An Allegory
“WHAT a broad and lovely river! Do you know its name?”
“Sin.”
“Goodness me, Parson, who ever gave it such an ugly name?”
“God!”
“But it looks so pure and fresh.”
“Sin often does, but under its surface there are tons of reeking mire and filth―the refuse of the world for ages past.”
“Humph! Well, we don’t mean to go under its surface, do we, Bill? But on it for a bit of a jaunt.”
“Take care, it will carry you into the rapids of death and the awful Niagara of hell.”
“You don’t say so?”
“No, Jack, but God does.”
“Nonsense, see how glassy and placid the waters are―scarcely any current―as quiet as a mill-pond.”
“Ah, fair and deceitful stream, it has lured many a one on to its bosom and down to their doom. Keep off it, my dear young friends, as you love―”
“Oh, fiddlesticks. We can’t be talking religion all day, and pulling a long face, and whining like Quakers. We are old enough now to launch out awhile and see life. Never you fear, we’ll take care not to go too far. We know when to stop. Come on, Bert, Edith, Topsy―all of you, the more the merrier. Here’s a fine, gay-looking craft called ‘The Pleasures of Sin.’ Why, it’s just what we’re wanting” (Heb. 11).
“And a boatman, too―a nigger, eh? Ha! ha!”
“What’s your name, Darkey?”
“Temptation!”
“Oh, you’re Temptation, are you? Well, we want to take a trip in your boat. What’s the damage―the fare?”
“For how long?”
“We don’t know, we only want it ‘for a season.’ We don’t want to be tied to time.”
“Well, we’ll settle that, gentlemen, at the close of the trip.”
“All right, only I hope the figure won’t be too high. Parson says it may cost us our souls, but (Jack adds under his breath) he’s a crank, and he seems to hate you―always warning us against you.”
“And I hate him and his Master, too,” mutters Darkey between his teeth.
“All aboard now,” shouts Jack.” Jump in everybody. Shove off there. Take the helm, Darkey. Good-bye, Parson. Don’t look so glum.”
“Stop, one moment,” says the kind, grave-looking man they playfully call “Parson.” “Young people, if you want real pleasures, they are only found yonder: In God’s presence is fullness of joy; at His right hand there are pleasures (not ‘for a season,’ but) FOR EVERMORE’ (Psa. 16.). ‘There is a river (fairer far than the river of sin), the streams of which make glad the city of God’ (Psa. 46.). Oh, that is the river to enjoy life on. It is called ‘The river of God’s pleasure (Psa. 36).
‘A pure river of water of life, clear as crystal’ (Rev. 22.) (Just at this point, Temptation begins to play the concertina, and all send up a laugh).
“Never mind, Parson,” cries Dick, “finish your sermon tomorrow. We’ll hear more then. Haul up the mainsail, Bill. Now we’re under way.”
“Why, he’s hallooing after us. What is it?”
“There is a way that seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death” (Pray.).
“Rubbish! See how the boat glides along. Hurray! this is fine. What are those people singing over there in Peaceful Cove’? Hark!”
“Oh, hear! enough to give one the shivers. Lizzie, do give us a song. Open a bottle of beer, boys. Here’s to you. ‘A short life and a merry one,’ that is our motto. See, they are signaling from Entreaty Bay. Bother them, why can’t they leave us alone? Can you read the words, Harry?”
“Turn ye, turn ye from your evil ways, for why will ye die?” (Ezek.).
“Pshew! I guess we’re not going to die just yet. Why, there’s another chap out there on Salvation Rock, roaring fit to split his sides. Shut up, Darkey, let’s hear what he is saying―”
“He that being often reproved, hardeneth his neck, shall be suddenly destroyed, and that without remedy “(Prov.).
“Ha! ha! Very polite, sir. Hullo, there’s a fair current running now. How we slip along, and the time, too. Why, Nell, you’re in the blues!”
“Oh, Jack, listen to those words that man is crying from Gospel Bank. He’s got the speaking trumpet of God’s Word to his lips. Do you hear them? ―they pierce me like a sword―”
Clearly the solemn words come over the waters: “He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life, but he that believeth not the Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God abideth on him” (Jno. 3. ).
“ ‘Shall not see life!’ Oh, Jack, that is what we came to see. Put me ashore, put me ashore; I feel this horrid current and that grinning Darkey will carry us to hell. Mother often warned me against them. Look, she’s over there on Praying Ground, and Tom’s mother too; and I see Parson as well. Oh, Jack―”
“All right, all right. Don’t go on so. Give me the tiller, Temptation. Here’s a landing place, ‘Mercy’s Inlet’ it’s called. Well named. I guess it will just suit some of you chicken-hearted ones. Out you go now, and you, and you―”
“Well, I’m blest; four gone, and only eight of us left. Push off again, lads.”
“Glad they cleared out,” chuckles Temptation. “Ha! ha! don’t want any Methodists aboard my craft.”
“What a sweet, gentle Voice that was whispering just as we left,” says Amy. “Whose was it, Tom?”
“I don’t know; but Nell called Him ‘LORD AND MASTER’; and I think He said, Come unto Me, all ye who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest (Matt.). And they all ran to Him, and He folded them in His arms and took them on to Praying Ground, and then all the lot went up Thanksgiving Top—away there behind us. My word, how it shines. I wish I’d got off,” murmurs Tom to himself. “What a rank coward I am; afraid of being laughed at. Parson said it’s an awful thing to go to hell over a mother’s prayers.”
“Well, well, time enough yet,” whispers Temptation.
But the time goes―precious time, trifled away in frivolous and worldly pleasures and forgetfulness of God.
“How times flies,” says Harry, with a yawn.
“Have to camp out tonight, I guess,” adds Jack. “Keep up your spirits, lads. What’s on that signboard yonder? Dingey Point, isn’t it? And dingey it is, to be sure.”
“No, Jack, it’s Danger Point.”
“Bothered if I care. I see no danger. ‘Seeing’s believing,’ they say. Give.us a cigar, Harry. Shuffle the cards again. Play the concertina. Fill up the nobbler. Live for the present. Who cares for the future?”
As if in answer to the scoffing question, Amy gives a start and a cry, and Tom falls on his knees, for again a warning, thrilling voice peals from a narrow neck of land called Last Chance Stretch.
“Ahoy, there! ahoy! it’s your last chance! the rapids are near. Lay hold of the rope. Now is the accepted time.’ How shall we escape if we neglect so great salvation?” (Heb. 2.).
Even as the words are uttered a lifeline falls right at Tom’s feet. Eagerly the youth seizes it. Darkey tries to wrest it from him, but in a moment Tom has slipped it round his waist, and catching his trembling cousin, Amy, in his arms, with a cry, “Lord, have mercy on us!” they fling themselves overboard, and, as the boat sweeps on, kind and strong hands draw them safely to the shore.
“Last Chance Stretch. What a name,” mutters Bill. “Well, it doesn’t stretch to us now. Look, Alice, we’re passing Folly’s End your old aunt used to yarn about.”
“Gloomy hole,” says Dick; “if that’s the end of folly, we are fools indeed.”
“My word, Dick,” says Jack quite soberly, “we’re doing the pace, aren’t we? ―twenty miles an hour. How dark it’s getting. I didn’t notice the sun go down. How quickly the day has gone. I say, you fellows look a bit funky. I’m beginning to feel queer myself.”
“Wait till we get round Reprobate Bend,” says Temptation, “we’ll land then.”
Round they spin, and Darkey pretends to head the boat for the bank, but on she flies. The shadows thicken. Faster shoots the current. Swifter rushes the boat. Nearer roars the cataract. And now they enter the rapids of death, and the inky waters surge and foam, and whirl in fury. In mortal fear they turn to Temptation, but he has disappeared, and in his place there sits the grim fiend of Black Despair. With a yell they thrust him aside.
Up goes the helm of Resolution. Down come the sails of evil and worldly Desire. In go the row-locks of Thoughtful Consideration. Out go the oars of Earnest Endeavor. Oh, how they pull for dear life-pull till the blood starts from their nostrils and their veins stand out like knotted cords.
Yet, all is in vain. In a moment Despair again seizes the wheel, and all begin to cry aloud for help. But Death shrieks, “Too late!” And the night birds of hell flap their wings, and scream: Lost! Lost! Lost! And far above the tumult of the howling waters the voice of disregarded Wisdom thunders in his ears: “Because I called and ye refused; I stretched out my hand, and no man regarded; and ye have set at naught all my counsel, and would have none of my reproof; I will also laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your fear cometh” (Prov. 1.). Thus they perish!
Sighing, Shuddering, Sinking,
with eye-balls starting from their sockets, and hands clenched in agony and remorse, over the giddy falls of time they go — down, down, down into the dark and awful depths of eternal woe. Terrible scene, is it not? describing as it does the sad and abandoned end of the easy start of
A Wrong Course.
My young friends, you have seen my pen-and-ink picture allegory; now read on and learn its moral and lesson. If you are not saved, you are already in the dread current of sin’s inevitable doom; fair and bright and joyous though life may now appear.
Beware! Beware! Beware!
of Dark Temptation and of Black Despair. Scorn not, slight not the counsel of Wisdom, which echoes around you from Peaceful Cove, from Entreaty Bay, from Salvation Rock, and from Gospel Bank. Think of Praying Ground, and the loved ones who are there; and never rest till you have scaled the sunny heights of Thanksgiving Top. Heed well Danger Point, and may God save you from Folly’s End and Reprobate Bend. Even now
Mercy’s Inlet
invites you to land, or, if you are farther on than that, the rope of God’s great salvation is cast at your very feet from Last Chance Stretch. Abandon the painted charms of The Pleasures of Sin, and trust Jesus as your Saviour, Lord and Friend. Trust Him now, and He will bless you with “pleasures for evermore,” and with all the lasting joy and satisfaction of the fair “River of God”; delivering you from the treacherous river of Sin, and from
The Torrent, the Whirlpool, the Rapids, the Abyss, of “Judgment to Come.”
S. J. B. C.