Lost! lost! and lost forever! You shrink from the words and say, O, but can it be? Is it a reality? Did you see that soul go down into hell before your eyes, and you had no power to save her? Did you hear her death-cries of agony, and still could do nothing for her? Yes! yes! it was a terrible reality never to be forgotten by me; and though it is years since, I seldom can think of it without weeping, and the remembrance of it has often sent me with a word of warning to others; and this terrible death scene of which I was an eye witness has often brought from me the cry,
The story of A., the rejecter of Christ, is no phantom of some fevered imagination; it is no wrought up story to work upon your feelings and fill you with horror; but may the Lord use it to show you that death is a reality! that hell is a reality! and you, sinner, have to meet both if you reject Christ.
Some time after we had moved to a little suburban home near M-, a gay young couple came to live next door. The dress and bearing of the fair wife marked her as one of the world’s chosen ones. She was graceful and attractive, but upon her face was a look of unrest that told its own tale, No peace! no peace!
My heart rose in silent prayer to God, that He might send me with a message to her soul. Next day I called. On asking for Mrs. E-, the servant told me she was ill, but she thought she would see me. I went in and soon found myself in earnest conversation with Mrs. E-.
Her tale was soon told, for she was unreserved and very communicative; finding it, as she said, a great comfort to have any one to speak to, to break the monotony of a country life in the absence of her husband, who was all day engaged in business.
During my visit she frankly told me that though only a few months married, and her heart thoroughly occupied with the world in every form, its ball-rooms, its concerts, its parties, yet she was very unhappy; and, in a simple child-like way, she said,
“We have been watching you and your husband pass up and down, and we think you look so happy!”
The moment had come: I thanked God for the opportunity to speak, and said,
“You are right, we are happy; and the secret of our happiness is, we know Christ; we have peace with God, through believing in the finished work of Christ; and we have in Him what the world has never given you, and never can give you, for the end of all its joys is eternal misery.”
As I pressed upon her the necessity of conversion, tears rolled down her cheeks, and she said,
“But no one ever told me that before: is it all true?”
“Yes,” I answered, “for God’s Word declares to us,
`Ye must be born again,’ and, ‘Except ye be converted.... ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.’”
I pressed upon her the necessity of accepting Christ now, and rose to leave; slowly and solemnly she said,
“Well, I would like to have your Christ, but I love the world; and though I am often unhappy, yet I could never give up my dancing; and you know,” she said as a hollow smile played upon her lips, “I sing at private concerts, and they say, A.’s voice is the best voice there.”
I shudder! A little of the world’s praise is more to thee, fair A., than the unsearchable riches of Christ. I said,
“Remember, they that reject Christ here, will have to spend eternity in hell.”
A few days after this, on returning from a walk, I found Mrs. E. had called. I hastened to return her visit, and found her more miserable than before. Struggling to assume gaiety she did not feel, she met me by saying,
“O, let me tell you about the concert I am to sing at next week.”
“Stop,” I said, “there will be no singing in hell!”
“O,” she said, “don’t speak in that way, I cannot bear it; speak of your Jesus if you like, but not of hell!”
Again I told her of His love for sinners, but her mind was full of her coming concert, her dress, her songs, and other things. And as I parted from her, very sad, she said,
“When the concert is over I will come and talk to you:” but weeks passed and she came not.
We were leaving our suburban home for a time, so I called to say good-bye, and pressed once more upon her the salvation of her precious soul; but she was swamped in a whirlpool of coming gaiety, and had no time for Christ.
It was months before we returned home, and I again visited her, this time in response to an urgent message from her. The door was opened by a sister who said,
“O come in; A is very ill, and is very anxious to see you.”
I entered her half-darkened room, and, O, shall I ever forget the sight! There, on the bed, lay A., in the ravings of a fever; her infant son, a few weeks old, was on a little bed by her side. Her graceful form was racked by pain, her masses of dark tangled hair lay on the pillow, the dew of death was on her brow; and, as her large dark eyes opened and saw me, her parched and blackened lips parted, and she almost screamed,
“O you have come at last; now do not leave me.” Sitting up in bed, she grasped me with a strength that only fever gives.
“Have you sent for the doctor?” I whispered to her sister.
“No,” said A. wildly, hearing me, “he will only tell me I am very ill, and you know I must be at the choral meeting next week. I am to sing at the concert;” and so saying, she fell back on her pillow in a swoon. I pointed to her sister to take my place, and hurried from the room.
In a few minutes my husband was off for the doctor. It seemed long till he came. Her only concern during that anxious hour of waiting seemed to be about the concert.
At last the doctor came. As he left her room a little later, his anxious face told all. He went away for another doctor, leaving these words ringing in my ears,
“Dying fast! don’t tell her!”
Yes, I must tell her, was my resolve, for she is unsaved and does not know it. I could only look up in agony and say,
“O God, help me to speak to her!”
A. had heard the doctor tell me to give her a strong stimulant every quarter of an hour till he returned. She asked for it when I entered the room. Drinking it down she exclaimed,
“O, I can live a quarter of an hour upon that, surely I am not dying?”
“Yes, A.,” I said, “you are dying; but I can tell you of one who died to save just such as you.”
Gently I told her in very simple words of that one who met the prodigal in the far-off land; and the dying thief upon the cross; but she almost threw me from her, and said,
“I cannot hear it now; when I get better I’ll come and sit with you and hear about your Jesus, but not now,” and again she swooned.
I prayed as I had never prayed before, and as I rose from my knees I found her large dark eyes, already glazed by the hand of death, fixed upon me.
“O,” she said, “pray to your Jesus, He will hear you; but I don’t know Him, and I cannot hear about Him now.”
Eagerly I asked,
“What shall I pray to Him for, A.?” Horror filled me as I heard her answer,
“Pray to Him that I may get well, and go to the concert.”
Again I pleaded with her about her soul; but it was no use. She had rejected Christ all her life, and she would not have Him now. Hours passed and the doctors came, only to say, “Sinking fast!” Her husband and friends arrived to see the end of fair A., and I would fain have left a scene so terrible; but she held me in her grasp.
Every quarter of an hour as I gave her her medicine she said,
“O, I can live upon that – it must make me live – I cannot die!” And then in plaintive accents she wailed out, “I’m too young to die, yes, I’m only twenty-one: yes, too young to die!”
“Father,” she said, as her father drew near the bed, “will you take me to the concert next week?”
“Yes,” said her father, “I will.”
I was a stranger to her friends, and seeing she was sinking fast, I passed away from a scene so awful. In a few moments all was over, and the soul of A., the rejecter of Christ, had passed from the world and its pleasures, its balls, and its concerts, into the realities of an endless eternity.
“Be it known unto you therefore, men and brethren, that through this Man is preached unto you the forgiveness of sins: and by Him all that believe are justified from all things.” (Acts 13:3838Be it known unto you therefore, men and brethren, that through this man is preached unto you the forgiveness of sins: (Acts 13:38)).