Several years ago a doctor and his assistant were in attendance on a retired merchant. It was a case that sorely puzzled them both. For young men they had had a fair amount of experience; but neither of them had seen, either in hospital or private practice, a case similar to this. It was not that the diagnosis was particularly difficult, or, in point of fact, the prognosis either, for it was quite plain to them that the patient could not live very long.
It was not, however, the disease, but the man himself who puzzled them so very much. He seemed to be past their comprehension, yet there was no thought that his intellect was weak. On the contrary, he appeared to be a man of real intelligence.
Again, there was nothing to complain of in the way their daily visits were received, for their patient always greeted them with a gentle, benignant smile; yet they could not feel at ease with him, for they could not understand him.
This case was a very serious one; and the two doctors judged it to be right to tell their hopelessly ill patients, as guardedly as possible, that they had done all they could for them. Consequently the senior physician now said gently: "Friend, I fear that your time here will not be very long."
The sick man's expression changed immediately. The doctor was, however, quite prepared for that, as he had seen it occur under similar circumstances many times before. Was the sick man about to burst into a flood of tears? No!
Was he going to plead that he might be spared here a little longer? No.
Was he about to deplore having to leave his loved ones here? Not at all.
To the doctor's surprise—and there could be no mistake about it—instead of anguish, a bright, radiant smile spread over the patient's face as he eagerly inquired: "And do you think, doctor, this great event will take place today?"
It was now the poor doctor's turn for astonishment, and his professional decorum was tried to the utmost to enable him, without showing his surprise, to reply, "Well, no; I trust not today; but I fear it will be very soon."
Again that bright, confident smile illumined the face of the man as he said, "Ah, well, it is a good thing to be prepared!"
Later that day the doctors, not being able to understand their strange patient, pronounced him to be a "regular caution," end made many jokes at his expense.
But queer as he appeared in their eyes, he was unquestionably in possession of some secret they could not fathom. Indeed, both doctors knew they would have been terribly distressed had they been in their patient's position. What, then, was the wonderful secret which could give this man such perfect calmness when face to face with death?
Puzzled, the two doctors gazed at the sick man. His tired eyes slowly closed as a happy smile flitted across his face. Then, very faintly they heard him repeating words they had long since forgotten.
"Jesus, Lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly,
While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high.
Hide me, oh, my Savior, hide,
Till the storm of life is past;
Safe into the haven guide,
O receive my soul at last."
Friend out of Christ, that was the great secret of this sick man's comfort. He knew Christ as his loving Savior, so how could he fear death? That dread enemy could not touch him but to usher him into the presence of Him who so loved him as to give His life to save him.
Is this your comfort, my friend? If not, it can be, for Christ, the Savior of sinners, still calls: "Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Matt. 11:2828Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. (Matthew 11:28).