The Cities of Refuge: or, The Name of Jesus, John R. Macduff [best short novels txt] 📗

them out. The entire of her pocket-money was latterly spent in the purchase of little books for the infant-school children-all of whom loved her much-or in publications for loan among the elder Sunday class. She won the affections of old as well as young. "The little lady who used to speak so prettily to us," was the description given, with full eyes, by more than one of the villagers who had known her loving ways, and heard her loving voice. In another neighbourhood still more familiar to her, she used to go to the cottages with her Bible, and offer to read to the inmates who most needed it; always putting her little hands together first, to ask for God's blessing, and then making some simple remarks she thought might be of use. Those whose hearts most sorely mourned her, had the fullest assurance that the grace of God had been early poured into their dear child's heart. But on thinking, too, on the past, they began at times to wonder whether these pleasing traits of character and efforts to do good, were really prompted by love to Jesus, or whether they might be rather the effect of habit and the imitation of others. They anxiously searched among her little books and desk-treasures to see if they could find anything to confirm their fondest thoughts regarding this. I believe it was even made the subject of earnest prayer to God, that some such precious testimony might be found. After all her other books had been examined in vain, imagine what were the feelings of delight and thankfulness, when, as one day she who loved her best was taking the cover off her Bible, the two following letters dropped from it on the ground:-

"B. PARSONAGE, August.

"MY DEAREST PAPA AND MAMMA,-I am going to write this in
case I should go to that happy land where sorrow is not
known, suddenly; and that you may have no fears about my
soul. I know my state, and that my precious Saviour has
called me, and I humbly accept this glorious invitation
as a poor WRETCHED sinner. I strive not to expect
redemption by my own poor merits. I have no comparative
fear of death, but as a passage from a wicked world to a
happy, happy home. Though I am by nature very wicked, it
is all washed away by my Saviour's blood. The Holy Spirit
has taught me what to pray for, and how to pray. I hope all
my dear friends will forgive me if I have been angry when
they have spoken to me about my faults. I should like,
dearest parents, whatever little money and things I have,
to be given to the Church Missionary Society and the Bible
Society. My dear Saviour has forgiven me all my INNUMERABLE
sins, and so, dear parents, you need not fear about my
soul. I believe my Saviour will not forsake me if I trust
in Him, and I know that all my righteousness is as filthy
rags.-I remain, dearest parents," &c., &c., &c.,

"C. M. T."

The other paper that was found, was probably intended for her brothers and sisters. It is as follows:-

"When you are in trouble, go to God and tell Him all about it. The Saviour who called little children to come to Him will listen to you, no matter what the subjects be, if you be but in earnest and need His help. If you have a difficult lesson to learn, a hasty spirit to subdue, an unkind word to bear, a proud spirit to humble-whatever your difficulty, take it to God in the name of Jesus, and He will help you. If even we, who see so little beneath the surface, are not pleased with outward appearances without good qualities within, how much less is the great God who searches the inmost recesses of the heart? 'The Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.' What we require is a new heart cleansed by the Holy Spirit, full of all the graces mentioned in St. Paul's Epistle to the Galatians, (chap. v. 22.) Oh! go then to JESUS and ask of Him in earnest prayer to pardon your sins, and to confer upon you the blessed gift of a new heart."

My young friends, have you fled like C-- T-- to an all-gracious Saviour? Is the " name of Jesus," so sweet to her , equally precious to you? Does it "soothe your sorrows," "heal your wounds," and drive your tears and fears all away? Can you say, in the spirit of her beautiful and comforting letter,-

"Till then I shall His love proclaim
With every fleeting breath;
And may the music of His NAME
Refresh my soul in death."

Having told you of one recently "fallen asleep in Jesus," who had early repaired to the shelter of the Gospel Refuge, I shall now tell you of an aged servant of Jesus who has, more recently still, entered on her glorious rest.

She was a former parishioner of mine. Her home was a lowly cottage in one of the loveliest villages of Scotland. Poor in this world, and an almost constant sufferer, she was rich in faith,-one of "Christ's jewels;"-her life was "hid with Christ in God." If I could venture to name two peculiarities in her spiritual being which distinguished her more than others, it would be these: Love for the NAME of JESUS, and a Life of PRAYER. "His name ," to her, was "like ointment poured forth."[69] Often have I delighted to sit with her in her cottage, with her Bible on her knee, and hear her speak of "the name which is above every name;" walking about these six Refuge-Cities, "telling all the towers, marking the bulwarks, and considering the palaces." She had herself long before, in early life, fled to the Gospel stronghold. I think her favourite city would have been GOLAN, "Joy." Her heart seemed ever to be filled with "peace and joy in believing."

Doubtless much of this calm serenity and joy she derived from her life of prayer . It is no small matter for the writer of these pages to know, that there was not a day for upwards of sixteen years in which he was not personally and specially remembered by this lowly saint at a throne of grace.

One forenoon during this past year, she had entered her cottage, carrying a pitcher of water down from the well in her garden. It was the last time she crossed her threshold. When her door was opened, she was
found alone on her knees ; BUT her spirit had fled ! PRAYER, as it had been her ever fond delight in life, had been her solace and comfort in death. Her last act was drawing water out of the better " wells of salvation ." She began with prayer , but ended in praise ! She began her prayer on earth, and "finished it with the angels!"

Reader! when you come to die, could you be equally happy, equally safe? Would you be able thus to rejoice and triumph in the name of Jesus ? Could you declare, with either of these two glorified spirits, before God "took" them, " We HAVE a strong city; salvation hath God appointed for walls and for bulwarks ?"[70] Has the Holy Spirit taught you, as it taught them, that you are sinners by nature, and in a state of condemnation? Have you heard God's voice behind you, declaring that "He can by no means clear the guilty?"[71] And are you able now joyfully to say, "I heard Thy voice, and I was afraid, because I was naked, and I hid myself ?"

Are you, like them, really "hid" within the gates? The manslayer of old required to be within the refuge-city. Even if he were but one footstep without, the avenger of blood could cut him down. It did not matter how near he was, if he was not inside the portals!

And so it will avail you nothing to know about Christ, and hear about Christ;-to survey the strength of the city's walls, the glory of its battlements, and the beauty of its palaces. It is " the righteous who RUNNETH into it ," who alone is " safe ."

What more, in closing, have I to say, but to repeat the solemn word, " Haste thee, flee for thy life !" Every hour you put off, the time is shorter; the avenger is nearer; the chances of escape are fewer. There is no time for delay. I say this to the very youngest. I say more. As young feet can run fastest, so it is with young souls. You will never go to Jesus so easily as now. Let nothing keep you back. It is said that on digging up the ruins of Herculaneum, (the city that was buried under the lava of Mount Vesuvius,) the body of a man was found in an upright posture, in the act of running out of the door of his house to escape destruction. He had a bag of gold in his hand. Others had escaped in safety. But this miser loved his gold more than his life. He had returned to fetch it, thinking he would have time enough to escape the terrible doom; but the burning stream overtook him. He was encased in a living sepulchre.

It was one, too, of the saddest incidents connected with these Cities of Refuge of old, when some poor, breathless, panting fugitive-just when he was in sight of the city-when he had almost reached the gate, sank exhausted. Or perhaps the case of some other who had lain down weary to sleep, but who had been startled by the avenger at his side, and the drawn sword gleaming before his eyes;-years after, the pile of stones marking the spot where his blood had been shed.

But, oh, sadder, sadder far, for any, young or old, to perish within sight of Christ! To suffer the love of sin, or the love of pleasure, or the love of the world, to make them "too late!" To be almost , but not
altogether saved! To be cut down by the sword of wrath, or overtaken by the fiery stream, with heaven in view!

God grant that this may not be the case with any one of you !

I shall conclude with a happier picture:-The citizens in these Refuge-cities of old, were sometimes seen clustered on the top of the walls, watching the approach of the manslayer, and cheering him on when faint and exhausted. So, think