IT was low tide at the river’s mouth. Away in the distance the waves were rippling idly over the brown sands; while the retreating river, now but a thread of silver, had laid bare long stretches of shining seaweed that filled the air with a dank odor. The boats moored in the channel rocked themselves to and fro, as though laughing at their less fortunate companions that had been left stranded by the fickle waters. The white-winged seagulls cradled themselves among the dancing waves, and paddled on the shore in search of food.
Through such a scene the skipper of a certain vessel was making his way, careless apparently of his surroundings. As he strode on he stumbled over an iron cable that was fastened to an anchor embedded in the river. In some way his foot slipped through one of the links and, try as he would, he could not extricate it.
Two men that were passing came to his help, but their efforts proved as vain as his own, and now the imprisoned foot had swollen with the strain. The situation began to look alarming, for the tide was rising and it was impossible to haul in the cable at such short notice; they might, however, cut it.
The nearest village was two or three miles distant, and by the time the men had returned with the smith, the river was rapidly widening. Alas! the smith found his tools were powerless to sever the heavy chain. Higher, still higher crept the water. Oh, the horror of the position!
“Save me, save me,” cried the unfortunate man; “do something; do anything.”
As a last resource they sent for a surgeon to amputate the foot. Ah! but would the doctor reach the man in time? Before he could arrive, would not the cold waters have swallowed up their prey? At last the boat, carrying the surgeon and manned by an eager crew, leapt swiftly over the water; but as the rowers neared the spot, their grasp slackened on the oars and they looked upon each other with dismay. They were too late!
In the skipper’s sad death we have a picture of the manner in which many souls perish. For man is bound by a mighty chain—the chain of sin, and his utmost effort to free himself will only prove the strength of the fetters that bind him. He cannot free himself, nor is there any created being that can free him, and left in such a plight, the billows of judgment will roll over his head; he will perish.
Unconverted reader, pause, for here is depicted thy soul’s danger. We would ask thee to consider thy position quietly, thoughtfully. Let the terrible reality of thy peril burn itself into thy soul till thy one anxiety be to escape and thy one cry, “Who shall deliver me?”
Ah, then we would point thee to the Son of God. He it was who saw man’s need, who descended into Satan’s stronghold, broke the bands of death, snapped the fetters of sin, and re-ascended to His Father’s throne, a Saviour God.
Call upon Him. He will deliver thee from the power of sin and place thee beyond the reach of the judgment waves, secure upon the rock of His atoning work.
“For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved” (Rom. 10:13).
M. L. B.