IT was the evening of the weekly Gospel preaching at Q—'s cottage, in the village of O—. The weather was fine and warm, and as many pleasure-seekers were passing and repassing it was suggested that we should have the meeting out of doors. We accordingly took our stand at a point where three roads met, close by the shop of a baker, and there a goodly number listened for nearly an hour and a half to the old, old story, of God's glad tidings to sinners about His Son, Jesus Christ, and amongst the number none appeared more attentive than the baker, who stood in his doorway. Ah! little did he think as he heard the Gospel that it was for the last time, and that in less than a week he should pass away from this scene, and his eternal doom be inevitably fixed. But so it was; one hour in apparent health and strength, the next hour a corpse. Of his spiritual state we knew little or nothing; like too many, alas! we fear he was careless about his soul. God alone knows if he received His message; "that day" will declare.
Just a week after that last message to the baker, we were again on the same spot, and the word again pressed home upon a number of souls. Many were there who knew of the solemn event, and occasion was taken to urge those present to accept the message of mercy now, and to warn them against putting it off till a more convenient season—having thus one more proof before their eyes of the uncertainty of life, they were urged to flee at once to the refuge set before them. Amongst the hearers this time was a sailor, one of those who carried the body of the baker to the grave. He had once professed to be a child of God, but had gone deeply in the paths of sin and ruin. He too listened for the last time to the message of love and peace, the good news of the blessed God,—as freely offered to the poor backslider as to the sinner in his sins.
That the word fell faithfully and distinctly on the outward ear there could be no doubt whatever. For a long time he listened, apparently riveted to the spot, but about his soul, if he heard, and in hearing received eternal life, again "that day" will declare, but to all human appearances we could not think so. His end was a sad one indeed.
On the Friday he listened to the good news of salvation, and to the solemn warnings of God's Word; on the Lord's day he was intoxicated, and fought with a companion in sin in a public-house, there he received a severe blow, which ultimately mortified, and on the following Friday, just one week from the time we first saw him, he was in eternity. I saw him not, but to some who visited him he spoke of heaven, but we could gather nothing satisfactory of his state.
How solemn that word of Abraham to a rejector of Christ in the gulf of despair, "Son, remember." Yes, there is memory in hell. How many oft-heard and unheeded warnings and Gospel invitations will be recalled there, and how bitter will be the remembrance of mercy unheeded and rejected in the dark abode of the lost. How unspeakably awful to think of the remembrance of the Gospel in hell, to recall the Savior's loving words, "I would, but ye would not.”
“A river is flowing of pure living water,
It comes from the temple of God and the Lamb,
The invite is issued to every quarter
For all who are thirsty: who hears should proclaim.
Who drinketh shall live and be saved forever,
Who hears and neglects it draws near to the day,
When careless and scorners, where hope cometh never,
Shall think of the water they once threw away.”
W. R. H.