William was an open-hearted young man, with plenty of courage and determination. He had the advantage of having Christian parents, and an early instruction in the great truths of salvation, and this good seed, early sown, sprang up after many days, and bore the welcome fruits of peace in his heart, giving him that divine comfort which nothing can disturb or take away, through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.
The Sunday evening that William said he was converted was during a time when many Christians were stirred to pray for the conversion of souls to God, and their prayers were abundantly answered. William told us that he knew he was all right for heaven, however, some of us could not refrain from a little, misgiving at William’s confession, since distrust of self, and his own strength, seemed wanting.
For a few months William bore the jeers of his companions, and listened patiently to the advice of Christian friends; but after awhile his professions broke down, and, like too many young people, he turned his back upon heaven and his face toward the world.
Thinking of these days calls to my mind many a youth and maiden who, for a little while, seemed to run well, but of whom, now, if the words of the great preacher of Christ, we are constrained to say, “Many walk, of whom I have told you often, and now tell you, even weeping, that they are the enemies of the cross of Christ, whose end is destruction.”
How many young men and women there are, who once had their faces set towards heaven, but who have been turned aside by the allurements of the world, or by the persecutions arising from professing that they belong to Christ—O! that they might be saved from that terrible destruction which is at the end of such a course.
We must then class our William among those hearers that the Lord tells us, “Anon with joy receive the Word, but in time of temptation fall away”—hearers, who have no root in themselves—hearers, who would go to heaven gladly, if the road thither were strewn with flowers.
After a time William set his mind upon going to sea. His mother’s tears and his father’s entreaties stood for nothing, for though an affectionate son, the love of adventure drew him irresistibly from home. Unseen countries, with all the glories of the imagination, were before his mind; the sober matter-of-fact advice of older heads, that the world is the world all the world over, did not suit him.
Seafaring life agreed well with his health—he spread out a fine young man, and William was as confident of making his way up in the world, as he had been of making his way to heaven. But there was a power pulling the other way all this time, and some of you young people having godly parents know what it is—it is prayer. It lays fast hold of God, and God loves so to be held—such is His grace to us His creatures. The prayer of his parents, “O God, bless our boy, save his soul—wash away all his sins in the blood of Thy Son—for Thine honor and glory”—was heard on high.
William had many solemn warnings at sea, but he heeded them not. At one time, during an awful storm a vessel was foundering, and William’s ship lay close beside her—that is, as close as a ship dare in a tremendous sea—and they witnessed the vessel’s distress, yet could render no assistance, fearful lest they also should founder. There was many a strange, inquiring look cast from one sailor to another that night, but with death before him, William only blasphemed his parents’ God as he stuck to his work. When the morning came, the vessel was gone, and the cry of her company was swallowed up in the deep. They had heard their last sermon, they had attended their last prayer-meeting, their spirits were gone into eternity. But William only thought it was by good luck his ship lived.
Being a smart young fellow, if there was a sail to be reefed in, when the gale blew strong, he was sure to be one of the first aloft. And one day, as his ship was running in a storm, and William was aloft, it happened, as he stood high up upon the ropes, that the wind swung the spar against his head, half stunning him, and down he fell through the rigging. Had God forgotten the cry of William’s parents? Had He cast off the youth who had turned his back upon His love? O, no! Instead of being plunged overboard, unconverted as he was, the ship lurched, and William fell upon the deck. He was picked up insensible, and carried to his berth, his life saved, but his arm badly crushed and broken.
So, instead of a three years’ cruise, William was sent home an invalid, his arm in a sling, and he sadly cast down. Should the arm come off, or would it be possible to save it? At length the doctors arranged to try what splints, bandages and lotions would do. Month after month rolled on, but the arm grew worse and worse, and at last, to his severe disappointment, William had to give up all hopes of again following the seafaring life.
His brave buoyant spirits, however, led him to one plan after another for earning a livelihood. He battled hard with the energy of youth and its fearlessness of danger. Now one bright scheme, now another floated before his eye, but he was baffled on every hand; each plan was fruitless, each expectation disappointed.
Those who are older can read God’s goodness in such painful lessons. Young persons are frequently drawn aside from thinking about their souls, by the business of getting on in the world, and the God of love was turning poor William’s trials and disappointments to the dear youth’s eternal blessing.
The loving counsels of his parents began to bear fruit, and William began to see that God was not unkind in having thus thwarted his prospects. His eyes opened to the concerns of his soul, he could not resist, as once he had done, the solemn warnings God gave him. God was showing him his sinfulness, and his need of a Savior, and the burden of unforgiven sins weighed heavily upon his soul. “What must I do to be saved?”—the cry which thousands have uttered—came in real earnestness from William’s heart.
When thus soul-burdened, William paid a visit to a friend’s house, and there he was much struck by a picture of Moses lifting up the serpent in the wilderness to the gaze of the stricken and dying Israelites. Mothers were raising their pale, faint babes towards the brazen serpent, and children with eager steps were carrying their aged parents towards the same object. William was absorbed in the scene; he applied it to himself, and the gracious words of the Lord, “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have eternal life; for God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life!”—came home with living power to his soul. He believed in Jesus—he received eternal life—he was a new creature in Christ.
“Father,” said he, upon returning home, “I am saved, I have everlasting life!” and he related to his overjoyed parents what God had done for him.
The more William’s earthly prospects were blighted, so much the more did his heavenly hopes blossom.
There was one thing which much troubled him for a time. He believed that Christ died for sinners, but he could not reconcile the pardon of his sins, with his sinfulness of heart. Be did not doubt the sufficiency of Christ’s sacrifice, but he was perplexed because he had wicked thoughts and feelings.
“But,” said he, one day to his father, “I understand it now, I see I have two natures; the new nature which loves God, and the old nature which still loves the world. It was an immense comfort to him when he laid hold of the fact that he was “a new creation in Christ Jesus.” That the old nature is not improved by God, but set aside. And that, for peace before God we have not to struggle with ourselves to overcome our sinful nature, but to remember that we are crucified with Christ, and that we are risen in Him and hence to reckon ourselves dead unto sin, but alive unto God. When he was enabled to see himself justified in Christ risen from the dead, in Christ who had died for him on the cross, then he had full peace with God.
One of his favorite hymns was,
“Not all the blood of beasts,
On Jewish altars slain,
Could give the guilty conscience peace,
Or wash away its stain.
But Christ, the heavenly Lamb,
Took all our guilt away,
A sacrifice of nobler name,
And richer blood than they.
Our souls look back to see
The burden Thou didst bear
When hanging on th’ accursed tree,
For all our guilt was there.”
The prayers of his parents were heard. Their boy owned God’s love in permitting his poor arm to be crippled, by which, he told us, God had found a way to his heart. The love of the Savior in dying for sinners occupied his thoughts, and gradually the light shone brighter and brighter within him.