CHAPTER XIII.
OCEAN CURRENTS AND ICEBERGS.
week has passed since Mr. Hume made his frank confession. He went home no lighter of heart than before, yet he felt in some respects different, for he had attempted to do what was right in the sight of God. But he did not feel the joy of sins forgiven. He had not looked upon Christ as a Saviour for himself. He felt that God had distinctly set life and death before him. His doubts were gone; the spiritual world was a reality; Christ stood at his right hand and Satan at his left; he stood where the path of destiny divided, the one path leading up to heavenly seats with Christ, the other leading down to darkness and despair. A voice seemed to be whispering in his ears, “This is the last call.” He went to his chamber determined, if possible, to settle the question of life or death before he left the place and before he slept. He took his Bible, and on his knees turned and read the Psalms at random. But the cloud of darkness only gathered deeper. The words of David’s penitential Psalm caught his eye: “Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight.” He felt that these words of David were true in his case also. All his long impenitence and bold unbelief had been against God. By night and by day, for many a long year, before the sleepless eye of God, he had lifted up his hand, almost defying the holy One, yet the lightning of God had not smitten him. He wondered as much at the long-suffering of God as at his own dreadful daring of the divine wrath. He had been taught better things; he was trained to know the Scriptures and to go reverently to the house of God, but he had turned from Christ and hope. He read on: “Deliver me from blood-guiltiness, O God, thou God of my salvation.” He felt that this belonged to himself more than to David. David had shed the blood of natural life, but he had destroyed the souls of men. He had stood chief among unbelievers. He had led young men into infidelity. He had seen them drink in his unbelief like water, throw off all restraint, and rush headlong to ruin. He had wrought a work of evil which he could never undo, and for which he could make no atonement. What was a confession in comparison with the ruin he had caused? What could his confession do for the young men already, perhaps, among the lost through his influence? Could his late repentance call them back to life and hope? Would God forgive and raise to heavenly heights a man who had dragged others down to hell? Would it be possible that Christ should fill his soul with blessedness while his victims were drinking the wine of the wrath of God? A deep horror seized him. The darkness of eternal death seemed to enfold him. Must he, then, after having caught a glimpse of life and joy, be cut off from hope and be driven from God for ever? This would be just, but he felt that he could not endure it. “O thou great and holy God,” he prayed, “I will ascribe righteousness to thee though thy righteous wrath shall sink me to hell; but, O thou merciful God, my soul cannot endure thy justice. The foretaste of thy wrath fills me with the pangs of eternal death. O God, have mercy upon me. O God, blot out my transgressions. Create in me a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within me. O Christ, whom I have despised, cast me not from thy presence. Help me to submit to thee. Help me to follow thee. Spare me that I may undo something of that which I have done against thy glory and the souls of men. O Jesus, I can do nothing to save myself. O Lord, have mercy on me, the chief of sinners.”
He read the invitations and promises of Christ, and prayed again. Again he read and again he prayed. Little by little the promises of Christ stirred a feeble faith in his heart; he felt that there was still hope for him, and with the determination to cast himself upon the sure mercies of Christ and to devote himself to his service, he threw himself upon his bed, and being wearied almost to exhaustion, soon fell asleep. When he awoke it was broad daylight. He had slept a sweet, refreshing sleep. But he was refreshed not merely in body. He woke to a new world. His heart was filled with sweet thankfulness. “How beautiful,” he said, “is God’s world! I never saw it so before, but the earth and sky seem clothed in glory. But most wonderful of all is God’s goodness to me. I have rebelled against him all my life, yet he has loved me and sought for my salvation, and now the sunlight of his love has broken through the thick clouds of my sin, and a day of hope and joy has dawned upon my life. Christ has indeed revealed himself. Blessed be his holy name for ever and ever! What shall I render unto the Lord for all his benefits? I will take the cup of salvation and call upon the name of the Lord. I will pay my vows now in presence of all his people. I will teach transgressors thy ways, and sinners shall be converted unto thee.”
All this was known to the people, for during the week Mr. Hume had spoken of it in private and in public. He had told it to Mr. Wilton, and they had rejoiced together.
Ansel and Peter had also regularly presented themselves at every meeting as anxious inquirers desiring the grace of God. Peter had also on his knees said from the heart, “Here, Lord, I give myself away,” and had received the assurance that his sins were forgiven. The Spirit of God witnessed with his spirit that he was born of God. He began at once to use all his influence to bring his young friends to Jesus. The addition of two such workers as Mr. Hume and Peter, each moving in his own circle of acquaintances, gave a fresh impulse to the religious interest, which was now becoming deep and pervasive. Especially had Mr. Hume’s conversion, so clear and positive, confounded those who had sat “in the seat of the scornful,” and many came in now for the first time to see for themselves what it could be that had mastered their cold, clear-headed leader in unbelief.
But Ansel still walked in darkness. He had talked with Mr. Wilton, but no light had entered his mind. He said that he thought he had submitted in all things to the will of God. He was becoming impatient that Christ had not come to him as to others. This was their condition as they came together upon the Lord’s Day. They all understood each other, and had no need now to ask questions or make explanations. Mr. Wilton believed that the study of God’s works would not interrupt the working of the Holy Spirit, and therefore went on with his lesson as usual.