WHEN wandering amidst the gray ruins of Dunfermline Palace, a decent elderly man addressed me with, “This was the wine cellar, sir.” “A spacious place indeed,” I replied, “it must have held a goodly store in its day.” It was a structure well adapted for the purpose, having a strong vaulted roof, supported by heavy arches upon massive stone pillars. The guide pointed to one corner, saying, “There is an underground passage leading to the Abbey Church, where King Robert Bruce was buried. A townsman had once been missing several years, and his bones were found in there, known to be his by the shoe-buckle.” Passing to another part, he showed me the kitchen, having a large fireplace, where many a good ox must have been roasted entire. Little now remained of the stone roof, the vast pile having been destroyed by fire. We stood alone, gazing up at the lofty moss-covered walls, which had bravely resisted the brunt of near a thousand years. In the glen far below murmured the Lyne Burn. The only other sound at times breaking the quietude, was an occasional caw from the rooks in the bare trees of the once fair palace gardens. Visions of the past crowded upon my mind of those who must have lived and loved, hated and died, within these venerable precincts. Turning to my companion, I remarked, “The hands have long been cold that built this pile. Man dies, and leaves his works behind him; not so God, He survives His works. ‘These shall perish, but thou remainest; and they shall wax old as doth a garment, and as a vesture shalt thou fold them up, and they shall be changed; but thou art the same, and thy years shall not fail.’”
“Very true, sir,” he answered.
“A little while, and you or I may be with those who once lived here.”
“Where?” asked he.
“Either in an eternity of woe or eternal glory.”
“But does it not say that the spirit goes to God who gave it; and if so, will the spirit not be happy there?”
I replied, “At death the spirit certainly goes to ‘God the Judge of all;’ and the body returns to dust from whence it came, but God disposes of the spirit as He wills. How think you, I asked, looking him full in the face, that the soul of an ungodly sinner could be happy in the presence of infinite holiness, unless by a mighty change? How could poor sinners stand before, and enjoy Him, except He made us fit, by imparting to us a new nature capable of enjoying Him?”
“Very true,” he replied.
“When we believe, upon the authority of God’s own word, that He is perfect love, as well as perfect light, and has showed that love to perishing mortals by sending His only begotten Son to bear their judgment upon the Cross, laying upon Him the iniquities of us all, then we can trust Him, and by faith rejoice in Him. Salvation rests upon what the Lord Jesus Christ has borne, not in what you can do. God must have perfection, and you have none to give. But since He knows your wickedness, and yet has given His Son to save you, is there any reason why you should not trust Him now, and be at peace?”
“Sound reasoning that, sir,” he answered.
“Now let me make it plain to you. There is first the necessity of the new birth. If you quietly read the third chapter of John, there the Lord plainly told that blameless man Nicodemus that he must be born again. To make the truth simple, Christ takes him back to the time when the Israelites lay dying by the stings of the fiery serpents. Had you been there, you might have seen an old man, gasping in his death agonies, directed to look at the brass snake upon the top of a pole. As his languid eyes rested upon it, instantly a sudden flash of energy filled them, and he springs from his couch perfectly cured. Or you might have seen a sorrowful mother hold on high her darling child, pining under the deadly venom, and bid him look toward the pretty glittering thing on the staff. As he looked, a fresh flush spread his face, and a merry smile dimpled his cheek. Then the happy mother pressed her dear one closer to her bosom, while her heart gushed forth in thanksgiving to the Lord who had visited His people. Now listen, ‘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.’”
“Sound reason, sir; very good,” said the guide. “It is the truth,” I answered; “the only thing to save your soul is the belief of it.”
When parting I again pressed the acceptance of Christ the gift of God upon my guide, and urged him to think seriously over what I had spoken to him. He seemed evidently solemnized, and said, “I might do worse, sir.”
“You could not do better,” were my last words to him, as he turned to speak to a new visitor.
Reader, “what think ye of Christ?” Perhaps you are only an assenter to the truth about Him. Devils do that and tremble, for they know the terrific results to those who do not yield to His grace. Salvation is wrapped up in the Son of the Father. “He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life; and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life: but the wrath of God abideth on him.”
“Hark! hark! hark!
‘Tis a message of mercy free,
O sinner, thy many sins were dark,
But Jesus hath died for thee.
Haste! haste! haste!
Delay not from wrath to flee;
Oh, wherefore the moments in madness waste
When Jesus is calling for thee?”
T. R. D.