A man joyfully begins a perilous journey unaware it leads to destruction.
I saw a man beginning a long journey. It was a most perilous journey, through a wild, inhospitable country. It did not seem so at first. A green and flowery lane led from his dwelling. The road was smooth, the day bright, friends near, the prospect fair. He set gayly off in an easy carriage, attended by assiduous servants, and followed by wagons loaded with all curious provision for present amusement or need. Song and fragrance filled the morning air; and though, as the early hours flew by, these fled with them, still his spirits were high, and the wheels rattled merrily over the graded way. The smiles and congratulations of friends saluted him as he passed, and some envied him. He counted himself happy; and, rejoicing in his admirable appointments, gave up his heart to pleasure. The evening of the first day has come, and, lo! the carriage is going down a hill. How steep it is getting! Faster and faster it goes. The air darkens; the gloom thickens; it grows cold; and faster, faster, rolls the carriage downward. Nothing can check it. He tries; the servants try. He shrieks for help; but in vain. Downward dash the horses; and see!—at the bottom of the hill a river, dark, and without a bridge. The road leads into it. In rush the horses; and with struggles and groans, and plunges of agony, all disappear. But our traveller did not die in the stream. At the other shore, he came forth from the water, cold, desolate, alone. His servants were gone; his treasure was gone; his amusements were gone; and on that bleak shore, in that bitter clime, bound still for that awful journey, I saw him standing, pale, weak, in helpless despair. On, on, he must go. He was hungry, but he had no food; thirsty, but there was no water; foot-sore, but he must walk. See, he totters; but he has no staff: dangers assail him; but he has no defence: remorse gnaws him; but he has no resource. An irresistible destiny urges him; and while the hunger ever bites, and the way grows rougher, and horrors thicken about him, on, on, he must go. Yet he knew all this from the first, but counted it nothing. All his preparations were for the pleasant road, through green and sunny fields. He seemed rich then: men called him so,—all but one honest soul, who frankly told him that his arrangements were short-sighted wretched, and that, if he went thus, his folly was as egregious as soon his poverty would be dreadful. But he was called a rude man for his pains, and bidden begone. Why should he be ever disturbing the present joy with his doleful prophecies? The very sight of him made one melancholy; and his voice seemed to troll out his warning like a dismal bell at a funeral. "Let us use the joys we have while we have them, and let the future take care of itself!" So he spoke; and so he went: and now there he is. Nay, you need not tell me that my picture is preposterous, that there is no such fool on earth: I know how wise the children of this world are in their generation, and how unnatural all this would be if I meant the petty concerns of this life alone. But suppose I strip off the veil, and tell you that eternity is that awful journey, and life that pleasant lane, and the body that easy carriage in which the soul sets out so gayly, and death that bridgeless river where friends can go no farther, and servants must forsake us, and all the treasures of earth go down forever? Where now is the unnaturalness? Does it not become natural enough, tame, even, from its very commonness? Thus from your own mouth I condemn you, and, from the shock you feel where the whole scene is bounded by an inch of time, convict you of unutterable madness in preparing for the little course of this life only, and going all unfurnished for everlasting ages. Professor Hoge.
G195. WORLDLING, Model for the. I once saw the ascent of an air-balloon: it was bound to the earth by eight cords. As the process went on of filling with gas, it seemed struggling to get free, and striving to break the bonds which kept it down. At length, one string was cut; and immediately the part at liberty was lifted from the earth: the second and third were loosened, till, the last being snapped asunder, it rose majestically towards heaven, showing thereby its high destination, and evincing the object for which it struggled to get free. There is a picture of the mind I would fain possess, — a mind whose affections are in heaven, a mind filled with the Spirit, and, in proportion as it is filled, demonstrating its character by its ardent aspiring and earnest longings after its heavenly inheritance: thus, as the cords are cut which bind the soul to earth, it will rise in heart and affection to the region where it fain would be. C. Simeon.
G196. WORLDLING, Portion of the. These two lads are figures, — Passion, of the men of this world, and Patience, of the men of that which is to come; for, as here thou seest, Passion will have all now, this year; that is to say, in this world. So are the men of this world: they must have all their good things now. They cannot stay till next year, that is, until the next world, for their portion of good. That proverb, "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," is of more authority with them than all the divine testimonies of the good of the world to come. But as thou sawest that he had quickly lavished all away, and had presently left him nothing but rags, so it will be with all such men at the end of this world. Bunyan.
