“Alas For Us, If Thou Wert All, and Nought Beyond, O Earth”

"Alas For Us, If Thou Wert All, and Nought Beyond, O Earth"

A Sermon

(No. 562)

Delivered on Sunday Morning, March 27th, 1864, by the

Rev. C. H. SPURGEON,

At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington

"If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most
miserable."–1 Corinthians 15:19.

YOU WILL UNDERSTAND that the apostle is arguing with professedly
Christian people, who were dubious about the resurrection of the dead.
He is not saying that all men are now miserable if there be no hope of
the world to come, for such an assertion would be untrue. There are
very many who never think of another life, who are quite happy in their
way, enjoy themselves, and are very comfortable after a fashion. But he
speaks of Christian people–"If we, who have hope in Christ, are led to
doubt the doctrine of a future state and of a resurrection, then we are
of all men most miserable." The argument has nothing to do with some of
you who are not Christians; it has nothing to do with you who have
never been brought out of a state of nature into a state of grace; it
only respects those who are real, living followers of the Savior, and
who are known by this, that they have hope in Christ–hope in his blood
for pardon, in his righteousness for justification, in his power for
support, in his resurrection for eternal glory. "If we who have hope in
Christ, have that hope for this life only, then we are of all men most
miserable." You understand the argument; he is appealing to their
consciousness; they, as Christians, had real enjoyments, "but," says
he, "you could not have these enjoyments if it were not for the hope of
another life; for once take that away, if you could still remain
Christians and have the same feelings which you now have, and act as
you now do, you would become of all men most miserable," therefore to
justify your own happiness and make it all reasonable, you must admit a
resurrection; there is no other method of accounting for the joyous
peace which the Christian possesses. Our riches are beyond the sea; our
city with firm foundations lies on the other side the river: gleams of
glory from the spirit-world cheer our hearts, and urge us onward; but
if it were not for these, our present joys would pine and die.

We will try and handle our text this morning in this way. First, we are
not of all men most miserable; but secondly, without the hope of
another life we should be–that we are prepared to confess–because
thirdly, our chief joy lies in the hope of a life to come; and thus,
fourthly, the future influences the present; and so, in the last place,
we may to-day judge what our future is to be.

I. First then, WE ARE NOT OF ALL MEN MOST MISERABLE. Who ventures to
say we are? He who will have the hardihood to say so knoweth nothing of
us. He who shall affirm that Christianity makes men miserable, is
himself an utter stranger to it, and has never partaken of its joyful
influences. It were a very strange thing indeed, if it did make us
wretched, for see to what a position it exalts us! It makes us sons of
God. Suppose you that God will give all the happiness to his enemies,
and reserve all the mourning for his sons? Shall his foes have mirth
and joy, and shall his own home-born children inherit sorrow and
wretchedness? Are the kisses for the wicked and the frowns for us? Are
we condemned to hang our harps upon the willows, and sing nothing but
doleful dirges, while the children of Satan are to laugh for joy of
heart? We are heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ Jesus. Shall
the sinner, who has no part nor lot in Christ, call himself happy, and
shall we go mourning as if we were penniless beggars? No, we will
rejoice in the Lord always, and glory in our inheritance, for we "have
not received the spirit of bondage again to fear; but ye have received
the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father." The rod of
chastisement must rest upon us in our measure, but it worketh for us
the comfortable fruits of righteousness; and therefore by the aid of
the divine Comforter, we will rejoice in the Lord at all times. We are,
my brethren, married unto Christ; and shall our great Bridegroom permit
his spouse to linger in constant grief? Our hearts are knit unto him:
we are members of his body, of his flesh, and of his bones, and though
for awhile we may suffer as our Head once suffered, yet we are even now
blessed with heavenly blessings in him. Shall our Head reign in heaven,
and shall we have a hell upon earth? God forbid: the joyful triumph of
our exalted Head is in a measure shared by us, even in this vale of
tears. We have the earnest of our inheritance in the comforts of the
Spirit, which are neither few nor small. Think of a Christian! He is a
king, and shall the king be the most melancholy of men? He is a priest
unto God, and shall he offer no sweet incense of hallowed joy and
grateful thanksgiving? We are fit companions for angels: he hath made
us meet to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light; and
shall we have no days of heaven upon earth? Is Canaan ours from Dan to
Beersheba, and shall we eat no fruit from Eshcol's vine on this side of
Jordan? Shall we have no taste of the figs, and of the pomegranates,
and of the flowing milk and honey? Is there no manna in the wilderness?
Are there no streams in the desert? Are there no streaks of light to
herald our eternal sunrising? Heritors of joy for ever, have we no
foretastes of our portion? I say again, it were the oddest thing in the
world if Christians were more miserable than other men, or not more
happy. Think again of what God has done for them! The Christian knows
that his sins are forgiven; there is not against the believer a single
sin recorded in God's book. "I have blotted out, as a thick cloud, thy
transgressions, and, as a cloud, thy sins." More than that, the
believer is accounted by God as if he had perfectly kept the law, for
the righteousness of Christ is imputed to him, and he stands clothed in
that fair white linen which is the righteousness of the saints, And
shall the man whom God accepts be wretched? Shall the pardoned offender
be less happy than the man upon whom the wrath of God abideth? Can you
conceive such a thing? Moreover, my brethren, we are made temples of
the Holy Ghost, and is the Holy Ghost's temple to be a dark, dolorous
place, a place of shrieks, and moans, and cries, like the Druidic
groves of old? Such is not like our God. Our God is a God of love, and
it is his very nature to make his creatures happy; and we, who are his
twice-made creatures, who are the partakers of the divine nature,
having escaped the corruption which is in the world through lust, is it
to be supposed that we are bound by a stern decree to go mourning all
our days? Oh! if ye knew the Christian's privilege, if ye understood
that the secret of the Lord is laid open to him, that the wounds of
Christ are his shelter, that the flesh and blood of Christ are his
food, that Christ himself is his sweet companion and his abiding
friend, oh! if ye knew this, ye would never again foolishly dream that
Christians are an unhappy race. "Happy art thou, O Israel: who is like
unto thee, O people saved by the Lord?" Who can be compared with the
man who is "satisfied with favor and full with the blessing of the
Lord." Well might the evil prophet of Bethor exclaim, "Let me die the
death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his."

We will go a step farther. We will not only say that from the nature of
his position and privileges, a Christian should be happy, but we
declare that he is so, and that among all men there are none who enjoy
such a constant peace of mind as believers in Christ. Our joy may not
be like that of the sinner, noisy and boisterous. You know what Solomon
says–"The laughter of fools is as the crackling of thorns under a
pot"–a great deal of blaze and much noise, and then a handful of
ashes, and it is all over. "Who hath woe, who hath redness of the eyes?
They that tarry long at the wine-men of strength to mingle strong
drink." The Christian, in truth, does not know much of the excitement
of the bowl, the viol and the dance, nor does he desire to know; he is
content that he possesses a calm deep-seated repose of soul. "He is not
afraid of evil tidings, his heart is fixed, trusting in the Lord." He
is not disturbed with any sudden fear: he knows that "all things work
together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called
according to his purpose." He is in the habit in whatever society he
may be, of still lifting up his heart to God; and therefore he can say
with the Psalmist, "My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed: I will
sing and give praise."

"He waits in secret on his God;

His God in secret sees;

Let earth be all in arms abroad,

He dwells in heavenly peace.

His pleasures rise from things unseen,

Beyond this world and time,

Where neither eyes nor ears have been,

Nor thoughts of sinners climb.

He wants no pomp nor royal throne

To raise his figure here:

Content and pleased to live unknown,

Till Christ his life appear.

"There is a river the streams whereof make glad the city of God."
Believers drink of that river and thirst not for carnal delights. They
are made "to lie down in green pastures," and are led "beside the still
waters." Now this solid, lasting joy and peace of mind sets the
Christian so on high above all others, that I boldly testify that there
are no people in the world to compare with him for happiness. But do
not suppose that our joy never rises above this settled calm; for let
me tell you, and I speak experimentally, we have our seasons of
rapturous delight and overflowing bliss. There are times with us when
no music could equal the melody of our heart's sweet hymn of joy. It
would empty earth's coffers of every farthing of her joy to buy a
single ounce of our delight. Do not fancy Paul was the only man who
could say, "Whether in the body or out of the body, I cannot tell; God
knoweth," for these ecstasies are usual with believers; and on their
sunshiny days when their unbelief is shaken off and their faith is
strong, they have all but walked the golden streets; and they can say,
"If we have not entered within the pearly gate, we have been only just
this side of it; and it we have not yet come to the general assembly
and Church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven, if we
have not joined the great congregation of the perfect in actual body,
yet still–

"E'en now by faith we join our hands

With those that went before,

And greet the blood-besprinkled bands

On the eternal shore."

I would not change one five minutes of the excessive joy my soul has
sometimes felt for a thousand years of the best mirth that the children
of this world could give me. O friends, there is a happiness which can
make the eye sparkle and the heart beat high, and the whole man as full
of bounding speed of life as the chariots of Amminadib. There are
raptures and high ecstasies, which on festival days such as the Lord
allotteth to his people, the saints are permitted to enjoy. I must not
fail to remind you that the Christian is the happiest of men for this
reason, that his joy does not depend upon circumstances. We have seen
the happiest men in the most sorrowful conditions. Mr. Renwick, who was
the last of the Scotch martyrs, said a little before his death,
"Enemies think themselves satisfied that we are put to wander in mosses
and upon mountains, but even amidst the storm of these last two nights
I cannot express what sweet times I have had when I have had no
coverings but the dark curtains of night: yea, in the silent watch my
mind was led out to admire the deep and inexpressible ocean of joy
wherein the whole family of heaven do swim. Each star led me to wonder
what He must be who is the star of Jacob, and from whom all stars
borrow their shining." Here is a martyr of God driven from house and
home and from all comforts, and yet having such sweet seasons beneath
the curtains of the black night as kings do not often know beneath
their curtains of silk. A minister of Christ going to visit a very,
very poor man, gives this description. He says, "I found him alone, his
wife having gone out to ask help of some neighbor. I was startled by
the sight of the pale emaciated man, the living image of death,
fastened upright in his chair by a rude mechanism of cords and belts
hanging from the ceiling, totally unable to move hand or foot, having
been for more than four years entirely deprived of the use of his
limbs, and suffering extreme pain from swellings in all his joints. I
approached him full of pity, and I said, "Are you left alone, my
friend, in this deplorable situation?" He answered with a gentle
voice–his lips were the only parts of his body which he appeared to
have power to move–"No, sir, I am not alone, because the Father is
with me." I began to talk with him, and I soon observed what was the
source of his consolation, for just in front of him lay the Bible upon
a pillow, his wife having left it open at some choice Psalm of David so
that he might read while she was gone, as he had no power to turn over
the leaves. I asked him what he had to live upon, and found that it was
a miserable pittance, scarcely enough to keep body and soul together,
"But," said he, "I never want anything, for the Lord has said, Your
bread shall be given you, and your water shall be sure,' and I trust in
him, and I shall never want while God is faithful to his promise." "I
asked him," says this minister "whether he did not often repine on
account of suffering so acutely for so many years. "Sir," said he, "I
did repine at first, but not for the last three years, blessed be God
for it, for I know whom I have believed, and though I feel my own
weakness and unworthiness more and more, yet I am persuaded that he
will never leave me nor forsake me; and so graciously does he comfort
me that when my lips are closed with lock-jaw and I cannot speak a word
for hours together, he enables me to sing his praises most sweetly in
my heart." Now here was a man to whom the sun of all earthly comfort
was set, and yet the sun of heaven shone full in his face, and he was
more peaceful and happy in deep poverty and racking pain than all you
or I have been in the health and strength of youth. John Howard spent
his time in visiting the gaols and going from one haunt of fever to
another, he was asked how he could find any ground of happiness when he
was living in miserable Russian villages, or dwelling in discomfort in
an hospital or a gaol. Mr. Howard's answer was very beautiful. "I
hope," said he, "I have sources of enjoyment which depend not upon the
particular spot I inhabit. A rightly cultivated mind, under the power
of divine grace and the exercise of a benevolent disposition affords a
ground of satisfaction that is not to be affected by heres and theres."
Every Christian will bear you his witness that he has found his sad
times to be his glad times, his losses to be his gains, his sicknesses
means to promote his soul's health. Our summer does not depend upon the
sun, nor our flood-tide upon the moon. We can rejoice even in death. We
look forward to that happy hour when we shall close our eyes in the
peaceful slumbers of death, believing that our last day will be our
best day. Even the crossing of the river Jordan is but an easy task,
for we shall hear him say, "Fear not; I am with thee: be not dismayed,
I am thy God; when thou passest through the rivers I will be with thee,
and the floods shall not overflow thee." We dare to say it, then, very
boldly, we are not of all men most miserable: we would not change with
unconverted men for all their riches, and their pomp, and their honor
thrown into the scale.

"Go you that boast in all your stores,

And tell how bright they shine,

Your heaps of glittering dust are yours,

And my Redeemer's mine.

II. This brings us to the second point–WITHOUT THE HOPE OF ANOTHER
LIFE, WE WILL ADMIT, THAT WE SHOULD BE OF ALL MEN MOST MISERABLE.

Especially was this true of the apostles. They were rejected by their
countrymen; they lost all the comforts of home; their lives were spent
in toil, and were daily exposed to violent death. They all of them
suffered the martyr's doom, except John, who seems to have been
preserved not from martyrdom, but in it. They were certainly the twelve
most miserable of men apart from that hope of the world to come, which
made them of all men the most happy. But this is true, dear friends,
not merely of persecuted, and despised, and poverty-stricken
Christians, but of all believers. We are prepared to grant it, that
take away from us the hope of the world to come we should be more
miserable than men without religion. The reason is very clear, if you
think that the Christian has renounced those common and ordinary
sources of joy from which other men drink. We must have some pleasure:
it is impossible for men to live in this world without it, and I can
say most truthfully I never urge any of you to do that which would make
you unhappy. We must have some pleasure. Well then, there is a vessel
filled with muddy filthy water which the camels' feet have stirred:
shall I drink it? I see yonder a rippling stream of clear flowing
water, pure as crystal and cooling as the snow of Lebanon, and I say,
"No, I will not drink this foul, muddy stuff; leave that for beasts; I
will drink of you clear stream." But if I be mistaken, if there be no
stream yonder, if it be but the deceitful mirage, if I have been
deluded, then I am worse off than those who were content with the muddy
water, for they have at least some cooling draughts; but I have none at
all. This is precisely the Christian's case. He passes by the pleasures
of sin, and the amusements of carnal men, because he says, "I do not
care for them, I find no pleasure in them: my happiness flows from the
river which springs from the throne of God and flows to me through
Jesus Christ–I will drink of that," but if there were no hereafter, if
that were proved to be a deception, then were we more wretched than the
profligate and licentious.

Again, the Christian man has learned the vanity of all earthly joys. We
know when we look upon pomp that it is an empty thing. We walk through
the world, not with the scorn of Diogenes, the cynical philosopher, but
with something of his wisdom, and we look upon the common things in
which men rejoice, and say with Solomon, "Vanity of vanities, all is
vanity." And why do we say this? Why, because we have chosen eternal
things in which there is no vanity, and which are satisfying to the
soul. But, my brethren, it is the most unhappy piece of knowledge which
a man can acquire, to know that this world is vain, if there be not
another world abundantly to compensate for all our ills. There is a
poor lunatic in Bedlam, plaiting straw into a crown which he puts upon
his head, and calls himself a king, and mounts his mimic throne and
thinks that he is monarch over all nations, and is perfectly happy in
his dream. Do you think that I would undeceive him? Nay, verily, if I
could, I would not. If the delusion makes the man happy, by all means
let him indulge in it; but, dear friends, you and I have been
undeceived; our dream of perfect bliss beneath the skies is gone for
ever; what then if there be no world to come? Why then it is a most
sorrowful thing for us that we have been awakened out of our sleep
unless this better thing which we have chosen, this good part which
shall not be taken from us, should prove to be real and true, as we do
believe it is.

Moreover, the Christian man is a man who has had high, noble, and great
expectations, and this is a very sad thing for us if our expectations
be not fulfilled, for it makes us of all men most miserable. I have
known poor men waiting and expecting a legacy. They had a right to
expect it, and they have waited, and waited, and borne with poverty,
and the relative has died and left them nothing; their poverty has ever
afterwards seemed to be a heavier drag than before. It is an unhappy
thing for a man to have large ideas and large desires, if he cannot
gratify them. I believe that poverty is infinitely better endured by
persons who were always poor, than by those who have been rich and have
had to come down to penury, for they miss what the others never had,
and what the originally poor would look upon as luxuries they consider
to be necessary to their existence. The Christian has learned to think
of eternity, of God, of Christ, of communion with Jesus, and if indeed
it be all false, he certainly has dreamed the most magnificent of all
mortal visions. Truly, if any man could prove it to be a vision, the
best thing he could do would be to sit down and weep for ever to think
it was not true, for the dream is so splendid, the picture of the world
to come so gorgeous, that I can only say, if it be not true, it ought
to be–if it be not true, then there is nothing here worth living for,
my brethren, and we are disappointed wretches indeed–of all men most
miserable.

The Christian, too, has learned to look upon everything here on earth
as fleeting. I must confess every day this feeling grows with me. I
scarce look upon my friends as living. I walk as in a land of shadows,
and find nothing enduring around me. The broad arrow of the great
skeleton king is, to my eye, visibly stamped everywhere. I go so often
to the grave, and with those I least expected to take there, that it
seems to be rather a world of dying than of living men. Well, this is a
very unhappy thing–a very wretched state of mind for a man to be in,
if there be no world to come. If there be no resurrection of the dead,
then is the Christian indeed committed to a state of mind the most
deplorable and pitiable. But, O my brethren, if there be a world to
come, as faith assures us there is, how joyous it is to be weaned from
the world, and to be ready to depart from it! To be with Christ is far
better than to tarry in this vale of tears.

"The cords that bound my heart to earth

Are broken by his hand;

Before his cross I find myself,

A stranger in the land.

My heart is with him on his throne,

And ill can brook delay;

Each moment listening for the voice,

'Make haste, and come away."'

May I not pant to be in my own sweet country with my own fair Lord, to
see him face to face? Yet, if it be not so and there be no resurrection
of the dead, "we are of all men most miserable."

III. OUR CHIEF JOY IN THE HOPE OF THE WORLD TO COME. Think of the world
to come, my brethren, and let your joys begin to kindle into flames of
delight, for heaven offers you all that you can desire. You are, many
of you, weary of toil; so weary, perhaps, that you can scarcely enjoy
the morning service because of the late hours at which you have had to
work at night. Ah! there is a land of rest–of perfect rest, where the
sweat of labor no more bedews the worker's brow, and fatigue is for
ever banished. To those who are weary and spent, the word "rest" is
full of heaven. Oh! happy truth, there remaineth a rest for the people
of God. " They rest from their labors, and their works do follow them."
Others of you are always in the field of battle; you are so tempted
within, and so molested by foes without, that you have little or no
peace. I know where your hope lies. It lies in the victory, when the
banner shall be waved aloft, and the sword shall be sheathed, and you
shall hear your Captain say, "Well done, good and faithful servant;
thou hast fought a good fight; thou hast finished thy course:
henceforth wear thou the crown of life which fadeth not away." Some of
you are tossed about with many troubles; you go from care to care, from
loss to loss: it seems to you as if all God's waves and billows had
gone over you; but you shall soon arrive at the land of happiness,
where you shall bathe your weary soul in seas of heavenly rest, You
shall have no poverty soon; no mud-hovel, no rags, nor hunger. "In my
Father's house are many mansions," and there shall you dwell, satisfied
with favor, and full of every blessing. You have had bereavement after
bereavement; the wife has been carried to the tomb, the children have
followed, father and mother are gone, and you have few left to love you
here; but you are going to the land where graves are unknown things,
where they never see a shroud, and the sound of the mattock and the
spade are never heard; you are going to your Father's house in the land
of the immortal, in the country of the hereafter, in the home of the
blessed, in the habitation of God Most High, in the Jerusalem which is
above, the mother of us all. Is not this your best joy, that you are
not to be here for ever, that you are not to dwell eternally in this
wilderness, but shall soon inherit Canaan? With all God's people their
worst grief is sin. I would not care for any sorrow, if I could live
without sinning. Oh! if I were rid of the appetites of the flesh and
the lusts thereof, and the desires which continually go astray, I would
be satisfied to lie in a dungeon and rot there, so as to be delivered
from the corruption of sin. Well but, brethren, we shall soon attain
unto perfection. The body of this death will die with this body. There
is no temptation in heaven, for the dog of hell can never cross the
stream of death; there are no corruptions there, for they have washed
their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb; there shall
by no means enter into that kingdom anything which defileth. Methinks
as I hear the joyous song of the glorified this morning, as I catch
floating down from heaven the sound of that music which is like many
waters and like the great thunder, and as I hear the harmony of those
notes which are sweet as harpers harping with their harps, my soul
desireth to stretch her wings, and fly straight to yonder worlds of
joy. I know it is so with you, my brethren in the tribulation of
Christ–as you wipe the sweat your brow, is not this the comfort: there
is rest for the people of God? As you stand out against temptation and
suffer for Christ's sake, is not this your comfort: " If we suffer with
him, we shall also reign with him." When you are slandered and despised
by men, is not this your hope: "He will remember me when he cometh into
his kingdom. I shall sit upon his throne, even as he has overcome, and
sitteth down upon his Father's throne?" Oh! yes, this is the music to
which Christians dance; this is the wine which maketh glad their
hearts; this is the banquet at which they feast. There is another and a
better land, and we, though we sleep with the clods of the valley,
shall in our flesh see God, when our Redeemer shall stand in the latter
days upon the earth. I think you catch my drift–we are not of all men
most miserable; apart from the future hope we should be, for our hope
in Christ for the future is the mainstay of our joy.

IV. Now, dear friends, this brings me to a practical observation in the
fourth place, which is, that THUS THE FUTURE OPERATES UPON THE PRESENT.

I had some time ago a conversation with a very eminent man whose fame
is familiar to you all, but whose name I do not feel justified in
mentioning, who was once a professed believer but is now full of
scepticism. He said to me in the course of our argument, "Why, how
foolish you are, and all the company of preachers. You tell people to
think about the next world, when the best thing they could do would be
to behave themselves as well as they can in this!" I granted the truth
of the observation; it would be very unwise to make people neglect the
present, for it is of exceeding great importance, but I went on to show
him that the very best method to make people attend to the present was
by impressing them with high and noble motives with regard to the
future. The potent force of the world to come supplies us through the
Holy Spirit with force for the proper accomplishment of the duties of
this life. Here is a man who has a machine for the manufacture of
hardware. He wants steam power to work this machine. An engineer puts
up a steam engine in a shed at some considerable distance. "Well,"
saith the other, "I asked you to bring steam power here, to operate
upon my machine." "That is precisely," says he, "what I have done. I
put the steam engine there, you have but to connect it by a band and
your machine works as fast as you like; it is not necessary that I
should put the boiler, and the fire, and the engine close to the work,
just under your nose: only connect the two, and the one will operate
upon the other." So God has been pleased to make our hopes of the
future a great engine wherewith the Christian man may work the ordinary
machine of every-day life, for the band of faith connects the two, and
makes all the wheels of ordinary life revolve with rapidity and
regularity. To speak against preaching the future as though it would
make people neglect the present is absurd. It is as though somebody
should say, "There, take away the moon, and blot out the sun. What is
the use of them–they are not in this world?" Precisely so, but take
away the moon and you have removed the tides, and the sea becomes a
stagnant, putrid pool. Then take away the sun–it is not in the
world–take it away, and light, and heat, and life; everything is gone.
What the sun and moon are to this natural world, the hope of the future
is to the Christian in this world. It is his light–he looks upon all
things in that light, and sees them truly. It is his heat; it gives him
zeal and energy. It is his very life: his Christianity, his virtue
would expire if it were not for the hope of the world to come. Do you
believe, my brethren, that apostles and martyrs would ever have
sacrificed their lives for truth's sake if they had not looked for a
hereafter? In the heat of excitement, the soldier may die for honor,
but to die in tortures and mockeries in cold blood needs a hope beyond
the grave. Would you poor man go toiling on year after year, refusing
to sacrifice his conscience for gain; would yon poor needle-girl refuse
to become the slave of lust if she did not see something brighter than
earth can picture to her as the reward of sin? O my brethren, the most
practical thing in all the world is the hope of the world to come; and
you see the text teaches this, for it is just this which keeps us from
being miserable; and to keep a man from being miserable, let me say, is
to do a great thing for him, for a miserable Christian–what is the use
of him? Keep him in a cupboard, where nobody can see him; nurse him in
the hospital, for he is of no use in the field of labor. Build a
monastery, and put all miserable Christians in it, and there let them
meditate on mercy till they learn to smile; for really there is no
other use for them in the world, But the man who has a hope of the next
world goes about his work strong, for the joy of the Lord is our
strength. He goes against, temptation mighty, for the hope of the next
world repels the fiery darts of the adversary. He can labor without
present reward, for he looks for a reward in the world to come. He can
suffer rebuke, and can afford to die a slandered man, because he knows
that God will avenge his own elect who cry day and night unto him.
Through the Spirit of God the hope of another world is the most potent
force for the product of virtue; it is a fountain of joy; it is the
very channel of usefulness. It is to the Christian what food is to the
vital force in the animal frame. Let it be said of any of us, that we
are dreaming about the future and forgetting the present, but let the
future sanctify the present to highest uses. I fear our prophetical
brethren err here. They are reading continually about the last vials,
the seventy weeks of Daniel, and a number of other mysteries; I wish
they would set to work instead of speculating so much, or speculate
even more if they will, but turn their prophecies to present practical
account. Prophetical speculations too often lead men away from present
urgent duty, and especially from contending earnestly for the faith
once delivered to the saints; but a hope of the world to come is, I
think, the best practical power which a Christian can have.

V. And now, to conclude, this will let us see very clearly WHAT OUR
FUTURE IS TO BE.

There are some persons here to whom my text has nothing whatever to
say. Suppose there were no hereafter, would they be more miserable?
Why, no; they would be more happy. If anybody could prove to them that
death is an eternal sleep, it would be the greatest consolation that
they could possibly receive, It it could be shown, to a demonstration,
that as soon as people die they rot in the grave and there is an end of
them–why some of you could go to bed at night comfortable, your
conscience would never disturb you, you would be molested by none of
those terrible fears which now haunt you. Do you see, then, this proves
that you are not a Christian; this proves as plainly as twice two make
tour, that you are no believer in Christ; for if you were, the taking
away of a hereafter would make you miserable. Since it would not tend
to make you happy to believe in a future state, this proves that you
are no believer in Christ. Well, then, what have Ito say to you? Why
just this–that in the world to come, you will be of all men most
miserable. "What will become of you?" said an infidel once to a
Christian man, "supposing there should be no heaven?" "Well," said he,
"I like to have two strings to my bow. If there be no hereafter I am as
well off as you are; if there be I am infinitely better off. But where
are you? Where are you?" Why then we must read this text in the
future–"If in this life there be indeed a hope of a life to come, then
you shall be in the next life of all men most miserable." Do you see
where you will be? Your soul goes before the great Judge, and receives
its condemnation and begins its hell. The trumpet rings; heaven and
earth are astonished; the grave heaves; yonder slab of marble is lifted
up, and up you rise in that very flesh and blood in which you sinned,
and there you stand in the midst of a terrified multitude, all gathered
to their doom. The Judge has come. The great assize has commenced.
There on the great white throne sits the Savior who once said, "Come
unto me, ye weary, and I will give you rest;" but now he sits there as
a Judge and opens with stern hand the terrible volume. Page after page
he reads, and as he reads he gives the signal, "Depart, ye cursed, into
everlasting fire," and the angels bind up the fares in bundles to burn
them. There stand you, and you know your doom; you already begin to
feel it. You cry to the lofty Alps to fall upon you and conceal you. "O
ye mountains, can ye not find in your rocky bowels some friendly cavern
where I may be hidden from the face of him who sits upon the throne?"
In terrible silence the mountains refuse your petition and the rocks
reject your cry. You would plunge into the sea, but it is licked up
with tongues of fire; you would fain make your bed even in hell if you
could escape from those dreadful eyes, but you cannot; for now your
turn is come, that page is turned over which records your history; the
Savior reads with a voice of thunder and with eyes of lightning. He
reads, and as he waves his hand you are cast away from hope. You shall
then know what it is to be of all men most miserable. Ye had your
pleasure; ye had your giddy hour; ye had your mirthful moments; you
despised Christ, and you would not turn at his rebuke; you would not
have him to reign over you; you lived his adversary; you died
unreconciled, and now where are you? Now, what will ye do, ye who
forget God, in that day when he shall tear you in pieces, and there
shall be none to deliver you? In the name of my Lord and Master I do
conjure you, fly away to Christ for refuge. "He that believeth in him
shall be saved." To believe is to trust; and whosoever this morning is
enabled by faith to cast himself upon Christ, need not fear to live,
nor fear to die, You shall not be miserable here; you shall be thrice
blessed hereafter if you trust my Lord.

"Come, guilty souls, and flee away

To Christ, and heal your wounds;

This is the welcome gospel-day

Wherein free grace abounds."

O that ye would be wise and consider your latter end! O that ye would
reflect that this life is but a span, and the life to come lasts on for
ever! Do not, I pray you, fling away eternity; play not the fool with
such solemn things as these, but in serious earnestness lay hold upon
eternal life. Look to the bleeding Savior; see there his five wounds,
and his face bedewed with bloody sweat! Trust him, trust him, and you
are saved. The moment that you trust him your sins are gone. His
righteousness is yours; you are saved on the spot, and you shall be
saved when he cometh in his kingdom to raise the dead from their
graves. O that the Lord might lead us all thus to rest on Jesus, now
and ever. Amen.