Several years ago, a gospel preacher from a town known for its health resort was requested to see a gentleman reported to be very ill. He went accordingly. The patient was a man between fifty and sixty, and had been a successful merchant in the metropolis. He had been ordered to this health resort, but, as it proved, only to die there. The preacher soon saw that it was no earnest desire for spiritual benefit that had prompted the request. On the contrary, he felt there was little or no sense of the gravity of the case, and no sympathy with his own concern for the sufferer. He felt as if, on the part of the relatives at least, there was barely suppressed ridicule of his efforts to guide the dying man to the truth.
Altogether the case was about as hopeless a one as my friend had ever dealt with. Still he persevered. I cannot remember whether it was during the first visit, or upon a second call, that it occurred to him, seeing the sufferer was a Scotchman, to take advantage of a line in the metrical version of the psalms used in Scotland, to convey the saving truth he was trying to state.
“There is a line in one of your Scotch psalms,” said my friend, “that contains in five words all I would tell you. I do not know the psalm, or the rest of the verse; but here are the words, and the whole gospel is in them:
“None perish that Him trust.”
The invalid looked up from his pillow, and slowly repeated:
“Ill shall the wicked slay: laid waste
Shall be who hate the just;
The Lord redeems His servants’ souls
None perish that Him trust.”
“That is it,” said my friend. “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ. None perish that Him trust. Where did you learn that psalm?”
“My mother taught me it when I was a boy. She used to go to Dr. Alexander’s church at Edinburgh.” Old recollections seemed awakened. Attentively he listened to what more it was thought proper to add. He requested a repetition of the visit. How often after that the preacher saw him I do not recollect, but from that hour there was a marked change, and an evident growing interest as the way of salvation was explained.
The last time my friend was sent for, he went without delay, but it was too late, or seemed to be too late, for the dying man to receive anything from human lips. He was already far down the valley, alone, and friends could only look after him as he descended. As they gazed in silence, they saw his lips moving. My friend bent down to catch the faint whispers that followed each other in slow succession; they were:
“None — perish — that — Him — trust.”
He heard no more, but left, indulging a cheerful confidence that the seed cast into the heart of her boy by a mother long, long years before, had borne fruit to eternal life.