Page images
PDF
EPUB

The unhappy young prodigal turned pale, and trempled, with fear and rage. He still threatened his uncle, with instant death. Mr. Fletcher, though thus threatened, gave no alarm, sought for no weapon, and attempted not to escape. He calmly conversed with his profligate relation; and, at length, perceiving him to be affected, addressed him in the kindest language, till he fairly disarmec and subdued him! He would not return his brother's draft; but engaged to procure for the young man some immediate relief. He then prayed with him; and after fulfilling his promise of assistance, parted with him, with much good advice on one side, and many fair promises on the other.

Is it well with thee?

THE story of the Shunamite mother is one of tender interest. In the simple language of Scripture, the tale is told with more power than the fancy of the poet has ever given it; and no one can read it, without being moved with sympathy for the bereaved, and admiration of the sweet submission, with which she bowed to the heavenly blow. God had given her a son,-an only begotten, and well beloved son,-and it was not strange that a mother's heart should entwine itself most tenderly around him, and all her hopes of earthly happiness should be hushed with her darling boy. In his infancy she had watched him with a mother's love, and now, he was just blooming in the beauty of childhood, and beginning to repay the debt, which to none but a mother is due.

"And it fell on a day, that he went out to his father, to the reapers. And he said unto his father, My head! my head! And he said to a lad, Carry him to his mother. And when he had taken him, and brought him to his mother, he sat on her knees till noon, and then died. And she went up, and laid him on the bed of the man of God, and shut the door upon him, and went out."

In this hour of her terrible affliction, it was natural that she should fly to the man of God, for counsel and comfort. He had promised her this child from God, and the trembling hope doubtless lingered around her heart,

that He, who had given her the child, could give him back. He saw her coming, and sending his servant, asked her, "Is it well with thee? Is it well with thy husband? Is it well with thy child?" and she answered, It is well." Was it well with thee, O mother! when thy first born, thine only child, thy bright and beautiful boy, was cut down like a morning flower? Was it well with thee, when the only flower, that ever blossomed in thy bower, was withered, and the light of thy happy home had gone out in darkness;-when the merry laugh of that lovely child would no more cheer thy heart, nor his opening beauty gladden thine eye? Was it well with thee, fond mother, when all thy earthly hopes were blasted, and the child of thy bosom was cold, in the arms of death?

Yes, it was well! And severe, as she must have felt the blow to be, with the meekness of pious resignation to the holy will of the Lord, she acquiesced in the dispensation, though it made her house desolate, and her heart a desert.

This is a profitable question to put to any and every one, at all times, and one, on the answer of which, the most tremendous consequences may depend.

tress.

In affliction, the enquiry may appear more appropriate, as it was originally addressed to one in the depths of disBut it is not to be confined to those who mourn. It is often better with those who weep, than with those who rejoice. "Blessed are they that mourn; for they shall be comforted." Those who are called to weep over the loss of those they love, and those who weep on account of sin, have found that it was well for them to be in sorrow. In such times the comforter has come, and dried up their tears, and given them beauty for ashes, and the oil of joy for mourning. Their sorrow has been succeeded by that peace, that passeth all understanding, and joy, that the world knoweth not of. And when the Lord, by the mouth of his servant, has inquired, "Is it well with thee?" the ready reply has been, "It is well."

The question ought rather to be put as a test of character. It is well with those, and those only, who have found peace in believing in the Lord Jesus Christ. With them it is well, under all the vicissitudes of life;—in the trying hour of death, and in the eternal world. Put the

question to the believer, and hear his answer. Perhaps the world calls him poor. He has struggled all his days against the current of adversity, but is still poor. But he does not murmur. He feels that it is well with him, and better than it was with his master, when he dwelt among

men.

Perhaps some sudden change of circumstances has swept away his property, and reduced him from affluence to poverty. He feels his loss more keenly, than he would have felt poverty, had he never been rich. But he knows that he has not lost his all. He has an inheritance that is incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved eternal in the heavens. Thither he turns his eye, when this world perishes with the using, and as the last vestige of his fortune passes from his hands, he cries, "It is well."

Death comes to his fireside, and takes away the joy of his heart, the delight of his eyes, the comfort of his life. He loves. He weeps. He feels the bereavement, but in the exercise of quiet resignation to His will, who strikes the blow, he finds grace to say " It is well." So when he comes to lie down on a death bed himself, he would love to live and rejoice in the joy of those, who now weep around him. But he knows that to die is gain, to depart and be with Christ is far better-and though the pains of death are terrible, and the ties that bind to life are strong, still, as he feels his heartstrings breaking, he can say with truth, "It is well." And, oh! is it not well with him, when Eternity opens on his soul; when he quits this vale of tears; this land of sorrow, and pain, and death, and enters the gates of heaven? As he treads the golden streets of the new Jerusalem, as he casts his crown at the foot of the eternal throne, as he sits down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of God, as he looks upward to the face of the Lamb, and meets his smile of transporting love, will he not exclaim, in the fulness of his satisfied soul, "It is well!”

Thus the believer answers this question. What saith the sinner? When afflictions assail him, he has not the strong consolation of those who have fled for a refuge to the hope set before them in the gospel. He mourns as those who have no hope. When his property is stripped

from him, he murmurs at his lot.

When those he lover

are removed by death from his arms, his heart rises in rebellion at the dealings of God. When he comes to lie down to die himself, he may cry peace, peace, to his soul, but his troubled conscience, the voice of God, assures him, there is no peace. It is not well with the sinner in life-nor in death. In that awful hour, when, of all other hours, he needs the christian's stay, he is torn by the torments of his own bosom, and harrowed by the awfu rebodings of the future. But he must die. Eternity pens on his soul. Hell throws wide its gates. He eners the gloomy mansions. He feels the gnawing of the vorm that never dies; the fire that is never quenched xindles upon him, and burns with its fiercest flame. That is his eternal couch. Ages will roll along, but no pang of hell will die, no ray of hope give sweet relief, no drop of water falls on his parched tongue.

Reader! perhaps that lost soul is thine. Is it well with thee? If not now, it may not be in death, or in eternity. It will not be, unless, before the evil day overtakes thee, thou art persuaded to fly unto Jesus Christ, to make him thy friend. Then, it shall be well with thee, in sickness and in health, in life and in death, and well with thee to all eternity.

A Profitable Thought.

A YOUNG man was once led by his companions to scene of dissipation, where they indulged in festivity anc 3in. In the midst of their enjoyment, the clock struck The following passage from "Young's Niga Thoughts," rushed on the young man's mind

one.

"The bell strikes one.
But from its loss.

We take no note of time
To give it then a tongue

Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke,
I feel the solemn sound; if heard aright,

It is the knell of my departed hours.

Where are they? With the years beyond the flood
It is the signal that demands despatch.

How much is to be done? My hope and fears
Start up alarmed, and see life's narrow verge.
Look down-on what? A fathomless abyss,
A dread eternity."

« PreviousContinue »