One evening a young man was walking along the street in search of pleasure, when a passerby thrust a small bit of paper into his hand. The young man took it and read, by the light of the nearest street light, the words: "Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow." A sneer passed over his handsome face as he read, and he crumpled the paper and threw it from him as he walked on.
" 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow' doesn't apply to me, at any rate. I am an infidel and do not believe anything of the kind," thought he.
" 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.' Bother the thing, I can't get rid of it!... 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.' Sins? Conscience? Yes; but I acknowledge neither a future nor a God, and therefore am not responsible. What do I care to have my sins made white, to use the figure, seeing that I own no duties beyond those necessary to natural existence?
" 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.' I am an infidel," stamping his foot. "I don't believe in the Bible, the God of the Bible, a future existence, or anything beyond the still, dark grave; so here's for a short life and a merry one...
" 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.' Confound it! I wish I could get it out of my head.
" 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.' It is very forceful, very poetical. Certainly that Bible is a wonderful book. Granted for the sake of argument that it is true, and that a God exists, I can easily understand how religious people who believe in a life after death cling to such sentences.
" 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.' Admirable writing! Terse, forceful language! I wonder who wrote it. God, I suppose. God? Why, there is no God; I forgot myself. If I could only remember my principles, and how logical and well founded the arguments are which support them, I should be all right...
" 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.' That thing again! Will nothing put a stop to this? Here is a meeting house. I may as well turn in and see what they have to say." He entered and was shown to a seat near the door.
A solemn silence reigned. The preacher had just read the text from the pulpit, and paused a moment before repeating it. Then in a gentle voice he pronounced the words: "Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool."
The anteroom of that meetinghouse was always open for a short time after the service for the reception of those whom the message of the Lord had touched. That evening, among the anxious inquirers, there was the infidel who prayed with tears, "Jesus, though my sins be dyed deeper than the deepest scarlet, do Thou make them whiter than the purest snow." And before he left the room that evening he knew his sins were forgiven and his iniquities pardoned, through the precious blood of Christ.