WERE our eyes really open, and our senses really alert, many and varied lessons might be learned as we pass along the street, pursue our daily work, or walk for recreation in the country lanes or wooded glades; lessons, not in natural history, geology, or botany, but lessons from God to the soul; voices that comfort the saint, help the disconsolate, or warn the godless.
In a recent cycle ride in the North of England, I was confronted by a long gradual rise of perhaps two miles in length, tiring from its length rather than from its steepness. The lovely country around, the tree-clad hill-slopes, the glittering streams, broken here and there into tiny waterfalls, intersecting the broad stretches of heath and bracken, amply rewarded the toil of mounting.
On arriving at the summit, the whole stretch of the down gradient was clearly seen—a long sinuous track, clear of obstacles, with a delightfully alluring landscape in front such as a cyclist delights to see, as it arouses the hope of an easy, rapid, and exhilarating run down for perhaps two or three miles, which is rightly regarded as one of the joys of this pastime.
But how quickly were all these alluring prospects doomed; for in clear, large red letters on a white ground stood forth a warning, "This hill is dangerous to cyclists." What could a prudent man do after such a notice but dismount and proceed on foot? It might be very disheartening after a toilsome climb, and after the prospects of a glorious run down, to have to do so, but what else could be done? Nothing!
Still there are some who in such a case do actually disregard the notice, trust to their skill to render them immune from accident, and proceed downhill.
In view of such persons defying the danger-board at the top, the authorities have placed a second notice lower down the hill to the same effect, viz. that it is dangerous to continue the down grade, even if the first notice had been passed unheeded.
Lower still on the same road a THIRD NOTICE has been placed, commanding cyclists (if there be any so foolhardy as to continue to ride) to dismount, as the danger is still greater. This is the last notice. And yet, after such repeated signals placed by those who know full well the terrible character of the road, some have been known to still go on—on to death.
Reader, you may not be a cyclist, but if not treading the upward way to glory, to that place where Christ is, if you are not bound for the realms of the blest, you are surely on a path that leads downward— to that place where the worm dieth not, nor the fire ever quenched. All may be lovely around. The atmosphere may be bracing, and filled with song. The prospect may, and no doubt is, fair and engaging.
Your business may be flourishing, and the hope of realizing a good fortune may be clear—but it is a downward path! Very early in your course upon it, attention was called to the unsuspected difficulties. Your Sunday-school teacher, your friends, some earnest preacher, or your parents have called your attention to the peril of this enticing down-grade. So easy, so smooth, so alluring, but highly "DANGEROUS." You have, however, gone on. No calamity has befallen you.
You smiled at the board so often shown to you, and disregarded it. With the assurance that you will run no risks, on you go.
But, lo! a second sort of notice comes before you in the shape of an illness, an accident to your companion, or to yourself. Verily a voice from God! Will this stop your progress to the awful end? Alas! the pain of your body or weariness of your mind somewhat diverts your attention from eternal things. Your suffering is too acute. Still, you recover; the tension has gone, the relief is great, and with a glad rebound, feeling that all is right again, on, on, on you go down the same old road! Enjoyment of regained health holds the mind, and still the prospect pleases!
But now God speaks the third time. Stop! Dismount! Death has come into your family circle—your brother, or wife, or your father has been taken. Deep sorrow, lasting sorrow, sorrow that cannot be got rid of, takes possession of your soul and mind. This is a loud and imperative command to consider your latter end. IT IS, THE LAST WARNING. Thrice has the danger-board been plainly put before you; and is the last one to be again thrust aside? Had it been you, and not your friend, what would have been your endless lot?
Who would exonerate the cyclist from blame if found at the foot of the hill with a broken neck after such repeated warnings? And what can you say, my dear reader, for not heeding the warnings that have been put up by One Who knows the danger?
The blessed God says: "How shall we escape if we neglect so great salvation?"; and again, “Turn ye, turn ye. Why will ye die?"; and again, "What shall the end be of them that obey not the gospel of God?”
Is it not high time to pay attention to these notices? Be as wise in eternal matters as you are in temporal ones!
“Stop, poor sinner! stop and think,
Before you further go.”
Listen to the voice of the Lord Jesus. Listen to the words of warning of the preacher. Listen to the many, many occurrences in daily life that tell you of the shortness and uncertainty of life, the nearness and seriousness of eternity.
S. S.