A stage-driver away on the Pacific coast—as I was told when I was there about three years ago—while lying on his dying bed, kept moving one of his feet up and down, saying, “I am on the down grade, and cannot reach the brake.” As they told me of it, I thought how many were on the down grade, and could not reach the brake, and were dying without God and without hope. I plead with you as a fellow-traveller; don’t go out of this hall without saying, “Heaven is my home, and God is my Father.” Don’t let the scoffers laugh you into hell; they cannot laugh you out of it. The Blood is upon the mercy-seat, and while it is upon the mercy-seat you can enter into the kingdom. God says, “There is the Blood; it is all I have to give. As long as it is there, there is hope for you. I am satisfied with the finished work of my Son, and will you be satisfied?” Don’t leave this meeting until you can claim this as yours.
How dark and sad it is to go to the bedside of a dying infidel or atheist, or one who is dying without the light of the resurrection morn. But if we trust to Christ, death has lost its sting, and the grave its victory.
An eminent minister in America, Alfred Cookman, the Robert McCheyne of his day, was dying, and when his friends were gathered round his couch, waiting to see him depart to be with Christ, his face lit up, and with a shout of triumph he said, “I am sweeping through the gates, washed in the blood of the Lamb!” And this echoes and re-echoes through America to-day: “I am sweeping through the gates, washed in the blood of the Lamb!” May these be our last words, and may an abundant entrance be granted us into the gates of the heavenly city!
Who, who are these, beside the chilly wave,
Just on the borders of the silent grave;
Shouting Jesus power to save,
Washed in the blood of the Lamb.
Sweeping through the gates of the new Jerusalem
Washed in the blood of the Lamb.