D Arrows

D

Death-day.

I came this week out of a quiet bed chamber where I saw a Sunday-school teacher passing away. It was a little sanctuary. Everything so quiet, peaceful, happy. Death cast no shadow over the sweet face. Heaven lighted the features. It seemed more like a marriage-day than a death day. Why are these dying beds so happy? Because these people have any goodness of their own? Far from it; without exception they disown it. Because they are strong and self-contained? No. I might speak of young and old believers, greatly emaciated by long sickness, and yet as greatly strong in faith. What brings this peace? Truly, the Lord was there. His presence realized makes death a small matter. Do we not sing—

"Oh, if my Lord would come and meet, My soul should stretch her wings in haste, Fly fearless through death's iron gate, Nor feel the terrors as she pass'd "? The presence of God with the soul of a believer, swallows up death in victory, and ought else that is terrible in time or in eternity loses its terror in the presence of the mighty God of Jacob.

Decision delayed difficult.

I think, sometimes, God treats men as Benjamin Franklin treated the man who stood loafing in his bookshop, and at last took up a book, and said, "How much is this?" Franklin replied, "A shilling." "A shilling?" he said; "a shilling?" and he would not give the price. After staying for about ten minutes he said, "Come, Mr. Franklin, now what will you take for it?" Franklin answered, "Two shillings." "No," he said, you are joking." "I am not joking," said Franklin, "the price is two shillings." The man waited, and sat a while, thinking. "I want the book," he drawled out," still, I will not give two shillings. What will you take for it?" Franklin said, "Three shillings." "Well," said the man, "why do you raise your price?" To which Franklin responded, "You see, you have wasted so much of my time that I could better have afforded to have taken one shilling at first than three shillings now." Sometimes if men come to Christ at the very first invitation, it is a sweet and easy coming. But when people wait, when they postpone believing, when they violate conscience, when they tread down all the uprising of holy thoughts within them, it becomes much harder for them to trust in Christ than it would have been when He was first preached to them.

Decision—needed.

If confessors, reformers, martyrs, and covenanters had been recreant to the name and faith of Jesus, where would have been the churches of to-day? Must we not play the man as they did? If we do not, are we not censuring our fathers? It is very pretty, is it not, to read of Luther and his brave deeds? Of course, everybody admires Luther! Yes, yes; but you do not want anyone else to do the same today. When you go to the Zoological Gardens you all admire the bear; but how would you like a bear at home, or a bear wandering loose about the streets? You tell me that it would be unbearable, and no doubt you are right. So, we admire a man who was firm in the faith, say four hundred years ago; the past ages are a sort of bear-pit or iron cage for him; but such a man today is a nuisance, and must be put down. Call him a narrow minded bigot, or give him a worse name if you can think of one. Yet imagine that in those ages past, Luther, Zwingle, Calvin, and their compeers had said, "The world is out of order; but if we try to set it right we shall only make a great row, and get ourselves into disgrace. Let us go to our chambers, put on our nightcaps, and sleep over the bad times, and perhaps when we wake up things will have grown better." Such conduct on their part would have entailed upon us a heritage of error. Age after age would have gone down into the infernal deeps, and the pestiferous bogs of error would have swallowed all. These men loved the faith and the name of Jesus too well to see them trampled on. Note what we owe them, and let us pay to our sons the debt we owe to our fathers. It is to-day as it was in the Reformers' days. Decision is needed. Here is the day for the man, where is the man for the day? We who have had the gospel passed to us by martyr hands dare not trifle with it, nor sit by and hear it denied by traitors, who pretend to love it, but inwardly abhor every line of it. The faith I hold bears upon it marks of the blood of my ancestors.

Deliverance through trust.

Years ago the Mentonese desired to break away from the dominion of the Prince of Monaco. They therefore drove out his agent. The Prince came with his army, not a very great one, it is true, but still formidable to the Mentonese. I know not what the high and mighty princeling was not going to do; but the news came that the King of Sardinia was coming up in the rear to help the Mentonese, and therefore his lordship of Monaco very prudently retired to his own rock. When a believer stands out against evil he may be sure that the Lord of hosts will not be far away. The enemy shall hear the dash of His horse hoof and the blast of His trumpet, and shall flee before Him. Wherefore be of good courage, and compel the world to say of you, "He trusted in the Lord that He would deliver him."

Desires.

There are vast desires in us all, and when we are quickened, those desires expand and enlarge. Man feels that he is not in his element, and is not what he intended to be. He is like a bird in the shell, he feels a life within him too great to be forever confined within such narrow bounds. Do you not, dear friends, feel great longings? Does not your soul seethe with high ambitions? Our immortal nature frets beneath the burden of mortality, its spiritual nature is weary of the chains of materialism. That hungering will never be hushed into content till we receive Christ; but when we have Him we learn that we are the sons of God, heirs of God, joint heirs with Christ, and that it doth not yet appear what we shall be, but when He shall appear we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.

Devotion—Whole-hearted. The pearl fisher standing on the rock plunges deep into the sea; he does not know whether or no he shall bring up a pearl that will decorate an emperor's diadem, but he searches the deeps in that hope: and why should not he bring up such a treasure as well as anybody else? No matter though the fisherman himself may be coarse, and ragged, and rugged; yet he may light upon a priceless pearl. And you, whoever you may be, I charge you in the name of the eternal God, plunge yourself into your work with whole hearted devotion, and you shall yet discover some hidden jewel, which shall adorn Immanuel's diadem.

Differences—ended.

What would you say to your child if he said, "Father, I shall not come to see you on your birthday; I shall not join with the rest of the family in the usual festival." "Why not?" "Because my brother is not what he ought to be; and till he mends his ways, I shall not keep your birthday." Your father would say, "My dear son, is that any reason why you should not remember me? Surely I am not to blame for what your brother does. Come to the feast, and think of me." So do I say to you if you have any personal angers and differences, do not smother them, but end them.

Differing feelings divide.

According to the well worn fable, two persons who are totally different in their pursuits, cannot live well together: the fuller and the charcoal burner were obliged to part; for whatever the fuller had made white, the collier had blackened with his finger. If differing pursuits divide, much more will differing feelings upon a vital point. It is Jesus, whom Jehovah likes to honor; and if you will not trust even Jesus with your soul's salvation, you grieve the heart of God, and he can have no pleasure in you.

Difficulties. When out in a yacht in the Clyde we came opposite the great rock called the Cock of Arran. Our captain did not steam right ahead, and rush at the rock; no, he did what was much wiser: he cast anchor for the night in the bay at the foot of it, so that we were sheltered from the wind by the vast headland. I remember looking up through the darkness of the night, and admiring its great sheltering wing. A difficulty was it. It became a shelter. Every now and then in Scripture you come before a vast truth. Will you steam against it and wreck your soul? Will you not, with truer wisdom, cast anchor under the lee of it?

Divinity—marrow of. When in Scotland, under the reign of Moderatism, the gospel seemed to have died out, one earnest man by accident fell in with a little book, Fisher's "Marrow of Divinity," was enlightened as to the pure truth of God, began at once to preach it, and found thousands to rejoice in it. That marrow has never been taken away from Scotland's bones ever since, nor can it, nor shall it, let the devil do what he may. A desperate and subtle attempt is now being made, but it will be assuredly foiled through the wisdom of God.

Doing more.

Never talk of what you have done, but go on to something else. An officer rode up to his general, and said, "Sir, we have taken two guns from the enemy." "It is, well," said the general, "take two more."

Doubt—cure for. When a soul has drawn near to Jesus, and has been fed by Him, it is no more troubled with doubts than a man at the equator is bitten by frost. "I believe in the Bible," said one. "How can you do that?" sneered another. "Because I know the Author," was the fit reply. If you are walking in the light with your Lord, questions and doubts are heard no more but you adore in deep restfulness of soul, "knowing that it is the Lord."

Drones—or idle people.

I wonder whether we shall ever have a day such as the bees celebrate in its due season. You may, perhaps, have seen them dismissing the unproductives. It is a remarkable sight. They say to themselves, "Here are a lot of drones eating our honey, but never making any; let us turn them out." There is a dreadful buzz, is there not? But out they go. I do not propose to turn you out, or to make a buzz; but if ever those who do work for Christ should burn with a holy indignation against do-nothings, some of you will find the place too hot for you.

Dwarfs and Giants. When we mix with dwarfs we think ourselves giants, but in the presence of giants we become dwarfs. When we think of the saints departed, and remember their patience in suffering, their diligence in labor, their ardor, their self denial, their humility, their tears, their prayers, their midnight cries, their intercession for the souls of others, their pouring out their hearts before God for the glory of Christ, why we shrink into less than nothing, and find no word of boasting on our tongue. If we survey the life of the only Perfect One, our dear Lord and Master, the sight of His beauty covers our whole countenance with a blush.

Dying in the dark. A child of God may die in the dark. One said to old Mr. Dodd, the quaint old Puritan, "How sad that our brother should have passed away in darkness! Do you doubt his safety?" "No," said old Mr. Dodd, "no more than I doubt the safety of Him who said, when He was dying, ' My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?'" Full assurance is not of the essence of salvation.

Despair of spirit has fled when you have leaned hard on the Cross Bearer.

"Deus Vult"—God wills it—is a grand cry to produce a crusade. Do not please the devil by distrusting your faithful God.