Repentance needed emphasizes the urgent call for turning from sin to God’s mercy, highlighting the peril of delayed salvation and ignored warnings (Ezekiel 7:8-9). Illustrations often use familial love, brokenness, and the contrast between outward change and inward transformation to portray genuine repentance as essential for forgiveness and spiritual renewal (Acts 3:19).
True repentance leads to restitution and restoration of trust with those wronged.
A draper in Yarmouth, England, discovered that a lad in his service had stolen his property. He was tried, found guilty, and sentenced to seven years' transportation; but, on account of some favorable traits in his character, application was made to the Secretary of State, and the punishment was mitigated to five years' imprisonment in the Millbank Penitentiary. At the expiration of three years, his conduct induced the authorities to release him, when he went at once to Yarmouth, called on his former employer, and, in the spirit of a sincere penitent, expressed his sorrow for his dishonesty and ingratitude to so good a master, and said, "Sir, I have taken care of the money that I took away, and am now come to return your property." The gentleman was surprised at this announcement; and seeing him put his hand in his pocket, began to expect to receive from him a few pounds. Great was his astonishment, when the lad handed to him £102 16s. 6d.
A conscience-stricken sinner returns money to find peace before death.
In the course of the forenoon of yesterday, says the New York Statesman, for 183—, a person called at the office of Messrs. Beers and Bunnell, and handed to Mr. Beers the sum of twenty dollars, stating that it was from a young man who, in changing money for his master, received that sum above what he should have received, at Beers and Bunnell's office, and, without saying any thing of it to his master, appropriated it to his own use. The person who handed in the money declined giving the name of the conscience-struck young man, but observed that he was lying on a bed of sickness, probably of death, and that he could not rest in view of the hereafter, till the money had been returned as evidence of his bitter contrition.
Conversion leads to confession and restitution of wrongs done in unbelief.
Mr. C— an avowed infidel, was for many years in the employ of a worthy and respectable mechanic, in a small village in R. I. He was a man of steady habits and a good workman, and consequently had secured the favor and confidence of Mr. A—, his employer. It was Mr. A—'s custom to settle with his workmen but once a year.
At one time, a few months before the time for settlement arrived, Mr. C— was in want of some money, and called at Mr A—'s counting-room, and asked him for twenty-five dollars. The money was handed him, but, through negligence, no charge made against him. At the expiration of the year, Mr. C— went to receive the remainder of his wages, but perceiving the $25 was forgotten by his employer, received the whole amount credited him.
Years passed on, and a revival of religion took place in that village, and among those who were hopefully converted was the infidel C—. But no sooner had the Spirit of God wrought a work of grace in his heart, than he began to think of the injury he had done his employer, and he felt that he ought to confess his sin and make restitution. But unsubdued pride at first prevented his doing this. At length, convictions for this sin came with such overwhelming force as to threaten destruction to his peace of mind, and he went to Mr. A—, confessed his guilt, paid him back the $25, and went on his way rejoicing. He remained afterwards a consistent follower of Christ.
Late Sabbath school instruction might have prevented criminals from tragic ends.
"Sabbath schools would have saved me from the gallows; but they were fifteen years too late for me," muttered the abandoned Gibbs, a few days before his execution. But the history of this pirate is not the only one that furnishes occasion for such a declaration. Hundreds before him, who have shed innocent blood, might as justly have said, if we had been instructed in Sabbath schools, they would have saved us from this ignominious death on the scaffold!
A dying child’s simple question awakens her father to the need for repentance.
In one of the counties in England, celebrated for its valuable mines, there lived a collier, grossly ignorant of divine things; and the doctrines of the gospel were totally unknown to him. From his habits of vice, and aversion to the worship of God, there seemed little hope that any moral change could be effected in him. But that which to man seemed so doubtful, God was pleased to accomplish in a way exceedingly simple, yet truly marvelous. Destitute, as he appears to have been, of concern for his spiritual welfare, he was induced to permit the attendance of his children at a Sunday school, conducted on religious principles; where the children were taught to practise moral duties, and instructed in the essential doctrines of Christianity. It pleased God to visit one of the daughters of this wicked father with mortal sickness; but, before her death, she was instrumental in exciting the attention of her parent to the concerns of his soul: "Father," inquired the dying child, "can you spell repentance?" This artless question, through the blessing of God, was effectual to awaken concern. "Spell repentance!" repeated the astonished father; "why, what is repentance?" Thus he became desirous of knowing, and ultimately was taught its sacred meaning; and discovered that he had been a stranger to it, both in theory and experience. He also discovered that he needed repentance; that he was a guilty condemned sinner, deserving God's wrath and everlasting misery; and repentance, unto life was granted to him. He spelled out its divine import; and obtained an acquaintance with that Savior whom God has exalted to give repentance and remission of sins; and, by bringing forth the fruits of righteousness, he, in after life, supported and adorned his Christian profession.
A Universalist's failed attempt to start a prayer meeting led him back to true faith.
MEETING.—An interesting and intelligent young man in Canada, gave decisive evidence of a change of heart, and made a profession of religion. The church had strong hopes of his usefulness, and the firmest confidence in his piety; but, for some time they were much tried, in consequence of his leaning to the doctrine of universal salvation. For years the church was without any communion or regular preaching. He wandered away from God and his brethren; and, for a time, even the most sanguine had almost given him up. He had not, however, utterly lost a sense of divine things and his own duty. And the singular proposal which he made to his Universalist friends, and the result, brought him to doubt, more than ever, the practical tendency of their sentiments. As some of them worked in the same shop, he one day asked them, "Why don't you pray—why don't you have a prayer meeting? If I am going to be a Universalist, I am going to have a prayer meeting." They found he was in good earnest. A Universalist prayer meeting! How and by whom should it be conducted? The proposal was not seconded. He did not succeed. Reflection, and the merciful interposition of God, seemed to humble him, and brought him back to the prayer meeting and the communion of the church.
THEORY REDUCED TO PRACTICE.—A young man in A., N. Y., had been visited by a sad misfortune, and life had now but few attractions for him. In this state of mind he paid a visit to a Universalist minister, and concealing his purpose, questioned him very pointedly about his belief respecting the future destiny of different classes of evildoers. "Do you sincerely believe that the drunkard will be saved? Will the robber? Will the murderer? WILL THE SUICIDE?" To all these questions the minister promptly replied in the affirmative; it was his firm conviction that, according to reason and Scripture, all men, in whatever manner they lived or died, would be happy after death. After hearing his views on this subject, the young man went back to the store in which he was clerk, and committed suicide in a manner too shocking to detail. The next morning he was found dead in his room, having literally cut himself to pieces. The facts occurred at A. in 1844, and caused a great excitement at the time.
# 425. Absurdity and Folly of Universalism.
Delaying repentance can lead to hardened refusal and lost opportunity.
An old man said to a preacher, “When I was seventeen I began to feel deeply at times, and this continued for two or three years. But I determined to put it off until I should be settled in life. After I was married I reflected that the time had come when I had promised to attend to religion, but I had bought a farm, and I thought it would not suit me to become religious till it was paid for. I then resolved to put it off for ten years, tout when the ten years came around I thought no more about it.” He was urged to set about the work of repentance. “It is too late,” he said, “I believe my doom is sealed, and it is just that it should be so, for the Spirit strove with me but I refused.”
God is ready to restore repentant sinners immediately, just like a forgiving father.
”I was a Christian once,” said a man, “but I fell.” “But have you never been restored?” said the one addressed. “No,” he replied; “I have been miserable about it, and would give anything to be what I once was.” “Would you like to be restored at this moment?” was asked; “for as surely as God lives you may be.” He looked in amazement. To help his mind it was said, “Suppose that you had a daughter who had sinned against you, and given you great sorrow; last night, however, she came, saying, ‘Oh I am so ashamed of myself for having given such anxiety and sorrow; do forgive me.’ I ask, can your daughter restore herself, or must her restoration be your act?” “Mine,” he replied. “Now, how soon would you restore her—in twelve years?” “Surely no,” he added. “Well, in twelve months?” “No,” he replied. “Well, in three?” “No,” he said. “Then how soon would you restore her?” I asked. “Why, at once,” he rejoined. “What!” I said, “are you prepared at once to restore your child, and do you think that our Father in Heaven is not prepared upon confession to Him to restore immediately?”
Repentance is a deliberate turning from sin, not a sudden feeling or external strike.
The unconverted have a false idea about repentance; they think God is going to make them repent. I was once talking with a man on this subject, and he summed up his whole argument by saying:
“Moody, it has never struck me yet.”
I said: “What has never struck you.”
“Well,” he replied: “Some people it strikes, and some it doesn’t. There was a good deal of interest in our town a few years ago, and some of my neighbors were converted, but it didn’t strike me.”
That man thought that repentance was coming down someday to strike him like lightning. Another man said he expected some sensation, like cold chills down his back.
Repentance isn’t a feeling. It is turning from sin to God. One of the best definitions was given by a soldier. Someone asked him how he was converted. He said:
“The Lord said to me, Halt! Attention! Right about face! March! and that was all there was in it.”
True repentance may cost much but leads to forgiveness and spiritual freedom.
I was preaching in British Columbia some years ago and a young man came to me, and wanted to become a Christian. He had been smuggling opium into the States.
“Well, my friend,” I said, “You need to repent.” He said, “If I attempt to do that, I will fall into the clutches of the law, and I will go to the penitentiary.” “Well,” I replied, “you had better do that than go to the great white throne of God with that sin upon your soul, and have eternal punishment. The Lord will be very merciful if you set your face to do right.”
He went away sorrowful, but came back the next day, and said: “I have a young wife and child, and all the furniture in my house I have bought with money I have got in this dishonest way. If I become a Christian, that furniture will have to go, and my wife will know it.”
“Better let your wife know it, and better let your home and furniture go.”
“Would you come up and see my wife?” he asked; “I don’t know what she will say.”
I went up to see her, and when I told her, the tears trickled down her cheeks, and she said: “Mr. Moody. I will gladly give everything if my husband can become a true Christian.”
She took out her pocketbook, and handed over her last penny. He had a piece of land in the United States, which he deeded over to the government. I do not know, in all my backward track, of any living man who has had a better testimony for Jesus Christ than that man. He had been dishonest, but when the truth came to him that he must receive the Lord as his Savior, he made it right.
No amount of weeping over sin, and saying that you feel sorry, is going to help unless you are willing to confess and forsake.
Even the devil compelled to preach can bring about genuine repentance and reformation.
There is a Spanish story of a village where the devil, having made the people excessively wicked, was punished by being compelled to assume the appearance and habit of a friar, and to preach so eloquently, in spite of his internal repugnance and rage, that the inhabitants were completely reformed. (Text.)
God offers a new, unspotted leaf to those who repent and seek His grace anew.
=IMPROVEMENT=
He came to my desk with a quivering lip,
The lesson was done--
“Dear teacher, I want a new leaf,” he said,
“I have spoiled this one.”
In place of the leaf so stained and blotted,
I gave him a new one all unspotted,
And into his sad eyes smiled--
“Do better now, my child.”
I went to the throne with a quivering soul,
The old year was done--
“Dear Father, hast Thou a new leaf for me,
I have spoiled this one?”
He took the old leaf, stained and blotted,
And gave me a new one all unspotted,
And into my sad heart smiled--
“Do better now, my child.”
Florence lost Dante's body forever by not seeking his return while he lived.
The people of Florence sent their great poet, Dante, into exile. He went into Ravenna, there died, and there was buried. After his death, Florence recognized how great this exiled son of hers had been, and begged his body from Ravenna, and could not get it. Ravenna would not part with it. Florence might have had it had she asked Dante to come back.
We must acknowledge our sinfulness and seek God’s healing for true change.
* * * * *
I am unjust, but I can strive for justice,
My life’s unkind, but I can vote for kindness.
I, the unloving, say life should be lovely;
I, that am blind, cry out against my blindness.
Man is a curious brute--he pets his fancies--
Fighting mankind to win sweet luxury.
So he will be, tho law be clear as crystal,
Tho all men plan to live in harmony.
Come, let us vote against our human nature,
Crying to God in all the polling-places
To heal our everlasting sinfulness,
And make us sages with transfigured faces.
--NICHOLAS V. LINDSAY, _Unity_.
Late repentance gains salvation but forfeits the opportunity for fruitful service.
The following striking illustration of the effect of delay in serving God is by James Drummond, in “Parables and Pictures”:
There was once a horse that ran away in the morning and did not return till evening. When the master upbraided him, the horse replied, “But here am I, returned safe and sound. You have your horse.” “True,” answered the master, “but my field is unplowed.” If a man turns to God in old age, God has the man, but He has been defrauded of the man’s work.
True repentance includes making restitution to those wronged whenever possible.
One of the strangest wills ever made was that of George Brown, Jr., the noted gambler and race-horse man, which was filed in the Probate Court at Kansas City, Mo., recently. “It is my desire, as far as possible,” a clause of the will reads, “to repay every person, man, woman and child, any money which I may have won from him by gambling during my lifetime; and I direct my executor to make efforts to learn their names and reimburse them to the full amount, with interest from the day the money was won.” This penitent gambler has set an example here which it would be well for those to follow who make larger pretensions to integrity. There are some wrongs to fellow men which never can be repaired, but there are others that can and should be made right. (Text.)
In old age, making amends and seeking mercy is a vital spiritual responsibility.
* * * * *
General John Gibson, of Ohio, in old age was asked what he was doing. Said he: “Well, I am a very old man, and I suppose that most people would think I am not doing much of anything. But, to tell the truth, I am trying to hunt up every person whom I have wronged in life, and if I can find them, to ask their forgiveness and make atonement for all the wrongs I have done. And I am trying to be as good and kind and loving to all my neighbors as I know how. And I am becoming one of the biggest beggars for mercy at the Bank of Grace you ever saw. In short, during the little time that is left me on earth, I am fixing up for a mighty big funeral.”
It is no small duty to make amends for all the wrong-doing of a life whether long or short.
Showing a prisoner his bruised face was meant to prompt self-revelation and repentance.
See PROVOCATION, SILENCE UNDER.
SELF-REVELATION
Some time ago one of the magistrates at Clerkenwell hit on a new idea in dealing with a prisoner, who came before him on a charge of being drunk and incapable. The man’s face was terribly bruised, either from tumbling about while drunk, or fighting. The case having been proved, the magistrate inquired of the chief jailer for a looking-glass. One having been produced, the jailer was ordered to take the prisoner and show him his face in the glass, and then to liberate him; the magistrate remarking that if that exhibition was not a warning to him, he did not know what would be. The prisoner was accordingly shown the reflection of his disfigured face, and discharged.
There was sound philosophy in the novel method of the magistrate, it was good and true as far as it went; but it may well be doubted if the generous device effected any very considerable reformation in the prisoner.--W. L. WATKINSON, “The Transfigured Sackcloth.”
A mother's loving message 'Come back' leads a wayward daughter home in repentance.
Dr. J. Wilbur Chapman tells this story:
On one of the last Sundays that I spent in Philadelphia an Englishman gave an address to our Sunday-school. He told how a young girl had gone away to live a life of sin. He said, “Her mother came to my minister and asked him to find her daughter. The minister said, ‘Bring me every picture that you have of yourself!’ She brought him every picture and the minister dipt his pen in the red ink and wrote underneath the sweet face these words: ‘Come back.’ These pictures were placed in mission stations and halls. One night the girl, on entering one of these halls, found herself face to face with the picture. As she saw that sweet face that had looked down into hers with love, her eyes were blinded with tears, and when she brushed the tears away she read the two words, ‘Come back.’ She made her way out to the edge of the city, waited till night had fallen and, going up to her old home she put her hand upon the latch of the door and, behold, it yielded! She had no sooner crossed the threshold than she was in her mother’s arms. The first greeting she had from her mother was this: ‘My dear, this door has never been fastened since you went away.’” (Text.)
A man regrets wasting his life in sin and refuses to repent at death's door.
An aged man who had served the world, the flesh and the Devil, during a long life, came down to the chilly waves of death. A Christian by his bedside strove to point him to Jesus, but the dying man exclaimed, in substance: “No, I have neglected a kind and merciful God all my life, served the Devil faithfully, and now I will not insult God by throwing the wasted end of my sinful life in His face.”
Some resist conversion until God’s timing and method break their stubbornness.
In Scotland a man was converted at one of our meetings — an employer. He was very anxious that all his employees should be reached, and he used to send them one by one to the meetings. But there was one employee that wouldn’t come. We are all more or less troubled with stubbornness; and the moment this man found that his employer wanted him to go to the meetings, he made up his mind he wouldn’t go. If he was going to be converted, he said, he was going to be converted by some ordained minister; he was not going to any meeting that was conducted by unordained Americans. He believed in conversion, but he was going to be converted the regular way. He believed in the regular Presbyterian Church of Scotland, and that was the place for him to be converted.
The employer tried every way he could to get him to attend the meetings, but he wouldn’t come.
After we left that town and went away up to Inverness, the employer had some business up there, and he sent this employee to attend to it, in the hope that he would attend some of our meetings.
One night, as I was preaching on the bank of a river, I happened to take for my text the words of Naaman: “I thought; I thought.” I was trying to take men’s thoughts up and to show the difference between their thoughts and God’s thoughts. This man happened to be walking along the bank of the river. He saw a great crowd, and heard someone talking, and he wondered to himself what that man was talking about. He didn’t know who was there, so he drew up to the crowd, and listened. He heard the sermon, and became convicted and converted right there. Then he inquired who was the preacher, and he found out it was the very man that he said he would not hear — the man he disliked. The very man he had been talking against was the very man God used to convert him.
True conversion may require surrendering old beliefs and charms to fully trust Christ.
An old Indian in northwestern Canada, who for many years had hated Christians, was at last brought to the Savior and wished to be baptized. The examining missionary, the Rev. E. D. Thomas, was convinced that the old man was keeping back something from him, and was clinging to some form of his old belief. It proved to be a charm which he had purchased years before from a very great medicine-man. After a long talk he was persuaded to give it up. It was a small, round tin box wrapt in pieces of dirty calico and sealed with grease and clay. Inside were half a dozen little pieces of stone, each wrapt in brown paper and embedded in down. (Text.)
A soldier lamented selling his Bible for drink, leading to his downfall and death sentence.
During my residence in India, says a correspondent of "The Tract Magazine," I frequently visited a British soldier who was under sentence of death, for having, when half intoxicated, wantonly shot a black man.
In some of my visits to the jail, a number of the prisoners came and sat down with this man to listen to a word of exhortation. In one instance I spoke to them particularly on the desirableness of studying the Bible. "Have any of you a Bible?" I inquired. They answered, "No." "Have any of you ever possessed a Bible?" A pause ensued. At last the murderer broke silence, and amidst sobs and tears confessed that he once had a Bible. "But, oh!" said he, "I sold it for drink. It was the companion of my youth. I brought it with me from my native land, and I have since sold it for drink. Oh, if I had listened to my Bible, I should not have been here!"
Will not the lamentation of this soldier be the bitter lamentation of multitudes in the bottomless pit, to all eternity?
A dying man who burned his Bible died in despair, lamenting his rejection of God's word.
As the Rev. Mr. ——, a minister in Manchester, England, (1800,) was going to a Sunday school, he was met by a man, who inquired, with much anxiety, whether he was a minister. On being told that he was, "O, sir," he replied, "will you be so kind as to go and see a poor man who is dying, quite in despair?" The minister said, "I am going to a Sunday school; will it not do if I go and see him to-morrow?" "Oh, no," replied the man, "he will be dead before to-morrow." The minister, therefore, instantly complied with his request. When he entered the room, the wretched man, in the agonies of death, cried out that he was undone for ever—that there was no hope for him. At that moment four of his companions came in. When he saw them, he burst forth into a rage of anger, and uttered such dreadful oaths and curses, accusing them as the authors of all his misery, that they instantly left the room, seemingly in surprise and terror. When they were gone, the minister began to talk to him and repeated some suitable passages of Scripture. "That book," cried the dying man, "might have done for me now, but I have burnt it!" The good minister, knowing the power of prayer and that many a sinner had found for giveness, even at the eleventh hour, urged him to pray. Instantly he cried out, in accents most dreadful, "I can't pray, and I won't pray!" He then turned his head on his pillow, and expired!
"Should all the forms that men devise,
Assault my faith with treacherous art,
I'd call them vanity and lies,
And bind the Bible to my heart."
A young woman's death warns of the eternal consequences of a sinful, unrepentant life.
A young lady, eighteen years of age, in the city of New-York, was brought up by her parents in all the gayety and follies of youth; by them encouraged to ornament her person, and engage in every vain amusement. When she was taken ill, three physicians were sent for immediately, who pronounced her to be near her dying hour. No sooner was their opinion made known to her than she requested as a favor, that all her gay companions might be collected with haste. They were soon around her bed, when she told them she was going to die—described the awful manner in which they had spent their precious time, and exhorted them all to repentance before it was too late, in a very affecting manner. She then, turning to her father and mother, addressed to them, in the presence of her acquaintances, these heart-rending words: "You have been the unhappy instruments of my being; you fostered me in pride, and led me in the paths of sin; you never once warned me of my danger, and now it is too late. In a few hours you will have to cover me with earth; but remember, while you are casting earth upon my body, my soul will be in hell, and yourselves the cause of my misery!" She soon after expired.
A sailor's curse leads to deep conviction and repentance, beginning his spiritual transformation.
BUOY.—Said a youth to one of the secretaries of the Bethel Companies: "I sailed from London in a Scotch vessel for the West Indies, second mate, the most abandoned wretch that ever sailed on salt water, particularly noted for profane swearing. Our captain, though a good seaman, and kind to his ship's company, cared not either for his own soul, or for the souls of his ship's crew. We had been at sea about sixteen days, when one night, during my watch on deck, a sudden puff of wind caused the vessel to give a heavy lurch. Not being prepared to meet it, I was capsized, and came head on against one of the stanchions. Feeling much hurt, I gave vent to my anger, by a dreadful oath, cursing the wind, the ship, the sea, and (awful to mention) the Being who made them. Scarce had this horrid oath escaped me when it appeared to roll back upon my mind with so frightful an image, that I ran aft, and for a moment or two thought I saw the sea parting, and the vessel going down. All that night my awful oath was passing before my eyes like a spectre, and its consequences, my certain damnation. For several days I was miserable; ashamed to say the cause. I asked one of the men for a book; he gave me one of Rousseau's novels. I asked him for a Testament;
and he sneeringly answered by asking me if I was going to die. He never troubled himself with these things; he left Bibles and prayer-books to the priests. Several days thus passed in the greatest torment, this dreadful oath always before me, and the devil continually harassing me with the dreadful thought, "I shall be damned,
I shall be damned." I could not pray; indeed, I thought it of no use.
On the fifth day I was turning over some things in my chest, when I found some trifles I had purchased for seastock wrapped in paper—this piece of paper (putting his hand at the same time into his pocket, and from a small red case taking out a leaf containing nearly the whole of the first chapter of Isaiah) oh! how my heart throbbed, when I found it a part of the Bible!
But, sir," said he with a tear, "conceive what I felt at these words,
'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool!'" He paused to wipe away the tears. Indeed, says the Secretary, my eyes needed wiping too. "O, sir," he continued, "like a drowning man I clung to this life-buoy; on this I laid my soul, while the billows were going over me. I prayed, and the Lord was graciously pleased to remove in some measure the great guilt from my conscience, though I continued mournful and bowed down until last evening, on board the Mayflower, I stowed away among the Bethel Company. There the Lord spoke my pardon and peace.
I am now like poor Legion, going home to my friends to tell them what great things the Lord has done for me. Farewell, sir." "Farewell, my lad; the Lord go with you."
# 69. Conversion of the Profligate and Vicious.
A profane sailor is deeply convicted and converted after a child's solemn rebuke.
A very profane and profligate sailor, who belonged to a vessel lying in the port of New-York, went out one day from his ship into the streets, bent on folly and wickedness. He met a pious little girl, whose feelings he tried to wound by using vile and sinful language. The little girl looked at him earnestly in the face, warned him of his danger, and, with a solemn tone, told him to remember that he must meet her shortly at the bar of God. This unexpected reproof greatly affected him. To use his own language, "it was like a broadside, raking him fore and aft, and sweeping by the board every sail and spar prepared for a wicked cruise." Abashed and confounded, he returned to his ship. He could not banish from his mind the reproof of this little girl. Her look was present to his mind; her solemn declaration, "You must meet me at the bar of God," deeply affected his heart. The more he reflected upon it, the more uncomfortable he felt. In a few days his hard heart was subdued, and he submitted to the Savior. He became a consistent follower of the Lamb.
A dying child's question deeply convicts a sinful father, prompting his repentance and church attendance.
At a public meeting of the London City Mission, in
1836, the Rev. R. Ainslie related the following fact:—An infidel allowed his wife to send their two children to a Sunday school. One of them, not long after, was seized with illness, and it soon appeared, from the nature of the disease, he could not recover. The father came home, on the last evening of the child's life, from an infidel meeting, under the influence of the sentiments and principles usually taught in such societies, when his wife said to him, "James is dying." The father went up stairs, approached the bed-side of his dying child, and while the father was looking upon him, the child said, "Father, I am very happy; I am going to heaven; will you meet me there, father?" and immediately expired. This appeal was too much for him. Uttered with so much simplicity, and dictated by the Eternal Spirit, it was engraven upon the tablet of his heart as with a pen of iron upon lead, and sculptured there forever. He made many efforts to efface the impression from his mind, but without effect. He confesses, that he was a drunkard, a blasphemer, and, to use his own language, "the vilest wretch out of hell." The appeal continued to be more and more affecting to him, and on one Sabbath, having driven a party a few miles from town, for he was the driver of a fly, he put up his horses quickly, and went to church One of the lessons for the day was 2 Sam. xiii., containing the reflections of David on the death of his child. When he heard the words, "I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me," he thought, "It is impossible." His past life and infidel ridicule of heaven forbade the hope that he should ever meet his child in that happy world. Still his mind was greatly distressed. He had no pious friend; he could get neither light nor peace in this season of mental anguish. An agent of the City Mission at length called upon him; the man disclosed his state of mind, and the instructions, counsels, and prayers of the agent were blessed by the Holy Spirit: the man has renounced his infidelity—his character is entirely changed; he and his wife are regularly worshippers in the house of God, and he is now cherishing the hope, that he shall meet his child in heaven.
A sinner's troubled deathbed shows the need for genuine repentance and conviction of sin.
A person in the lower ranks, at Lockwinnock, whose life and practice had been every thing but that of a genuine Christian, was, nevertheless, a great speculator on the high points of divinity. This unhallowed humor remained with him to his deathbed, and he was wont to perplex and trouble himself and his visitors with
# DELAY OF R
# 125. Causes Regret after Conversion.
A man prayed wrongly in deep conviction, showing the danger of misguided prayer.
“About twenty years ago,” said a dying man, in G—, New-York, “I was convinced of sin; and so pungent were my convictions, that my life seemed insupportable. Instead of going, as urged by the word and Spirit of God, to him who gives rest to the weary and heavy-laden, I retired to a grove—knelt before God; but instead of pleading for his reconciled favor, prayed that he
# HONE:
# 197. Examples of.
A moralist’s self-righteousness was broken by the Spirit, leading to true repentance and faith.
In a revival in one of the New England states, one of the subjects was a moralist, who is thus described by an acquaintance:
He was a young gentleman, of good natural abilities, of respectable standing in society, and of irreproachable integrity. In his dealings with others he was accounted strictly honorable, and his exemplary observance of the externals of religion gained him the appellation of "very moral." He was also "righteous in his own eyes." Though he gave full credence to the word of God, and professed to believe the necessity of regeneration and justification by the righteousness of Christ, yet he was often heard to assert, that he feared not to enter eternity, and appear before his Judge. He believed that, according to his ability, he had complied with all the requisitions of Jehovah's law, and that the Redeemer would at last receive his soul, and wash it from all its original pollution. One thing however was against him: the discriminating doctrines of the cross were ever offensive.
But the Spirit of the Most High has lately unveiled to him his heart, and taught him the spirit of the divine law. His convictions were long and pungent. With tears and heart-rending repentance he confessed his former blindness, his ignorance of himself and of God, and was constrained to cry aloud for the mercy of Heaven to save his soul. The Savior heard him, and appeared for his relief. His joys, though humble, were ecstatic, and his soul seemed to be "filled with the fullness of God." Since that time his triumphing spirit has left the world, and joined the assembly of the redeemed above. In his dying moments he left with a friend the following charge to me:
"Tell — that his moral friend has found himself to be immoral, unholy, and unclean. Tell him also that his friend has found salvation in the blood of Jesus, and is now going to join his Redeemer in the heavens. Tell him to charge the young and giddy that for all their follies God will bring them into judgment—that if they would procure peace of conscience, and solid enjoyment, they must believe in the Infinite Savior, and experience the benefits of the infinite atonement. Tell him to make use of my case in warning sinners to flee from the wrath to come, with the earnest prayer that my death may be the means of converting some soul. Tell him the world is receding. Farewell."
Repentance reveals the harmful effects of past sinful habits on spiritual life.
A young lady in one of the large cities, (says the N. Y. Evangelist), of good native talent, was once condemning her folly, in terms of deepest regret, for cultivating her taste for novel reading. She had lately become pious, and now found to her sorrow, that her imagination had become so fascinated, and her taste so vitiated by this pernicious reading, that she could fix on nothing permanent, and said she, "Were it in my power, I could make any earthly sacrifice, could I thirst after the Bible, as I have after novels; and the greatest daily cross I am called to take up, is to pass by a novel without reading it. I would say it as a warning to all my sex, beware of this fatal rock; beware of wasting not only days but nights, to make yourselves fools all the rest of your days, if not absolutely wretched." This is a frank confession, which might be made by multitudes who are ciphers in society, because they have no fund within; for novels ever so attentively read, will furnish none.
A monk's sorrowful confession reveals deep conviction of sin and need for repentance.
“I remember,” says a keen writer, “when at Tivoli, near Rome, conversing with a monk, who with a face of much sorrow told me, that he was a great rascal and the chiefest of sinners, worse than Judas Iscariot, and altogether vile. I said to him in reply, ‘Alas, my poor friend, it is but too true,’ and then the man got very angry, and would not talk with me any more!”
A father's profane swearing leads to conviction and repentance after hearing his son imitate him.
A man in the state of New-York, who was extremely addicted to profane swearing, was one day at work with a yoke of oxen near his house
The oxen not working to suit him, he began whipping them severely, at the same time uttering vollies of most horrid blasphemous oaths. The oxen breaking loose from their burthen, ran to the house, while the owner in a passion pursued them, and coming up with them at the house, began whipping them again, and swearing horridly as before.
His little boy, at this time just old enough to begin to talk, began to prattle his profane oaths over after him. No sooner did the father hear this, than his feelings were wrought up to a lively sensibility. He paused for a moment, dropt his whip, sat down and wept bitterly. A flood of keen reflections at once rushed upon his convicted conscience, which produced such an effect, that he found no rest to his mind, day nor night, until his sins were forgiven and washed away in the blood of Christ, which took place a few weeks afterwards.
A boy's theft and remorse lead to prayer and forgiveness, showing God's mercy.
The Rev. Samuel Kilpin, a minister of Exeter, (Eng.,) says, in his life:—When seven years old, I was left in charge of my father's shop. A man passed, crying, "Little lambs, all white and clean, at one penny each." In my eagerness to get one, I lost all self-command, and taking a penny from the drawer, I made the purchase. My keen-eyed mother inquired how I came by the money. I evaded the question with something like a lie. In God's sight it was a lie, as I kept back the truth.
The lamb was placed on the chimney shelf, and was much admired. To me it was a source of inexpressible anguish; continually there sounded in my ears and heart, "Thou shalt not steal; thou shalt not lie." Guilt and darkness overcame my mind; and in sore agony of soul I went to a hay-loft, the place is now perfectly in my recollection, and there prayed and pleaded, with groanings that could not be uttered, for mercy and pardon. I entreated for Jesus' sake. With joy and transport I left the loft from a believing application of the text, "Thy sins, which are many, are forgiven." I went to my mother, told her what I had done, and sought her forgiveness, and burned the lamb, while she wept over her young penitent.
If such was young Kilpin's misery and remorse in stealing a penny, then, in justice, he who steals a pound should suffer more, provided remorse of conscience in this life gives every sinner his due punishment. But thieves and robbers who have for years pursued their path of crime, can and do steal hundreds of pounds, and have no such sense of guilt and sorrow for it as young
Kilpin had for his theft of a penny.
A young convert's minor sin causes deep remorse, highlighting tender conscience.
It is often the case that some comparatively slight deviation from duty on the part of the Christian causes him more remorse of conscience than the outbreaking sins of the impenitent. Rev. Mr. D., of Michigan, states that soon after his conversion, when a boy some fourteen years of age, he was standing at the door, and in a playful mood, pulling back and forth a sled belonging to his younger brother. The child saw him, and cried aloud as if some great outrage was being done to his property. Upon this Mr. D. was so much exasperated, that he hastily snatched up the sled and threw it over the fence. To most impenitent persons who should do such a deed, it would cause little afterthought or regret. But not so with the young convert. His conscience severely accused him; his convictions before his conversion were scarce more absorbing and severe. He felt he had treated his little brother unkindly and maliciously—acted inconsistently with his profession—above all, he had sinned, as he felt, against God. His agony of mind was distressing and awful; and it was not till he had wept and prayed, confessed his sins to God, to his brother whom he had injured, and his mother who had witnessed his conduct, that he felt forgiven or found relief to his conscience. Did that young convert suffer more than he deserved? Then he suffered unjustly, and the present retribution of conscience is evidently imperfect. Did he suffer no more than he deserved? Thousands of hardened sinners commit offences a hundred-fold more flagrant and feel little or no compunction. Justice, therefore, is not done in this life, and it must be done in another.
# 358. Because they take Delight in their Wickedness.
Professing sin without true conviction shows the danger of superficial repentance.
A woman professing to be under deep conviction, went to a minister, crying aloud that she was a sinner; but when he came to examine her in what point, though he went over and explained all the ten commandments, she would not own that she had broken one of them.
# 367. Repentance on Death-beds.
Wesley's gentle rebuke prompts a young officer to recognize and repent of habitual swearing.
The Rev. John Wesley once traveled in a stage coach with a young officer, who swore and uttered curses upon himself in almost every sentence. Mr. W. asked him if he had read the Common Prayer Book; for, if he had, he might remember that collect beginning, "O God, who art ever more ready to hear than we are to pray, and art wont to give more than either we desire or deserve." The young gentleman, who had contracted a very common, but despicably vulgar and sinful habit, had the good sense to make the application, and behave accordingly.
A tactful rebuke leads a nobleman to consider God's judgment on sinful speech.
At the time when the Conformity Bill was debated in Parliament, Mr. Howe passed a noble lord in a chair in St. James's Park, who sent his footman to call him, desiring to speak with him on this subject. In the conversation, speaking of the opponents of the dissenters, he said, "D—n these wretches, for they are mad." Mr. Howe, who was no stranger to the nobleman, expressed great satisfaction in the thought that there is a God who governs the world, who will finally make retribution to all according to their present characters; "And he, my lord, has declared he will make a difference between him that sweareth, and him that feareth an oath." The nobleman was struck with the hint, and said, "I thank you, sir, for your freedom. I take your meaning, and shall endeavor to make good use of it." Mr. Howe replied, "My lord, I have more reason to thank your lordship for saving me the most difficult part of a discourse, which is the *application*."
A sorrowful reproof can awaken deep conviction and lead to repentance.
A young Jew, who had been admitted into an asylum for the benefit of that nation, near Dusseldorf, in the Prussian dominions, after having long given profaneness, was without words. He happened to be crossing a ferry with Dr. John H. Rice. On account of shallows, the boat could not be brought to land, and they were carried to the shore by the black ferryman. One of these was so careless as to suffer Judge H.'s clothes to become wetted, and the latter expressed his anger by an imprecation. Dr. Rice, without saying a word, turned to him his large speaking eye, with sorrowful expression. "I never so felt a reproof," said the judge, "in my life; and instantly begged his pardon. 'Ask pardon of God,' said Dr. Rice. I shall never forget it." At this time Judge H. was entirely ignorant who his reprover was.
# SITUATION pain by his improper behavior, became very deeply impressed under a sermon, preached by the Rev. Mr. Schmidt, and afterwards furnished evidence that his impressions were deep and abiding.
In the course of one of his sermons, the minister, to whom we have referred, was led to speak of persons who glory in their shame, and even boast of their crimes in having robbed or defrauded their neighbors. This young man became visibly affected, turned pale, fell into fits, and was carried out of the place. He was afterwards visited by the minister, to whom he exclaimed, "I am lost; lost without remedy." In the course of the conversation, he confessed that he had robbed a widow of one thousand dollars, and that his life had been one whole series of awful crimes. The minister did not attempt to palliate his sins, but explained to him the atonement of Jesus, and the efficacy of his blood to take away all sin, encouraging him in this way to seek pardon. This at length afforded him rest. He now felt it his duty to travel to the residence of the widow, to acknowledge his crime, and thus to subject himself to the punishment of the law. When he was last heard of, he had set out on his journey, with the determination that, if the widow did not prosecute him, he would, by his labor, pay the debt due to her.
Conscience awakens to past sin, leading to repentance and desire for restitution.
A young man, says a writer in the N. Y. Evangelist, went into one of our large cities and offered his services to a man in important public business. Here he labored for years, having the entire confidence of his employer. But he performed a hard service at small wages, and was many times deprived of his rest all night. At length the thought thwarted his mind, that the entire confidence placed in him gave him opportunity to do himself justice. This evil thought was the opening wedge.
He laid by from time to time such sums as he supposed would make up the defect in his wages, till before he quitted the man it amounted to some hundreds of dollars. He then went into another part of the country to thrive on his earnings, and as he still supposed, honest earnings. There, though still in rather humble life, he thrived well, and was esteemed and respected, till within a few years since. The Spirit of God came down upon the people where he lived. He became awakened, and at length obtained a hope in the mercy of God, and took his seat with those who felt as he did. But his conscience was slumbering over the scenes of olden time. He was happy because God suffered past scenes to be forgotten. He had never pondered on the doctrine of retribution, and went sailing on to heaven with fair breeze and sails all filled.
At length, however, he became cast down and disconsolate, and the mystery was that no one could get from him the secret of his distress, not even his beloved wife. What could the matter be?
At length, when he could keep the fire shut up in his bones no longer, he sought an interview with his pastor. He watched a long time to find him entirely alone, and where he could not be overheard while he opened his whole heart. There was a very sequestered spot in a deep glen, where the pastor used to retire to hold uninterrupted communion with God. There this wretched man met him and told him all his heart—the length, and breadth, and height, and aggravation of his sin. And what must he do? He could not disclose the matter to his wife. It would ruin his family. He dare not seek and could not find the man he had wronged—the disclosure would imprison him. Indeed he was in the grave by this time, and whether any heir of his was living, to whom the debt could be refunded, so that God would forgive him and let him live, demanded a doubt.
At length the pastor set out to seek the heirs, if they could be found, that the money might be refunded to them. On his way he called on the writer of this and gave me the whole story. After going from street to street and house to house many days, till it seemed to him impossible that he should ever find the object of his chase, he entered a lonely and humble habitation, where he found the only surviving daughter and child of the injured man. And to her at this time he was indeed an angel of mercy. She had been, as he presumed, in better circumstances, but was brought to poverty, and was then a widow poor and needy. He paid her some two hundred dollars, and will perhaps come on similar errands of mercy hereafter. The widow he found trying to support her half-famished family by sewing.
Unconfessed sin hinders salvation despite deep repentance and prayer.
A gentleman in — attended the preaching of Dr. Clarke, and was deeply convinced of sin. With strong prayer and tears he sought pardon, but found not. Being confined by sickness soon after, he sent for Dr. Clarke, who came; but learning how long he had mourned, and with what earnestness he had sought salvation, he secretly wondered at God's so long withholding freedom from such deep repentance; and finding the lamp of life burning low, and mental agony hurrying on its extinction, with tender but firm language he said, "It is not often, Mr. —, that God thus deals with a soul so deeply humbled as yours, and in his own appointed way seeking redemption. Sir, there must be a cause. You have left something undone which it is your duty and interest to have done. God judge between you and it."
Fixing his eyes intently on Dr. Clarke, the gentleman gave the following narration: "In the year — I was at —, and took my passage in the ship — for England. Before sailing, some merchants put on board a small bag of dollars, which were given in charge to the captain for such and such parties. I saw the transaction, and noticed the captain's carelessness, who left the bag day after day rolling upon the locker. For the simple purpose of frightening him, I hid it. He made no inquiries, and we arrived at —. I still retained it till it should be missed. Months passed, and still no inquiry was made. The parties to whom it had been consigned came to the captain for it. He remembered receiving it in charge, but no more. It must have been left behind. Search was made, letters written, but it could not be found. All this occupied some months. I had now become alarmed and ashamed to confess, lest I should implicate my character.
"The captain was sued, and, having nothing to pay, was cast into prison. He maintained his innocence as to the theft, but confessed his carelessness.
He languished two years in prison, and died. Guilt had by this time hardened my mind. I strove to be happy in the amusements of the world, but all in vain. Under your preaching the voice of God broke in upon my conscience. I have agonized at the throne of mercy for the sake of Christ for pardon; but God is deaf to my prayer. I must go down to the grave unpardoned, unsaved."
Dr. Clarke suggested to the dying penitent that God claimed from him not only repentance, but restitution. The widow and fatherless children still lived. The gentleman readily consented. The sum, with interest and compound interest, was made up and given to the widow, to whom the circumstances were made known. The dying man's mind was calmed, and soon, in firm hope of pardon, he died.
A young criminal's heart struggle ended in suicide, showing the cost of unrepented sin.
The St. Louis Reveille contains an account of the death of a young man by the name of Leak, who, although only twenty-two years of age, had made himself notorious in crime. He was arrested for robbing a store, having been betrayed by one of his companions in crime. He plead his own case before the jury, and besought them to deal lightly with him, for he was both young in years and in the knowledge of crime. The jury leaned to the side of mercy, and instead of ten, allotted him four years in the state penitentiary.
a guinea, saying, "God bless you, and prosper you, my lad; and as long as you live, never suffer yourself to be laughed out of your money or your prayers." The young sailor carefully followed this advice through life, and had reason to rejoice that he did so; while thousands have unavailingly regretted that they pursued a different course.
# S—ROBBERY.
A struggle now commenced in the felon's heart which finally ended in suicide.
Nashville, the seat of the state prison, was the home of his childhood, and his aged mother lived there, highly respected; his brother and sisters, also, the former being a respectable merchant of that city. He spoke frequently on the trip up, of how hard it would be for him to pass his mother's door in chains, on his way to prison, and said he would rather die than undergo the ignominy. The companions of his childhood, his schoolmates, he said, would gather about him and look upon his wretched felon carcass until their eyes would burn into his heart. To his wretchedness of mind was added sickness of body, and at length, when eight miles above Cairo, on the Ohio river, the miserable felon, bearing the manacle badges of his wickedness upon his person, plunged into the river and ended his guilty career. "Truly the way of the transgressor is hard."
A father’s repentance and prayer for quitting swearing inspires his son to seek God’s help too.
When certain persons attempted to persuade Stephen, king of Poland, pleasing God. With eyes beaming with joy, through tears that yet trembled on their surface, he determined now to quit the detestable practice of swearing, and take his father's godly example. Enraptured at the thought of having so easy an opportunity of convincing his father of the great change that had taken place in his mind, and with a voice as sweet as infant lips could speak, he said, "Father, give me a chew of tobacco!"
I will not attempt to describe the father's feelings; I will leave that to the reader. But what did the father do? what could he do? Could he contradict himself? Could he convince the child that it was right for the father to do a thing, and wrong for the son? No, no. With a conscience already awakened, by previous light, and having half-heartedly attempted to abandon the evil before—with a conscience now driving lashes inconceivably severe, the tobacco was tossed into the street, with this candid confession:
"My son, I have done wrong; I will now ask God to help me that I may do so no more. Will you ask God to help you that you may swear no more?"
The child looked disappointed, and sobbed out, "Well."
The father then took him in his arms, and retired into the garden to pray, a great deal worse whipped than the child.
# TOLERATION.
to constrain some of his subjects, who were of a different religion, to embrace his, he said to them, "I am king of men, and not of consciences. The dominion of consciences belongs exclusively to God."
An infidel's conscience convicts him of denying God despite witnessing His works.
An infidel, at one of his meetings, while disputing against God, received the applause of the whole company. All at once his conscience seemed to smite him, and he said to himself: “Good God! that a man who walks upright, who sees the wonderful works of God, and has the use of his senses, should use them in denying his Creator.”
Belief in illness can be spiritual bondage; faith and repentance bring healing.
One has known persons, mostly females, who have fancied themselves ill and unable to leave their bed, when in reality there was not much the matter with them. Mr. Spurgeon was called to such a case by the mother of a girl who was the victim of a desponding frame of mind. The mother could not believe that her daughter was really ill, though it was no case of sham. Mr. Spurgeon went to see the young woman, and coincided with the opinion of the mother. "Come," said he, "you must get up; your mother believes, and I believe, that there is nothing really the matter with you; but, if you persist in thinking you are ill, you may lie here and die. But, remember, God has His own place to which He sends suicides." The girl seemed startled, and said, "I will come to the Tabernacle on Sunday." She did so, and gave her mother no further trouble. 55. Number, The, of the Beast A man who is great on prophecy wrote to Mr. Spurgeon, saying he could make the name of Gladstone and of Napoleon, and of others, tally with the numbers of the beast in the Revelation, but could not make his do so, and wanted him to tell him why. "I suppose it's because I am not a beast," was his reply. 56. One Song, One Heart An affecting passage in a memorable service at the Tabernacle thrilled every heart, when Mr. Spurgeon proposed that the whole assembly should join hands, and form an unbroken chain extending from the floor to the platform, and from the platform to the galleries, and that then the congregation should sing,— "E'er since by faith I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply, Redeeming love has been my theme, And shall be till I die." At first the people were slow to understand and respond, and there was some difficulty about the joining hands of those above and those below; some had to stand on the stairs, and it was scarcely in accordance with English usage for strangers to take each other's hands; but Mr. Spurgeon uttered a cheery word, and the thing was done without any mishap. There were few dry eyes when the singing had reached the last verse:— "Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I'll sing Thy power to save, When this poor lisping, stammering tongue Lies silent in the grave." No one present could ever forget the scene and the circumstances, or the deeply moving words and tones of the speaker. In the twenty years that have followed what numbers of that throng have met where they still sing the new song:—"Unto Him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood," etc.
A surgeon finding a broken bone illustrates how conviction must touch individual sin to be effective.
When a man has broken his arm, the surgeon must find out the exact spot where the fracture is. He feels along and presses gently with his fingers.
“Is it there?”
“No.”
“Is it there?”
“No.”
Presently, when the surgeon touches another spot, “Ouch!” says the man.
He has found the broken part, and it hurts.
It is one thing to hear a man preach down other people’s sins. Men will say, “That is splendid,” and will want all their friends to go and hear the preacher. But let him touch on their individual sin, and declare, as Nathan did to David, “Thou art the man,” and they say, “I do not like that.” The preacher has touched a sore place.
A minister's daughter feared hell for not loving God but found joy after prayer and fasting.
TABITHA ALDER was the daughter of a minister in Kent, who lived near Gravesend. She was instructed in the Holy Scriptures by her father and mother; but there appeared nothing extraordinary in her till she was between seven and eight years old: 2. About which time, when she was sick, one asked her what she thought would become of her if she should die? She answered that she was greatly afraid she should go to hell. 3. Being asked why she was afraid she should go to hell? She answered, because she did not love God. 4. Again, being asked how she knew that she did not love God? she replied, "What have I done for God ever since I was born? And beside this, I have been taught that he that loves God keeps his commandments; but I have kept none of them." 5. Being farther demanded if she would not fain love God? she answered, "Yes, with all my heart, if I could, but I find it a hard thing to love one I do not see." 6. She was advised to beg of God a heart to love him: she answered, "I am afraid it is too late." 7. Upon this, seeing her in such a desponding condition, a friend of hers spent the next day in fasting and prayer for her. 8. After this, that friend asked her how she did now? She answered with a great deal of joy, "Now I bless the Lord; I love the Lord Jesus dearly; I feel I do love him. O, I love him dearly." 9. "Why," said her friend, "did you not say yesterday you did not love the Lord, and that you could not?" "Sure," said she, "it was Satan hindered me. But now I love him. O blessed be God for the Lord Jesus Christ." 10. After this she had a discovery of her approaching dissolution, which was no small comfort to her: "Anon," said she, (with a holy triumph,) "I shall be with Jesus. I am married to him: he is my husband: I am his bride: I have given myself to him, and he hath given himself to me, and I shall live with him for ever." 11. This language struck the hearers with astonishment. She still continued in a kind of ecstasy of joy, admiring the excellence of Christ, rejoicing in her interest in him, and longing to be with him. 12. After a while, some of her friends, who stood near her, observed a more than ordinary earnestness and fixedness in her countenance; they said one to another, "Look how earnestly she looks, surely she sees something."13. One asked her what it was that she fixed her eyes upon so eagerly? "I warrant," says one, "she saw death coming."14. "No," said she, "it is the glory that I saw, it is that on which my eyes were fixed."15. One demanded of her, what the glory was like? She replied, "I cannot tell what, but I am going to it: will you go with me? I am going to glory. O that you were all going with me to that glory!" With these words her soul took wings, and went to the possession of that glory. She died when she was between eight and nine years of age.
True fear of sin deeply convicts and alarms the soul, prompting genuine repentance.
The old naturalist, Ulysses Androvaldus, tells us that a dove is so afraid of a hawk, that she will be frightened at the sight of one of its feathers. Whether it be so or not, I cannot tell; but this I know, that when a man has had a thorough shaking over the jaws of hell, he will be so afraid of sin, that even one of its feathers—any one sin—will alarm and send a thrill of fear through his soul. This is a part of the way by which the Lord turns us when we are turned indeed.
A true Christian hates sin and cannot live in it any longer.
An Arminian arguing with a Calvinist remarked, "If I believed your doctrine, and were sure that I was a converted man, I would take my fill of sin." "How much sin," replied the godly Calvinist, "do you think it would take to fill a true Christian to his own satisfaction?" Here he hit the nail on the head. "How can we that are dead to sin live any longer therein?" A truly converted man hates sin with all his heart, and even if he could sin without suffering for it, it would be misery enough to him to sin at all.
