“Isn’t it Too Late?”

“Isn’t it too late?” The man who asked the question was lying upon a low bed in a private ward of a great military hospital. His fine, manly frame was wasted by the ravages of a slow fever, and his keen eye was only now showing signs of intelligence after days of unconscious ravings.
“Isn’t it too late?” repeated Sergeant McAlpine.
“No!” I answered firmly; it is never too late.”
Then, as he closed his eyes again, I thought over the sad story of his life, which I knew so well. Much of it I had known before he came into hospital; the rest I had learned little by little during the days of his long illness.
Soon after the regiment had come to our garrison town, a letter arrived for me. It was from a Highland manse, and it ran much as follows: — “I believe my son is in the regiment which has just gone to your town. He is my only son. I gave him every chance in life, a good education, a splendid training as an engineer, and all he wanted for pleasure. But he flung away all his chances. He must have got into some trouble I never knew of, for he enlisted — and he won’t come home. The door is, always open to him―and I am heart-broken. Can’t you do something for him?”
When I found him on the barrack square and pleaded with him to remember his aged father, he carelessly replied: “It’s too late now!”
It was not long before his regiment was ordered to the Cape. The day before he left I gripped his hand and said, “McAlpine, your father in the Highlands and your Father in heaven are calling you — calling you to turn from your sinful living. There may be no need for you to leave the Army — but why not leave the sin?” But he turned away, saying, “No, sir, it’s too late now!”
Nearly a year passed, and he was invalided home. A rifle shot had shattered his left arm, and it was still uncertain whether medical skill could save him. He was in hospital for many weeks, and I had many a serious talk with him. On one occasion I had said, “McAlpine, you were meant to be a clean, strong man. You cannot really be that without the help of Jesus Christ. And He is still calling you. When are you going to rise and follow Him?”
“It’s too late now,” he said in the sad phrase I had so often heard from him. As he turned away I caught a look of hopeless despair upon his handsome face.
McAlpine recovered the use of his arm at length, and was able to continue in the Service. He stayed on in barracks with us. But the old habits of wild living had enslaved him hopelessly. He gave way to drink and sin, and now he was paying the penalty in weeks of wasting fever.
The doctor feared he would not rally. And, as I sat by his side during his conscious hours, I sought to tell him again the “old, old story of Jesus and His love.” Simply and earnestly, I told the story of the strong Son of God, who came “to seek and to save that which was lost.” I pictured Him coming into a sinful world to make known the great love of God to sinful men, and going to the Cross of Calvary that He might bear away their guilt.
Suddenly he looked up, with a sad, hopeless smile, and said: “But — it’s too late — now.”
“McAlpine,” I replied, “it’s never too late with God — and you know it. This very moment you may accept His full and free salvation. If you will but look to Him in faith, He will cleanse you from all sin; He will slay the passions within you: He will give you a new life. Why not trust Him now?”
“I fear it’s,—” he faltered — and then stopped. For some minutes I watched him. His face seemed to indicate some terrible inward struggle. Then he opened his eyes and asked, “Are you really sure it isn’t too late?”
“Yes; quite sure!” I answered. “Today if ye will hear His voice, harden not your heart.’”
Again he lay still awhile. Then his eyes opened and they were alight with hope and happiness. “No,” he said, “it isn’t too late — and I ani going to trust Him now.”
That decision was the turning-point for McAlpine. New life seemed to come to him in body and in soul. He mastered the fever and was well again in a fortnight. He went back to backs, but the old sins had no attraction for him now. He was a free man — saved by the grace of God.