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.