deliverance from a watery grave.
And now, my young readers, I have not related the above incident merely to show you that disobedience to parents ends in sorrow, but to call your attention to the solemn fact that you, if unconverted, are exposed, not, indeed, to the risk of temporal death by drowning, but to that which is much more fearful, even the destruction of both body and soul in hell. True it is you may forget this, despise the warnings of love, and be determined “to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season;” but should you continue to
“Sport upon the brink of everlasting woe,”
you will find, to your eternal shame, that “the end of these things is death.” And oh! remember that as I fell into the water through my own folly, so you, if you go “down to the pit,” will be left without excuse, and have no one to blame but yourselves. The Lord, in his infinite mercy, give you to know where you are and what you are, that, being convinced of your dangerous state, you may “flee from the wrath to come,” and take refuge in Jesus, the Friend and Saviour of sinners.
But I trust that some of my youthful readers are conscious of their danger, and truly anxious to know the way whereby they can be saved. Be assured that, while I managed to get out of my position by my own efforts, yours are useless — thoroughly, totally useless, that your prayers and tears are all unavailing. You need a “Daysman,” and there is “one Mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus.” The very one you dread, from whom you shrink, and whose presence you shun, has “found a ransom” in the atoning sacrifice of his own Son, and by virtue of it, can be gracious unto you, and deliver you from going down to the pit. Christ has once and forever satisfied the claims of a holy and sin-hating God; the Father’s satisfaction with the Saviour’s work has been proved by his raising him from the dead; and the instant you gaze by faith upon the cross where sin was judged and put away by the precious blood of the Lamb, you will “enter into rest,” and have “no more conscience of sins.” Yes, the moment you believe the record that God hath given of his Son, your guilty fears will be removed, and you will be able to look up to God as your loving, gracious Father, and in spirit hear him say, “Rejoice with me, let us eat and be merry.” The Lord grant to your anxious, weary souls, a simple confidence in “the glorious Gospel of the blessed God,” that you may receive at once what love has given and grace provided, and to which, even while you read these pages, you are really and heartily welcome.
N.