Late one night two men, muffled up to the eyes to prevent recognition by the police, were to be seen knocking at the door of a schoolmaster who lived in rented rooms in an unsavory part of a large, city.
"Will you come with us, sir, to see a dying man? He gave us no rest till we came for you."
It was a request to be thought over. To go at night with these men through such a district needed a heart filled with the love of Christ and deep desire for the souls of the perishing. However, after a little conversation and silent prayer, the Christian man announced his readiness to accompany his callers.
Before long he knew not where he was, but had to trust to his rough-looking guides. By and by they came to the miserable house in which lay the dying man.
Through a thieves' kitchen went the three. Up the rickety stairs they climbed until they reached the top. When the visitor's eyes became accustomed to the dinginess of the room, he saw a man lying in the corner on a heap of straw.
Evidently the sufferer had led a hard life. Sin had left its mark on his features. He was far gone in disease, and even a novice could discern that his time was short.
"Tell me, oh, tell me what it means: 'Whither shall I go from Thy Spirit? or whither shall I flee from Thy presence?' " These were the eager, earnest words which fell upon the ears of the servant of Christ. Little did he expect such a question; and he quickly enquired of the dying man how he came to send for him so urgently, and why he asked the question.
His story was that some months previously, on a Sunday night, the man had been discovered in a robbery attempt by the police. They gave chase, but he outran them. As he neared the mission hall with which the schoolmaster was connected, quick as lightning the thought came, "If I can slip in there unseen by the police, they will never suspect me of such a dodge." The thought led to action. The police followed hard on his track, only suddenly to find that their man had mysteriously disappeared.
He sat down in the mission hall. The opening hymns and prayer were over. The preacher had just announced his text, and his audience was waiting expectantly for his opening remarks. He began by repeating his text, and these words—so divinely fitted for the occasion and to the listener—broke upon the ears of the startled runaway thief: "Whither shall I go from Thy Spirit? or whither shall I flee from Thy presence?" Psa. 139:77Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? (Psalm 139:7).
Not a word of the sermon did he remember, but this verse of God's Word worked its way into his conscience. He could not forget it. Months of sin and wickedness could not obliterate the impression made. He might elude the vigilance of the police, but not the omniscient eye of God. He might escape an earthly tribunal, but not the great white throne and the Judge of all the earth.
And now he was dying. Soon he must meet God. His wasted life lay behind him, eternity was before him. Can you wonder, then, at the urgent message sent to the Christian schoolmaster to come and see him? With a prayer in his heart the servant of the Lord turned to God's Word and read in the ears of the dying man:
"Whither shall I go from Thy Spirit? or whither shall I flee from Thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, Thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, Thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall Thy hand lead me, and Thy right hand shall hold me." Psa. 139:7-107Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? 8If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. 9If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; 10Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. (Psalm 139:7‑10).
What beautiful words, yet how inexpressibly solemn to a sinner with the shades of an endless night gathering round him—unprepared to pass from time into eternity, from the company of his wicked fellows into the presence of a holy God.
The reading of these scriptures which had been engraved on the tablets of his memory deepened afresh the work of the Spirit of God in the dying man's conscience. Eagerly he drank in the message, so new and yet so old. With him it was—
"Tell me the story simply,
As to a little child;
For I am weak and weary,
And helpless and defiled.
Tell me the story slowly,
That I may take it in—
That wonderful redemption—
God's remedy for sin."
And as simply as a little child, this poor, dying wretch received the blessed story of God's love to lost sinners: believed it, received the Savior into his heart, was cleansed from his sin, and entered into rest.
But what of you, dear reader? When a few more years shall have passed, both writer and reader will be in eternity—it may be only weeks. Let me ask you solemnly and earnestly, as we stand in thought by the deathbed of this poor, branded thief, and as we see our own boundless eternity looming in the near future, WHERE WILL YOU SPEND IT?