“GOOD morning, neighbor; we are likely to have a fine day,” said a young Swiss peasant to his old neighbor, who was sitting idly at his cottage door, basking in the rays of the early sun.
“Time we should have a fine day; it has been wet enough lately,” growled the old man.
“Have you heard the report? “rejoined the other; “those who were up earliest this morning declare that they saw the top of Old Rossberg move.”
“Like enough, like enough,” said the old man. “Mark my words; and I have often said so before: I shan’t live to see it, but those who are now young will not be as old as I am, before the top of yonder mountain lies at its foot.”
“Saints forbid!” ejaculated the other, crossing himself devoutly; “at least, I hope it will not be in my day.”
The time when this conversation took place was at the close of the summer of 1806, in the little village of Goldau, in the canton of Zug. This village was beautifully situated in a fertile valley at the foot of the Rossberg, near the Lake of Zug. Though the season was advanced, everything in nature was verdant, as well as luxuriant; for the summer had been unusually wet, though it had now given place to lovely weather, ripening the corn and the grapes which hung in rich profusion on every side.
That harvest, and that vintage, however, were never to be gathered in by the simple peasants of the valley. The heavy rains had overcharged the springs of water within the mountain, and loosened the ground above. The upper part of the mountain, being formed of rounded pieces of old rock, cemented together by clay, became loosened by the water within, and, giving way, fell headlong into the valley, burying the entire village, with many of its inhabitants, under its weight.
The old man, who had so confidently predicted this catastrophe just before, sat composedly at his cottage door smoking his pipe, admiring the beauty of alt around, with that complacency which the Swiss peasantry so habitually feel towards the loveliness of their native hills and valleys, when the young man, running by hastily, warned him that the mountain was falling. “What, so soon! I always said it would be so: ah! here it comes; but I shall have time to fill my pipe, and yet be soon enough to escape.” So saying, he returned to the house for his tobacco-box. The young man, however, ran for his life, and finally escaped, though with difficulty, for he was several times thrown down by the trembling of the earth. When he dared trust himself to look back, the old man was gone, his house had disappeared, and he was buried beneath its mins.
“Even so shall it be in the day when the Son of man is revealed!”
There are many in this day, and many in this land, like the old Swiss peasant. You know that this world cannot last forever. You can talk of the future, perhaps, with unction and sagacity. You know very well that the great mountain not made with hands (Dan.; Matt. 21:4444And whosoever shall fall on this stone shall be broken: but on whomsoever it shall fall, it will grind him to powder. (Matthew 21:44)), even the Lord Jesus Christ, shall some day descend with flaming tire, taking vengeance on the ungodly; but you do not believe it will be in your day. You say, “Those who come after may, indeed, see wonderful changes, but they will not come yet.” And so all that you read of these days has no effect upon your conduct.
You know also that, if the Lord come not in your days, death must inevitably come. It will fall on you, as the top of Rossberg fell on the unhappy inhabitants of Goldau; but you say, “I do not think it will come yet; it is many years distant: I am safe for the present.” At length sickness or old age arrives; you are warned that death, even eternal death, is at the door; you are warned that there is no hope but in fleeing immediately from the city of destruction; but your heart is still in worldly things; you intend to repent and flee to Christ for salvation; but you cannot make up your mind to do so at once. You love sin; you say, “Let me but enjoy myself this day: tomorrow I will repent.” You are like Lot’s wife; you “look back,” and are lost. You are like the old Swiss peasant who only wanted to fill his pipe once more; you linger on and are lost.
And why is this? It is because you do not really hate sin, nor value the precious gift of God in giving His dear Son to be a city of refuge, into which al! may flee, who fear their danger and desire deliverance.
Almost all men in our land profess to believe there is a hell, which must be the portion of those who are finally impenitent; and that there is a heaven, where those who turn to Jesus shall dwell forever and ever. They know that they are not fit for heaven; but they hope to repent in time to escape hell. They hope to repent at last; but they put off repentance as long as they can, because they love this world.
Had the old man been wise, he would have removed to a safe distance from the mountain, as soon as he knew that it was likely to fall. Had the young man been wise he would have left the village that morning at least, when he was assured that the mountain was trembling and insecure. But though he was wiser than his old acquaintance, he only escaped with his life; but he did escape: he did warn his old friend, as he ran himself, but he lost everything he possessed in the world, and was only saved as by fire; for even as he ran, he was several times thrown down by the concussion of the heaving mountain.
There are many like him in the world now, who, instead of making Jesus their delight and sure refuge in the days of peace and health, try to enjoy this world to the last, and are only persuaded to flee to Him when they believe that death is at hand, and that there is nothing more for them to enjoy on earth. Happy for them if they do so flee! Jesus will never reject them: He will not say, “I know you not;” for he that comes at the eleventh hour is as welcome as if he had come in the morning. Only what a risk they run! What loss they sustain! What opportunities they lose of glorifying Him who has done so much for them Who would wish to be so near destruction as the young Swiss peasant? Who would run the risk of being lost like his old comrade?
Many are thus snatched from destruction every year; many, many more, who always intended to flee at some time or other, sink into the pit. Some few take warning in time; and, voluntarily forsaking the world, and sin, and Satan, come and dwell securely in the tabernacles of the righteous. Happy, thrice happy, are they Love, and not the fear of impending wrath, constrains them to change their abode. Happy are they on earth, for they dwell secure. Thrice happy are they when they die, for they rest from their labors in the bosom of Jesus. Ami when Jesus shall appear, when He shall fall as a mountain on the heads of the guilty, they will not only enter into the joy of their Lord, but will receive the reward of faithful servants,―a reward not to be shared by those who come to Jesus only in the hour of death, and who know nothing of the joy of having glorified Him on earth, and of having done what they could in their Master’s vineyard.
Why should it be thought incredible that a man would risk the loss of life to obtain a momentary sensual gratification, when thousands upon thousands daily risk eternal damnation, rather than give up one darling sin? Reader, is this your case? Then be warned by this example. Flee this very hour to Jesus. Leave everything behind that retards your flight. This may be the last warning you will ever receive: before another evening your soul may be beyond the reach of mercy.
P. H. G.