The Ship on Fire–A Voice of Warning
A Sermon
(No. 550)
Delivered on Sunday Evening, November 8th, 1863, on the
burning of the Ship "Amazon," by the
Rev. C. H. SPURGEON,
At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington
"Escape for thy life."–Genesis 19:17.
"Thou hast magnified thy mercy, which thou hast shewed unto me in
saving my life."–Genesis 19:19.
HERE IS THE ALARM of mercy declaring the sinner's duty–"Escape for thy
life." Here is the work of grace, and the gratitude of the sinner after
he is saved. "Thou hast magnified thy mercy, which thou hast shewed
unto me in saving my life."
The other day, there sailed down the Thames as stout a vessel as had
ever ploughed the deep. The good ship "Amazon," had sailed the broad
Pacific many a time, and what is there to hinder her from once more
reaching America in safety? Who would refuse to underwrite her? Who
among her crew or passengers has a fear for her safety? But in the book
of providence, there was a black line against that ship, and never more
could she reach her desired haven. The wind was exceedingly high: the
vessel tarried awhile at Gravesend. There was a little improvement in
the weather: she sailed a little further; but cast anchor again, and
remained off Broadstairs. Matters went as usual in such weather. Night
came on; the watch was changed as usual; the captain turned in, feeling
that all was right and safe. The passengers were snug in their
berths–a little the worse, perhaps, for the roll of the ship, but as
assured of security as men could be. In a moment, what a change had
taken place! A passenger perceives a smell of fire; the warning cry is
raised. Everyone rushes upon deck. Attempts arc made to quench the
fire; but when the hatches are lifted up, the wind rushes in, and the
fire is fanned to a dreadful, all-devouring conflagration. Further
effort is of no avail. Rockets are fired, as the signals of distress.
The boats are let down, crowded with the passengers. A lugger puts off
to her, and a steam-tug hastens to the rescue, and, thanks be unto the
God of providence, all the passengers–the captain and chief officers
last–are on board the vessels and carried to Margate, where they see
the melancholy, and yet satisfactory spectacle of their vessel burning
to the water's edge, and then disappearing from view.
Now, as the good brother who was captain to that vessel, constantly
comes here when he is on shore, and as he is sitting in the midst of
you to-night, I thought I might use the burning of this vessel as a
picture of spiritual things, out of which I might make an illustrated
sermon These things happen not without design, and should not escape
without improvement.
Two things, then, to-night: they are both in the text and in the story
of the ship on fire. First, an alarm–"Escape for thy life;" secondly,
grateful acknowledgment–"Thou hast magnified thy mercy, which thou
hast shewed unto me in saving my life."
I. First, AN ALARM.
We come here to-night, to raise an alarm. True ministers of God. are
great alarmists. It is their duty to be like Barnabas, who was a son of
consolation; but it is equally their duty to be like Boanerges–sons of
thunder. Thunder does not rock men to sleep, and plays no pleasant tune
for fools to dance to; with its crash and roar, it wakes a slumbering
world, and its dread volleys, echoed peal on peal, afford no dulcet
notes for dainty ears. God's servants should learn to thunder; for when
God speaketh through them, the voice of the Lord is powerful and full
of majesty; and in his temple doth everyone speak of his glory.
The alarm we have to give to-night, is that of the angel to Lot, with
an emphasis of meaning–"Escape for thy life." It is an alarm suggested
by tremendous danger. When the cry of "Fire! fire! fire!" ran along the
decks, and the cabins, and the saloons of the "Amazon," everyone knew
that there was no small danger to be encountered, for flame is a cruel
tyrant and devours remorselessly. The very word "Fire!" has a
razor-edge about it, cutting to the very quick. Terror has fire for her
first-born. But the alarm we have to raise, is concerning a matter more
terrific still–add to the word "Fire," that dreadful syllable "Hell,"
and then what shall more alarm than "Hell fire?" In that cry, we
comprehend such weighty matters as eternity alone can reveal. The wrath
to come! The judgment of the Eternal! The wrath of the Most High! Fire,
when it is at its most furious pitch, is but a plaything compared with
hell fire; yea, when it consumes a city; when it runs down the red lips
of a volcano, and buries thousands; when it sets the sky and earth upon
a blaze as in Egypt's plagues, it is but child's-play compared with the
wrath of God, and that Tophet which is prepared of old, the pile
whereof is wood and much smoke. Here is something at which the joints
of a man's loins may well be loosed, for there is eternity in it,
infinity in it, deity in it; and where these three are set against a
man,. woe unto him. It is as when the fire is set in battle array
against the stubble. Well may it be written by the prophet, "The
sinners in Zion are afraid; fearfulness hath surprised the hypocrites.
Who among us shall dwell with the devouring fire? Who among us shall
dwell with everlasting burning?" Sinner, by the crushing terror of the
woe which cometh, I beseech thee, "Escape for thy life."
It is a danger not to be overcome. The fire-engine was brought out upon
the deck of the burning ship; attempts were made to extinguish the
fire; but the mischief was far too much in power to be driven from its
stronghold. The like may be boldly declared of the evil which cometh
upon the ungodly. Sinner, your danger is such that you cannot contend
with it by any power of your own. There is a fire of sin within you
which you cannot quench; there is a fire of hell without you which no
drops even of your own blood shall be able to extinguish. You are in a
danger which you are unable to cope with. There is no possibility that
if you remain in it, your utmost exertions or most strenuous efforts
can avert the certain ruin which your state must bring upon you. If you
neglect the only way of salvation, how can you escape? What awaits you
but a fearful looking for of judgment and of fiery indignation? The
pillars of heaven tremble and are astonished at the reproof of the Lord
of hosts–how, then, canst thou endure the tempest of his anger, and
the fury of his hot displeasure?
"O sinner, seek his face,
Whose wrath thou canst not bear;
Fly to the dying Savior's wounds,
And find salvation there."
It is a danger, too, a terrific danger which makes no exception to
anyone. The captain is as much in danger as the poorest cabin-boy, if
he cannot escape from the burning ship. The rich man, with ingots of
gold in his cabin, will as certainly be burned alive as the poor
traveler who could scarcely pay his passage. There is no distinction of
persons in the judgments of God. Sinner, you may be great and mighty,
but you shall go down to hell unless grace shall save you. Woman, thou
mayst be amiable in thy temper and excellent in thy deportment, but
thou shalt perish as surely as a harlot, unless Christ have pity upon
thee. Man, thou mayst be upright, and shine before thy fellow-merchants
as one of excellent repute, but the wrath of God abideth on thee except
thou fleest to Jesus; for there is none other name given under heaven
whereby ye must be' saved; and out of that name, and apart from that
name, whoever thou mayst be, though thou wert monarch of seven empires,
thou art still in danger. Rich and poor, high and low, learned and
ignorant, my cry is to you all, "O earth, earth, earth, hear the Word
of the Lord!"
Do not forget that we are in danger of a consuming fire–a danger which
kills without remedy. It is not a fire which merely singes and
scorches, but a fire which burns to ashes. As yonder ship must be
burned up, and every passenger who cannot leave its burning deck must.
be consumed, so you, O unconverted men, are in danger of utter
destruction from the presence of the Lord. "For, behold, the day
cometh, that shall burn as an oven; and all the proud, yea, and all
that do wickedly, shall be stubble: and the day that cometh shall burn
them up, saith the Lord of hosts, that it shall leave them neither root
nor branch." I would I could speak upon this dreadful subject in a
proper manner. Whitfield had tones and emotions which were fitting for
such a subject. He would cry out, "Oh, the wrath to come! The wrath to
come! The wrath to come!" He would cry, I say, until all his hearers
responded. with, "What must we do to be saved?" And good Baxter,
trembling lest be should he guilty of men's blood, while he delivered
the message, as a dying man to dying men–knew the terrors of the law,
and right earnestly he persuaded men to escape for their lives. O sirs,
if I saw you. in a burning house, there were not half so much need of
earnestness as when I see you in the midst of a mass of sin and
corruption which must be consumed by God's anger, and you with it.
Sinner, why wilt. thou die? What can ail thee? What besots thee that
thou dost not perceive anything dreadful in the wrath of him who made
thee? He can dash whole worlds to pieces–what can he not do with thee?
Hast thou. learned to be callous when thou hearest of eternity? Hast
thine ear grown cold to that dreadful word, "Condemnation?" Canst thou
read the story of those to whom he said, "Depart, ye cursed," and not
tremble? Canst thou know that thou art this day in danger of the
judgment, and not be afraid? When the sword is sharp, and furbished,
and taken out of its sheath, canst thou play about its edge? Canst thou
yet make mirth? Then is there indeed, need for me to cry to thee, and
for all God's faithful ministers to cry with louder voice than
mine–"Escape! escape! escape for thy life."
The alarm of fire was needed because of the security of the persons in
danger. Many on board the "Amazon" were sound asleep. Oh, how dreadful
to be awakened out of sleep with the cry of "Fire! fire! fire! Some of
them, when they awoke, seemed to have been so startled and so confused,
that they had fairly to be dragged out of their berths that they might
be rescued. There were none there, we have reason to believe, who would
have been kept below through their own drunkenness or the carelessness
of the crew. They were in a right state, with this exception, of
course, that they were all alarmed–and men alarmed are not always
ready to do the wisest thing, and as for the captain and his men they
seem to have been as sensible as they were brave. My hearers, God's
ministers have to deal with passengers much more difficult to handle.
Are not men asleep? Till the voice of God awakens us, we are all
asleep. How you and I walked for years, and years, and years, upon the
brink of the grave, as utterly unconcerned as though we were to live
for ever; and when sometimes we were a little impressed by the passing
bell, or an open grave, or an earnest sermon, how soon we went back
again to our old frivolity, and toyed with the flames of hell as though
they were fancy's dream. It is not so now. God has awakened us; but we
had never been awakened if the voice which awakes the dead had not
cried in our ear, "Escape for thy life." Nay, worse, men are not only
asleep, but when they do perceive their danger, they love their sins
too well to leave them, even though hell stares them in the face. The
best of them cry with Solomon's sluggard, "Yet a little sleep, a little
slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep." Sinner, how hard it
is to bring thee to serious consideration of thy ways. We cannot touch
thy wits, or make thee reason like a man of sound mind. Thou wilt
sooner be damned by thoughtlessness thau give an hour's careful
meditation to thy soul's affairs. We would fain drag thee out of thy
sleeping berth, and even kick thee and strike thee, treating thee to
rough usage, if we could by this means drag thee from the devouring
flames; thou wouldst thank us well enough afterwards for these rough
cuffs, if we could but wake thee. We hear complaints that the minister
speaks too harshly and talks too much of judgment. Saved sinners never
make that complaint. They know that nothing but these terrors will
awaken some slumbering minds; and if they be awakened themselves, they
are but too glad, however rough the means may have been. Are there not
some in this house to-night who are hard, fearfully hard, to be brought
to sober thinking, because they are drunken and besotted with sin? Some
of you, with your Sunday trading, will rather gain your sixpences and
your paltry pence on the Sunday, than find eternal felicity in faith in
the Lord Jesus. Others of you, with your tap-room companions, with your
theatres, your balls, and worse places still, where lust wears no mask,
are cutting the throats of your poor miserable souls. You cannot give
up your vices; you will sooner be damned than be Christians. Well, so
it must be, sirs, if ye will have these things, and will pawn your
souls for them, so it must be; you have chosen your own delusions, and
you shall inherit them. But O, do listen once more, while we warn you
in God's name, " Escape for thy life," and trifle no more with hell and
heaven, with thine own soul and judgment, God and his dear bleeding
Son. If every preacher in London should suddenly begin to preach
nothing but alarms, it would all be needed, for what a secure and
reckless city is this. If every corner in the street had a Jonah in it,
and that Jonah's sermon were nothing but this–"Yet a few more days and
thou shalt be destroyed!" it were not too much for a city so given to
slumber. We have waxen rich; we have grown careless, till we have
become like Nineveh of old, a people at ease, and dwelling carelessly
Isaiah might well say concerning London–"Thou saidst, I shall be a
lady for ever: so that thou didst not lay these things to thy heart,
neither didst remember the latter end of it." Let us take heed unto
ourselves lest in the world to come this carnal security of ours should
be like faggots to the fire, and the remembrance of our sloth should
pour oil upon the flames. O God, let the alarm be heard, to-night by
those who crowd this house, for thou knowest that many of them are
sound asleep.
Again, it is an alarm which requires instant attention. A man on board
a vessel, when he hears the cry of "Fire!" must not stop to arrange his
clothes; he must not be concerned to see that his face is washed, that
he has bound together that little bundle of papers, or packed up the
portmanteau, or counted over the little purse of gold, or even snatched
his little property from the cabin. At once, at once, must he climb the
stairs and reach the deck, or he will never have stairs to climb, nor
feet to climb with. Now or never. Quick is the word. Waste a moment,
and it is all over with you; the fire is upon you, for it tarries not
in its march. So is it with you to-night who fear not God. "Escape for
thy life," is a cry for the present moment. Now is the accepted time;
behold, now is the day of salvation." Now, now, NOW. This is the only
period God has allotted to you, take care that you use it, lest when
your to-days are past, and you hope to see your to-morrow, you should
have to spend your to-morrows in the pit of hell. Procrastination is
not only the thief of time, but the thief of souls. Now is the day of
salvation; I have never heard of any other day. I do not know, but I
think this is one of the most difficult things in the gospel ministry,
a matter worthy of the Holy Ghost's power–to make men seriously think
about their souls at this present. I know, young man, you intend to
think of these things when you are ill; you expect to have a long time
upon a sick-bed, and then you suppose all will be right before you die.
Who told you you would ever lie upon a sick-bed at all? Yours may be a
sudden death; and sudden death to such as you, are would be sudden
damnation. As men stand upon the bank, and spring head-first into the
water, so may you dash into hell. Death enters men's doors without
knocking. The judgment may follow on the heels of your next sins. And
what if you should lie upon a bed of sickness? You will have enough to
do to bear the pain, to mourn over your weeping wife, and worry
yourself about those little children who will be left fatherless: I
tell you, sir, it is hard repenting upon a dying bed. Do not sew
pillows to thine armholes, and make for thyself this fond hope, that
thou shalt one day be saved. It is now or never, it is now or never
with you. I speak as a prophet of God at this moment, I know I do;
there are some of you to whom this now or never is a more applicable
thing than you suppose. You will not see a new year. No Christmas
festivities will be yours. You will be at home on Christmas-day, but it
will be your long, lost home. "Set thine house in order; for thou shalt
die, and not live." As the Lord my God liveth, before whom I stand,
thus saith the Lord unto some of you–"There is but a step between you
and death." Be warned, then, for as I will meet you on the other side
the stream, at my Master's judgment-seat, I have bidden you give
immediate, instantaneous attention to the Word of God. Consider your
ways, O sinners, born to die. Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, O
trembler, and thou shalt be saved. Trust him, trust him. God help thee
to trust Jesus to-night, for it is now or never with thy soul.
Again, this alarm demands of every one of us who are unsaved, an
undivided attention. You have fifty things to think about. You tell me
you have a thousand cares. O sirs, a man whose life is in danger, has
no other care than to save his life. Did those who were rescued from
the "Amazon," have time to save their money and their gold? We are told
that they were utterly destitute when they landed at Margate, and what
signifies it? Would not a flush of joy be on their cheeks because their
lives were preserved! If one said to his fellow, "Where is thy purse?"
"Oh," saith the other, "never mind my purse, I am in the lifeboat; my
life is saved." What shall it profit you, if you gain the whole world,
and lose your own soul? And what is the loss after all, if you lose the
world, if you gain your soul? Nay, those on board the ship had not time
to save their clothes. The instincts of self-preservation made them
run, just as they were, half-naked, to the vessel's deck, and so must
you. I know you will tell me you are not living to make money; if you
could just make ends meet, keep your family, and supply the wants of
your children–that is all–are you not to think of this? It is well
and good; far be it from me to discourage prudent carefulness in all
matters; it is your business to see to temporal matters, but still your
paramount business must be your soul; even necessaries must not come
between your soul and your most serious thoughts. You must see to this
first and foremost, and remember there is a promise about it–"Seek ye
first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things
shall be added unto you." Those persons who escaped from the blazing
vessel had, some of them, even to suffer in body. We read of one who
broke his arm in the medley of the escape, but what of that?* (*I hear
since, from the friends of the second mate, that the man did not break
his arm.) Better to escape with a broken arm, than fry in those
horrible flames with every bone in its place. It would be very little
comfort to the poor passenger to save his bones entire, and to have his
body consumed. "It is better for thee to enter into life halt or
maimed, rather than having two hands or two feet to be cast into
everlasting fire." You are rightly considerate of your bodies, but
still, if that poor body, which is to become worm's meat one day, is
worthy of so much thought, how much more ought you to give to your
immortal spirit, which is to live for ever with God in glory, or with
fiends in torment? Think first, I pray you, think chiefly, think now
to-night with undivided heart, with consecrated thought upon your soul.
Let comforts go, let pelf go, let raiment go, let life itself go–but
do see to that which is better than life–thy soul–thine everlasting
destiny.
Now, the alarm which I have tried to give–"Escape for thy life!" seems
to me to suggest a very solemn question. "How can I escape?" says cue.
Dost thou sincerely ask that question–"What must I do to be saved?"
Remember there is but one way of rescue–the lifeboat of faith must put
thee into the vessel of salvation–Christ Jesus. Stop in thine own
vessel, and thou art burned; leap into those floods of wrath, and thou
art drowned; get into that boat of saving faith, let that boat bear
thee into the vessel of Christ Jesus, and thou art safe. Sinner, the
road of salvation is, out of self into Christ. There are only two steps
to heaven–out of self, into Christ. That man who has left himself as a
burning vessel behind, left sin and left self-righteousness as a thing
to be destroyed–that man who has taken Christ to be his all in all,
and takes the cross to be the only thing to which he clings, is safe.
Escape, I pray thee, for thy life, awakened and seeking sinner, for
Jesus is the only foundation, he only is thy rock and thy salvation;
come to him for shelter, and you are saved.
To conclude this matter of alarm, our meditation arouses a very solemn
enquiry–Will all be safe? Will all in the vessel escape? What joy must
there have been in the captain's heart when he heard that not one had
been left to burn in the vessel! Will all escape? Will every hearer in
this huge house of prayer to-night be a singer in heaven? Dare we, in
the judgment of charity, hope so? Well, well, let us try to hope, if so
your charity wishes it, but I fear me, I fear me it will be hope
without any grounds; for there are some here who love the drunkard's
cup, others who vomit the swearer's oaths, and some who have the proud,
self-righteous look which God hateth. O that we could hope that these
would be transformed by grace through Jesus Christ, that so they might
be saved! I am, I own it, very much afraid that all of you will not be
saved, but that some of you will perish in your iniquities. It is not,
however, our duty to pry into futurity, let us therefore, turn to that
which far more concerns us, our own personal salvation. The enquiry
changes–"Shall I be saved? If there be an alarm given, Escape for thy
life!' Shall I be saved?" And what if it should be the preacher's lot
to be lost for ever! What, if after talking to you this morning of
being sick of love to Christ, he should have to hear those doleful
words, "I never knew you, depart, ye cursed!" And what if this were to
be the lot of the church-officers who sit around me, or of any one
amongst you? Brother, you have passed the sacramental cup to others,
what if the cup of devils be your portion for ever and ever! My
brethren and sisters in Church fellowship, you may well put the
question as did the apostles of old, "Lord is it I?"
"Shall I be banished for my life,
And yet forbid to die?
Shall I endure eternal death,
Yet death for ever fly?"
Shall it be so! My dear hearer, thou who makest no profession of
religion, will you ask the question, Shall I, shall I perish in
devouring flames, or shall I escape? The answer to that question, so
far as you are concerned, at this moment, must depend upon whether
there is now a work of grace in your heart. If thou believest that
Jesus is the Christ, thou canst never perish. If thou dost not, and
wilt not believe, thy destruction is most sure. O God Almighty, thou
who alone canst impress the heart, lead everyone of us now to take such
sure hold of Christ that we may never perish, neither may any pluck us
out of his hand.
II. My time is fled, woe is me, when I had meant to have spoken with my
whole heart upon another topic. It was GRATITUDE. Well, we will just
run over the points, although most briefly. I will hope that you and I
are saved; I will trust that we have been put into thy grace-vessel; I
will believe that we have laid hold on Christ; may me belief be
warranted by facts? Then this calls for gratitude. Gratitude of what
kind? Gratitude that I was awakened. O my God, I bless thee that I was
not permitted to sleep the sleep of death. I thank thee for that fever
which made me fear, that loss which made me think, that dear dead babe
which brought the parent to a Savior's feet. I bless thee, Lord, for
the minister's earnest voice which shook me in my slumbers, for a
mother's tears which fell like cold drops on my sleeping brow, and made
me wake. I thank thee, O God, that though others slumber, yet, thou
hast awakened me, and made me look to my soul's concerns. It is no
slight mercy to be able to hear the trumpet of warning. It is a
foundation mercy, but it is not the least of mercies to have an
awakened conscience.
Secondly, I would thank God, and let every believer join with me, that
when you and I were awakened, the ship was not out to sea. If the
"Amazon" had been far out to sea when the cry of "Fire" was given, what
must have been the result? How few could have escaped! But there she
was, close to land. You and I, when we were awakened, were not in
hell–not like the rich man, lifting up our eyes where hope could never
come–we were still on praying ground, still on pleading terms with
God, still off the Foreland, still where mercy could come to us, and
grace could meet us. Sinner, if you have been awakened to-night, thank
God for this, thank him that the trumpet which wakes you is not the
trumpet of the archangel summoning you to judgment, but the silver
trumpet of God's messenger of mercy, inviting you to mercy banquet.
Let us thank God it did not blow harder, for there might have been much
trouble in reaching the boat. When you and I were awakened to a sense
of sin, it might have been just when death was coming, or when the
terrors of conscience would have been too much for us, and when the
fears of death might have kept us from a Savior. But, blessed be God,
when we were aroused there was wind enough, we were conscience-stricken
and smitten, but still not too much, or else the fire had been too
vehement, and we had not escaped. Thank God, then, that he awakened us
while there was really time to avail ourselves of the covenant
lifeboat.
Let us be thankful again, that we could use the signals. I told you
that the vessel sent up its rockets–signals of distress. Ah! what a
thousand mercies it was that we could pray. I remember well when this
was the only comfort my bursting spirit had, I could pray. Oh, to be on
pleading terms with God! Thank God for this, awakened sinner, bless God
for this. If you have not got so far as being completely saved, yet do
praise him that you are allowed to fire off the rockets of desires,
sighs, groans, sobs, tears, longings, and pantings, and that you can
send them up where God can see them. Your cries, and groans, and tears
will yet bring comfort and peace from heaven through the Lamb's
redeeming blood. Rejoice, my beloved brethren, that the Lord has not
abolished a mercy-seat, nor forgotten to be gracious. He saith "not to
the seed of Jacob, Seek ye me in vain." He waits to be gracious. He
delighteth in mercy. Before you call he will answer, and while you are
yet speaking he will hear.
Thank God that there were good officers on board to direct the
passengers. Without firm authority, men become a mob, and then, with
every appliance which might save, few are rescued. Awakened sinner, be
grateful that you have gospel ministers. Oh! what a mercy to have a
gospel ministry! What an awful thing to sit under a half-and-half
milk-and-water, yea-and-nay ministry, as was my lot when under
conviction. I attended different places of worship, but what I heard
was not the gospel. And I venture to say it, that a few years ago, in
nine places out of ten in London, and in the suburbs, and throughout
England, such a thing as the gospel was not preached, except by
accident. It is preached NOW. It is not preached now as it should be,
but it is preached now. What I mean by the gospel, is the doctrine that
Jesus Christ came to save sinners, and that the simple trusting upon
him is saving faith. This is a doctrine which the revival has brought
up more clearly, and which the revival keeps before the public mind;
but before that great movement came, it was a doctrine ignored and cast
behind; too much of the preaching was a dry morality, or else
philosophy which might tickle the ears of men who claimed intellect,
but could never move the heart. Oh, thank God, poor sinner, that you do
hear it rung in your ears–Come as you are! Come as you are! You hear
the gospel sung to you:–
"Just as I am, without one plea,
But that thy blood was shed for me,
And that thou bidd'st me come to thee,
O Lamb of God, I come! I come!
Just as I aim-thy love I own,
Has broken every barrier down:
Now, to be thine, yea, thine alone,
O Lamb of God, I come! I come!"
We hold up to you no ceremonies, no feelings, no works, no orthodoxies;
we only hold up Christ, Christ crucified, a substitute for sinners, a
substitute for you if you trust him; and we tell you again and again,
till we half fear of tiring you, that, trusting Jesus, you are saved.
Now we have reason, if saved, to be grateful to God for gospel
officers.
Then how grateful ought you and I to be that the ship is come to the
rescue. Jesus came all the way from heaven to earth to save us–"Who
though he was rich, yet for our sakes became poor, that we through his
poverty might be made rich." How shall we be grateful enough for this
unspeakable gift?
"O, for this love let rocks and hills
Their lasting silence break,
And all harmonious human tongues
The Savior's praises speak."
Better still: how grateful we ought to be that we have got on board
that ship. Oh! joy! joy! joy! that blessed step which set me upon
Christ! that blessed act which made me one with him. My soul would
repeat now that grace-wrought deed of faith.
"A wounded, weak, and helpless worm,
On Christ's kind arms I fall;
Be thou my strength and confidence,
My Jesus and my all."
Be grateful for this; and, sinner, if thou canst now step into Christ
and trust him with thyself, make earth ring with thy joy, and make
heaven resound with thy praise.
Our gratitude, methinks, will be greatest of all when we get safe on
shore, and look on this old hulk, the burning world, without a fear;
we, will see her blaze and cast her dreadful splendours over the
infinite leagues of space, until beings in far-off worlds shall ask,
"What is this? A world on fire, whose elements dissolve with fervent
heat." But we, caught up together with the Lord, to dwell for ever with
him, shall look on with complacency, having lost nothing because saved
in him; having found in him our Savior, better than all we had before,
and being, once for all on heaven's terra firma, never to put to sea
again, never to fear tempest, rock, wreck, or fire; but saved! saved!
saved eternally!
Escape, sinner, escape for thy life. Remember, though thus I talk to
thee, if thou shalt escape, free grace must have all the praise; and in
the language of good Lot, thou wilt have to say–"Thou hast magnified
thy mercy in saving my life." May God send you away with a blessing,
for Jesus' sake. Amen.