Most wonderful must have been the surprise of the people, to hear such proclamation. The ladies running to the windows, the shoemakers throwing their lasts one way and their awls another, running out to meet him and to converse with him, that they might be positive there was no imposition, and found it to be a fact that could not be contradicted. “O, the wonder of all wonders! Never was there such a thing!”—must, I think, be the general conversation.
And while they are talking and everybody having something to say, homeward goes the man. As soon as he comes in sight of the house, I imagine I see one of the children running in, and crying, “O, mother! father is coming—he will kill us all!” “Children, come all into the house,” says the mother. “Let us fasten the doors. I think there is no sorrow like my sorrow!” says the broken-hearted woman. “Are all the windows fastened, children?” “Yes, mother.” “Mary, my dear, come from the window—don’t be standing there.” “Why, mother, I can hardly believe it is father! That man is well-dressed.” “O yes, my dear children, it is your own father. I knew him by his walk the moment I saw him.” Another child stepping to the window, says, “Why, mother, I never saw father coming home as he does to-day. He walks on the footpath and turns round the corner of the fence. He used to come towards the house as straight as a line, over fences, ditches, and hedges; and I never saw him walking as slow as he does now.”
In a few moments, however, he arrives at the door of the house, to the great terror and consternation of all the inmates. He gently tries the door, and finds no admittance. He pauses a moment, steps towards the window, and says in a low, firm, and melodious voice—“My dear wife, if you will let me in, there is no danger. I will not hurt you. I bring you glad tidings of great joy.” The door is reluctantly opened, as it were between joy and fear. Having deliberately seated himself, he says: “I am come to show you what great things God has done for me. He loved me with an eternal love. He redeemed me from the curse of the law and the threatenings of vindictive justice. He saved me from the power and the dominion of sin. He cast out the devils out of my heart, and made that heart, which was a den of thieves, the temple of the Holy Spirit. I cannot tell you how much I love the Saviour. Jesus Christ is the foundation of my hope, the object of my faith, and the centre of my affections. I can venture my immortal soul upon him. He is my best friend. He is altogether lovely—the chief among ten thousand. He is my wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption. There is enough in him to make a poor sinner rich, and a miserable sinner happy. His flesh and blood is my food—his righteousness my wedding garment—and his blood is efficacious to cleanse me from all my sins. Through him I can obtain eternal life; for he is the brightness of the Father’s glory, and the express image of his person: in whom dwelleth all the fullness of the Godhead bodily. He deserves my highest esteem and my warmest gratitude. Unto him who loved me with an eternal love, and washed me in his own blood, unto him be the glory, dominion, and power, for ever and ever! For he has rescued my soul from hell. He plucked me as a brand out of the burning. He took me out of the miry clay, and out of a horrible pit. He set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings, and put in my mouth a new song of praise and glory to him! Glory to him for ever!—Glory to God in the highest!—Glory to God for ever and ever! Let the whole earth praise him!—Yea, let all the people praise him!”
It is beyond the power of the strongest imagination to conceive the joy and gladness of this family. The joy of seafaring men delivered from shipwreck; the joy of a man delivered from a burning house; the joy of not being found guilty to a criminal at the bar; the joy of receiving pardon to a condemned malefactor; the joy of freedom to a prisoner of war, is nothing in comparison to the joy of him who is delivered from going down to the pit of eternal destruction. For it is a joy unspeakable and full of glory.
II. ENTERING THE PORT.
“For so an entrance shall be ministered unto you abundantly into the ever-lasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.”—2 Pet. i. 11.
This language seems to be borrowed from the case of a ship bringing her passengers to port on a pleasant afternoon, her sails all white and whole, and her flags majestically waving in the breeze; while the relatives of those on board ascend the high places, to see their brothers and their sisters returning home in safety from the stormy main. How pleasant to a man who is about to emigrate to the new world, America, when he meets with some one that has been there, and who is well acquainted with the coast, knows the best landing-place, and will accompany him on his passage. “Though I walk through the valley and the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” He who passed through death himself, and is Lord of the sea, is our High-priest; and, with his priestly vestments on, he will stand in Jordan’s current till the feeblest in all the tribes shall be safely landed on Canaan’s shore. How delightful must be the feelings of the dying Christian, the testimony of whose conscience unites with the witness of the spirit, to assure him that Jesus has paid his fare: and who knows he carries in his hand the white stone with the new name, to be exhibited on the pier-head, the other side, hard by his Father’s house. This is an abundant entrance, on a fair day, over a fine sea, with a pleasant breeze swelling every sail. “Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.”
O how different the entrance ministered to the careless professor—the fruitless and idle—who keeps his hand in his bosom, or leaning upon his implements! Though he may reach the shore with his life, it will be at midnight, surrounded by roaring tempests, full of bitter remembrances and most tormenting fears. Yet, with tattered sails and broken ropes, peradventure he may gain the port; “for the Lord is good, and his mercy endureth for ever.” But who shall describe the condition of the ungodly, driven out to sea in all their wickedness; not even allowed a quarantine within sight of the heavenly Jerusalem, but obliged to drift about, dismantled and disabled, amid the darkness of eternal storms! Oh! to be forced from their moorings at midnight, when they cannot see a handbreadth before them; the thunders rolling; the lightnings flashing; strange voices of wrath mingling with every blast; and the great bell of eternity tolling a funeral knell for the lost soul, through all its dismal, and solitary, and everlasting voyage! Let us flee for refuge, to lay hold on the hope set before us, which hope is as an anchor of the soul, sure and steadfast, grasping the Rock of Ages within the vail!
III. THE UNCLEAN SPIRIT IN DRY PLACES.
I see the wicked spirit, like a winged dragon, having a long tail, drawing circles and flying in the air, in search of a dwelling-place. Casting his fiery look upon a certain neighborhood, he spies a young man, in the bloom of his days, and in the strength of his powers, sitting on the box of his cart, going for lime. “There he is,” says the old hellish dragon; “his veins are full of blood, and his bones are full of marrow; I will cast the sparks into his bosom, and will set all his lusts on fire; I will lead him on from bad to worse, until he commit every sin. I will make him a murderer, and will plunge his soul for ever beneath the boiling billows of the great fiery furnace.” With this, I see him descending in all the vehemence of his character—but when close by the lad, the dragon hears him sing,