life."
"Then come back; He will not cast you out. Does the shepherd refuse
to take back the lamb into his fold, which has happened to stray
from him?"
"But I have no strength to return."
"But you can pray; and as the shepherd goes to look after the
strayed lamb, when he hears his bleating, so our blessed Lord will
have compassion on you who may be out of the way, and will not
suffer you to perish, if you wish to return to him. Don't despair
of mercy, my son, while our blessed Lord lives to intercede for the
chief of sinners."
These tender appeals coming from the lips of his mother, reduced his
spirit to a more composed state, and for the first time he wept.
When she saw his tears, she wept with him, and said, "I am glad to
see you weep; it is the first sign of returning mercy."
"Mercy! no!" he replied; "mercy, I fear, will return no more! I have
despised and insulted mercy, and am consigned over to the offended
justice of Heaven. It must be a miracle of mercy to recover me from
the ruin I have brought upon myself."
"Very true, my child; and mercy often performs a miracle of grace;
and if you look by faith to Christ, he will recover you, and he will
put a new song into your mouth, 'even praise unto our God: many
shall see it and fear, and shall trust in the Lord.'"
On the evening of the day following his mother's arrival, as we were
all standing round his bedside, she asked him if he yet felt more
composed, or if he could indulge a good hope of future happiness.
"Composed, mother! No, I am in perfect anguish, and expect to be
lost."
"But he who raiseth the whirlwind, and directeth the storm, is the
God of salvation; and though he allow all his waves and his billows
to go over you, yet he will command his loving-kindness in the
daytime; and when the thickest darkness of the night comes upon you,
then his song shall be with you, and your prayer shall be unto the
God of your life."
"O mother, I am about to leave you, and you, my wife; and I leave
you with a full conviction that we shall never meet again. A few
hours will decide the long-agitated question--
'Am I his, or am I not?'
I wish you would retire and leave me, nor suffer any one to disturb
me, as I wish to be alone for a little. I shall ring the bell when I
am prepared to see you again."
We withdrew to an adjoining room, when his mother said to his
afflicted wife, "This is a solemn moment. You are about to lose a
husband, and I a son; but if it should please the Lord to visit him
with the light of his reconciled countenance, I trust we should then
be enabled to bow down in submission to his sovereign will." I then,
at their request, knelt down and prayed, as Elijah prayed when he
besought the Lord to send forth the rain of heaven to refresh the
parched lands of Israel. When I had finished, old Mrs. Beaufoy said,
"Let us go and see if there be yet any signs of returning mercy."
"But," said her daughter-in-law, "perhaps he is now wrestling with
the Lord, and if we go we may disturb him and ruffle his spirits."
Such, however, was the yearning of his mother's heart, that she
could not refrain from going to listen, if, peradventure, she might
hear something to comfort her. She heard him repeat again and again,
"Lord Jesus, have mercy upon me! Lord, save, or I perish!"
Just as she was returning to inform us that the silence of
despondency was broken by the voice of prayer, the bell rang, and
we entered the room together. "Well, my child," said his mother, "I
hope the Lord is now dealing graciously with you." "He is dealing
righteously; and against the equity of his conduct I can raise no
objection. He is just when he takes vengeance."
After a long pause, during which time the terror of unabated agony
was depicted in every countenance, he raised his down-cast eyes
towards heaven, and, with a feeble voice modulated to the subduing
tenderness of the expression, he said--
"Yet save a trembling sinner, Lord,
Whose hope, still hovering round thy word,
Would light on some sweet promise there,
Some sure support against despair."
He now became exhausted, and reclining his head on the pillow, fell
asleep, and slept several hours. When he awoke, he was composed and
calm, and said, "My sleep has been refreshing to me."
"I hope," said his mother, "that your soul is refreshed, as well as
your body."
"I am more composed than I ever expected to be, but I am not happy.
My composure is no less a source of terror than my former agitation,
as I know that the cessation of pain is sometimes an indication
that the disorder is approaching a fatal termination, even when the
patient may be anticipating his recovery."
"But, my friend," said I, "the terror you feel under your composure,
is a proof that you are unwilling to seize a premature hope; and
may be regarded as an evidence, that the Lord who refused to appear
in the whirlwind, in the earthquake, or in the fire, is graciously
appearing in the still small voice of love."
"Oh, my old and tried friend, my sins appear too great and too
aggravated to be forgiven."
"But, Henry, the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin; and
He is sent, not only to proclaim liberty to the captive soul, but to
heal the broken-hearted."
"Oh!" he exclaimed, "I would believe. Lord, help my unbelief."
Death was now rapidly approaching; and having pressed the hands of
each of us, he reclined his head on his wife's bosom, and fainted
away. On recovering from this fit, which lasted several minutes,
he once more opened his eyes, and casting a mournful look on us,
said, "I die an unworthy and guilty sinner at the foot of the cross;
but will He permit me to perish when crying to Him to save me?
Impossible!" he exclaimed; and then, as if having exhausted all his
strength by this last effort, his head fell back on the pillow, and
he expired.
Thus died Henry Beaufoy, who, in his youthful days, bade fair to
exhibit, in after life, an example of the beauty and consistency
of the Christian character; but having been seduced from the paths
of wisdom and of piety, he entered upon a career of evil, which
at length brought him to a premature grave. His submission at the
last to the visitations of Providence, as an infliction which he
deserved; and the avowal he made, when yielding up the ghost, gave
to his surviving friends _a hope_ that he died in the Lord, and is
at rest from his sorrows; but still gloomy shadows would sometimes
fall upon their spirits, and they often sighed and wept over his
memory, as of one who had come short of the kingdom of heaven.
As female influence is so powerful, and has often been employed to
seduce the man who fears the Lord, from the paths of righteousness
and the ways of peace, let him be on his guard when about to form a
connection for life, and not suffer beauty and accomplishments to
become a substitute for decided piety. He may think that he shall
be able to withstand every ensnaring art, and every fond entreaty,
and that he shall ultimately gain over his wife to the obedience of
faith; but in this he may be deceived, and have cause to mourn over
the consequences of his imprudence, when it is too late. But if a
man should violate the sanctity of the Divine law, and marry a woman
who is not decidedly pious, let her be on her guard, lest she become
the cause of his moral ruin. Let her beware of enticing him to a
theatre, or an evening party, when his inclinations would take him
to the house of prayer--let her beware of manifesting a spirit of
indifference or hostility to the practice of family devotion, which
his conscience constrains him to observe. She may not regard such
proceedings as wrong, or likely to prove injurious to the reputation
or the happiness of her husband, but she may be mistaken; and if her
persuasions or her indifference should prove successful, as is too
often the case, she may be called to feel the bitter consequences
of her folly and her guilt, amidst the wreck of domestic happiness.
She may suppose, that the religion of her husband, like her own,
has nought to do with the inner man of the heart, and that it may
be thrown aside, and resumed, as caprice may dictate, but she is
mistaken; and if she should induce him to abandon it for a season,
she may live to be stung by his reproaches, and tortured by her own,
when he is brought to suffer the due reward of his deeds.
From the preceding sketch, which has been taken, not from the
conceptions of my own fancy, but the facts of real life, we may
see that it is an evil thing to forsake the Lord God; and though
his tender mercy may stoop to recover the backslider just as he
is sinking into despair, yet he seldom throws the light of his
countenance over the death-bed of such an individual. I am aware
that some employ the partial and the final apostasy of professors,
as an argument to prove that our perseverance in religion is quite
precarious and uncertain, depending solely on ourselves, without any
regard to the counsel of Jehovah. That it does depend on ourselves,
I admit--but not solely. We are to walk in the ways of the Lord;
but he has promised to uphold our goings, that our footsteps slip
not. We are to cleave to him with full purpose of heart; but he
has promised never to leave us, nor forsake us. We are commanded
to keep ourselves in the love of God, looking for the mercy of our
Lord Jesus Christ unto eternal life; but he has promised to keep
us by his power through faith unto salvation. We know that the
beginning of the work of grace in the heart, is to be ascribed to
the immediate operations of his power; and it is to be viewed as
the commencement of a continued series of operations, which will
ultimately issue in the salvation of the soul. And though the faith
of some may be overthrown, "nevertheless, the foundation of God
standeth sure, having this seal, the Lord knoweth them that are
his. And, let every one that nameth the name of Christ depart from
iniquity." His designs will be accomplished, but accomplished in a
natural way. They do not supersede the necessity of our exertions.
They do not suppose that we are passive machines, acted on by
some supernatural power; but living agents, endowed with a Divine
principle, which works within us "both to will and to do." They
do not relax our obligations to watchfulness--to prayer--to an
avoidance of evil--and to the cultivation of the spirit and habits
of devotion, but increase them; and the reciprocal influence of our
exertions, and of the concurrence of Divine strength, is so nicely
balanced in the purpose of grace, that while we are compelled to
ascribe to God the honour of our preservation and final salvation,
yet we are made responsible for every act of transgression and
disobedience. "Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth, take
heed lest he fall" (1 Cor. x. 12).
One of the chief causes of decay in religion, is our forgetting
that the means necessary for first bringing us to God, are no less
essential for retaining us steadily in a close walk with him. To
watch and pray was no less the duty of the disciples, when they had
left all for Christ, than when they first approached his presence,
and sought his pardon and love. He has prayed that we may be kept
from the evil of the world; but we must look for an answer to this
prayer--in our choice of good, and rejection of evil--in the control
of our passions--and in the integrity and uprightness of our conduct.
It has been observed, that apostasy begins in the closet; secret
prayer is at first carelessly performed--then occasionally
omitted--and then entirely neglected. When this is the case,
the religious taste becomes fastidious--a roving habit is often
indulged--the customs of the world are yielded to, and the principle
of sin, which once lay dormant in the heart, rises up with renewed
strength, and breaks forth in open manifestations of evil. This
process in moral degeneracy may be slow or rapid, according to the
degree of influence which circumstances may be permitted to supply,
but when it has once begun, it is always going on; and though it
may not be in our power to assign the _primary_ cause, yet too much
secular prosperity is generally one of the most operative. The
more a Christian is indulged with temporal blessings--the higher
he or his family rises in the world--the more he ought to have his
heart glowing with love and gratitude to God. But so inveterate
is the depravity of human nature, that uninterrupted prosperity
imperceptibly deadens the best affections of the soul, which
becomes so completely engrossed in worldly objects and pursuits,
that religion is rarely thought of but on Sabbath, and even then it
is entangled and mixed up with the things of time and sense. When
prosperity comes thus to act on a person who possesses only the form
of godliness, while destitute of its power, its fatal effects may be
looked for with almost perfect certainty.
Another cause of the evil which we are so often called to deplore
is the indulgence of a speculative turn of mind in matters of
religion. We are commanded to search the Scriptures--to prove all
things, and hold fast that which is good. When this investigation
is pursued from a pure motive, and a spirit of prayer attends
it--keeping the mind in a teachable and devotional frame--the
greatest benefit will be the result. But when once the Word of God
is treated with levity--when liberties are taken with it--when
one part of it is impugned as mysterious, another rejected as
apparently contradictory--when its doctrines are denounced, as
incomprehensible, and its precepts objected to, because they are
too unaccommodating to the habits of the age--an evil spirit enters
into the heart, which first corrupts it and then entangles it in a
labyrinth of error. This spirit of unbelief commences its operation
by reducing the magnitude of the evil of sin; the necessity and
then the reality of the atonement is rejected; prayer is considered
useless; the influence of the Holy Spirit in the renovation and
sanctification of the heart is denied; and then the apostasy becomes
complete.
But one of the most prevalent causes of this evil is an adoption of
the principles and a compliance with the customs of the world. There
are some customs which exist amongst us to which we must conform;
but there are others from which we are commanded to abstain. We may
mingle with the men of the world in business, and also in social
life; but we are to have "no fellowship with the unfruitful works of
darkness, but rather reprove them." We may, in common with others,
have our social enjoyments, and partake of the innocent recreations
of life, without sustaining injury to our morals or our Christian
reputation; but if we venture to cross the line which separates the
lawful from forbidden ground--if we form habits which the spirit
of the gospel condemns, and venture into those places of amusement
to which the children of folly are so much attached--though we
may not immediately feel their corrupting influence, yet we shall
become bitterly sensible of it at last, when the evil is beyond
our control. We may silence the remonstrances of conscience, by
resolving not to depart from the ways of righteousness, and may
affect to treat with contempt the kind admonitions of our more
pious friends; but by no species of artifice shall we be able to
form a junction between the spirit of Christ and the spirit of
the world; or retain the fervour of devotion within the walls
of an assembly-room or a theatre. The experiment has been often
made, and the result always proves morally disastrous. In some
instances the professor has passed from all connection with pure
spiritual religion, into a state of confirmed indifference or avowed
hostility; in others, he has retained the form, while he has lost
the spirit of devotion, and the closing scene of his life has been
occupied by the most heart-rending reproaches and the bitterest
lamentations of misery and woe.
As apostasy from the faith and purity of the gospel, from whatever
causes it may proceed, invariably inflicts on the apostate, when
awakened to a clear perception of his sin and danger, the most awful
and agonizing mental sufferings, I wish to do all that is in my
power to arrest his progress ere it be too late, and lead him back
to the source of pure felicity, which he has forsaken. I would ask
him if the gaieties, the follies, and the amusements of the world,
afford him such substantial happiness as he once enjoyed, when he
walked in the light of God's countenance? I would ask him if he does
not often regret the exchange he has made? and as often condemn
himself for his folly and ingratitude in having made it? I would ask
him if he does not wish to return once more to taste that the Lord
is gracious--once more to feel that Christ is precious--once more to
partake of the peace which passeth all understanding--and to live,
as in the early days of his profession, in the sublime anticipations
of eternal glory? I would ask, Have you never made the attempt? As
time advances, are you not gradually sinking into a state of mental
dejection, from which you see no chance of being delivered? I do not
propose these questions to inflict fresh torment, or increase the
anguish which presses upon your guilty conscience, but to induce
you to return to the Lord from whom you have departed, that you may
again experience his loving-kindness, and that your prayers, mingled
with songs of praise, may again ascend to the God of your salvation.
In illustration of this subject, I shall here conclude by quoting
the following from a deceased divine:--"If you ask, But how am I
to return? how am I to regain my long-lost peace? I answer, In the
same way in which you first found rest to your soul, namely, by
repentance towards God, and faith towards our Lord Jesus Christ.
"In general, I may observe, the Scriptures assure us of the
exceeding great and tender mercy of God, and of his willingness to
forgive all those who return to him in the name of his Son. It is
necessary that we be well persuaded of this truth, lest instead of
applying as supplicants, we sink into despair. If a sinner, newly
awakened, be in danger of this species of despondency, a backslider
is still more so. His transgressions are much more heinous in their
circumstances than those of the other, having been committed under
greater light and against greater obligations; and when to this is
added the treatment which his conduct must necessarily draw upon him
from his religious connections, he may be tempted to relinquish all
hopes of recovery, and consider himself as an outcast, both from
God and man. Unhappy man! Thy sin may be great, and the language
of an awakened conscience may suggest, Who can heal me? Yet do not
despair. 'Hear what God the Lord will speak. He will speak peace
unto his people and to his saints: but let them not turn again to
folly.'
"There are circumstances which may render it almost impossible for
forgiveness to be exercised amongst men; and therefore men are ready
to think it must be so with respect to God. 'But with the Lord there
is mercy, and with him there is plenteous redemption.' He will not
only pardon, but pardon abundantly: 'for his thoughts are not as our
thoughts, nor his ways as our ways. For as the heavens are higher
than the earth, so are his ways than our ways, and his thoughts
than our thoughts.--The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth
from all sin.--If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to
forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.'
The threatenings against the unpardonable sin itself do not affect
the truth of these merciful declarations: for that sin is all along
described as excluding repentance, as well as forgiveness. The party
is supposed to be given up to hardness of heart. If, therefore,
we confess our sin with contrition, we may be certain it is not
unpardonable, and that we shall obtain mercy through the blood of
the cross.
"But the great question is, How we shall repent of our sins, and
return to God by Jesus Christ. Undoubtedly it is much easier to
get out of the way, than to get in again; to lose the peace of our
minds, than to recover it. Sin is of a hardening nature; and the
farther we have proceeded in it, the more inextricable are its
entanglements. But, however this be, we either do desire to return,
or we do not.
"If my reader be in such a state of mind, it is with a mixture of
hope and tenderness that I attempt to point out to him the means of
recovery.
"I would recommend you to embrace every possible season of
retirement for reading the Holy Scriptures, especially those parts
which are suited to your case, and accompany your reading with
prayer. God's Word hid in the heart is not only a preservative
against sin, but a restorative from its evil effects. It both wounds
and heals; if it rebukes, it is with the faithfulness of a friend,
or if it consoles, its consolations will melt us into contrition.
"Read especially those parts of Scripture which are addressed to
persons in your situation, as the second chapter of Jeremiah; or
those which express the desires of a returning sinner, as the
twenty-fifth, thirty-second, thirty-eighth, fifty-first, and
hundred and thirtieth Psalms. You may not be able to adopt all this
language as your own; but, nevertheless, it may be useful. To read
the genuine expressions of a contrite heart, may produce at least a
conviction of the disparity between the frame of mind possessed by
the writer and yourself; and such a conviction may be accompanied
with a sensation of shame and grief.
"It is also of importance that you read the Scriptures _by
yourself_. To read a portion of them in your families is right, and
ought not to be neglected; but there is a great difference, as to
personal advantage, between this and reading them alone. Your mind
may then be more at liberty for reflection; you can read, and pause,
and think, and apply the subject to your case.
"It is of still greater importance to unite prayer with it. Reading
the Word of God and prayer are duties which mutually assist each
other: the one furnishes us with confessions, pleas, and arguments,
while the other promotes solemnity and spirituality of mind, which
goes farther towards our understanding of the Scriptures than a
library of expositions.
"It was in one of these seasons of retirement that David put up this
petition, 'I have gone astray like a lost sheep; seek thy servant,
for I do not forget thy commandments.' He seems to have had in his
thoughts the condition of a poor wandering sheep, that had left the
flock and the rich pastures where it was wont to be led, ranging
rather like a native of the woods, than one who had been used to
be led, and fed, and protected by an owner. Bewildered by its own
wanderings, entangled in the thorns and briars of the wilderness,
and exposed to beasts of prey, it feels its forlorn condition, and
bleats after the shepherd and the flock! Is there nothing in this
that may suit your case? Yes, thou art the man! Thou hast gone
astray like a lost sheep, got entangled in thine own corruptions,
and knowest not how to find the way back; yet it may be thou hast
not utterly lost the remembrance of those happy days before thou
wert led to deviate from the right path. Let thy prayer then be
directed, like that of the psalmist, to the good Shepherd of the
sheep: 'Seek thy servant.'
"Prayer is a religious exercise which is necessary to accompany
all others. 'In every thing by prayer and supplication, with
thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto God.' Solemn
approaches to God are adapted to impress the mind with a sense of
sin, and to inspire us with self-abhorrence on account of it. It was
by a view of the holiness of God that Isaiah felt himself to be a
'man of unclean lips;' and it was by conversing with the Lord that
Job was brought to abhor himself, and repent in dust and ashes. The
very exercise of prayer carries in it an implication that 'our help
must come from above;' a truth which in all cases it is absolutely
necessary for us to know, and with which, in this case especially,
we cannot be too deeply impressed. We easily get out of the way; but
if ever we return to it, it must be by His influence, who restoreth
our souls and leadeth us in the paths of righteousness for his
name's sake.