The Blessed Hope by G. M. O'Neil.

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Aug 16, 1883

The Blessed Hope.

By G. M. O'Neil.

IT is hope that makes existence endurable. It is hope that makes man cling to life. From the cradle to the grave it is the beacon light, the guiding star. Like the clinging tendrils of the vine, man's aspirations rise, grasping for hopes, around which to cling for support and solace. Blot hope from the mind's sky, let not one cheering ray gleam forth, and man's mind is a drear waste, a gloomy, dread charnel-house. Who would dare to approach, to fathom its drear, pestilential vaults? We shudder and turn away. Who can search the chambers of darkness in which no hope dwells?

When God created man, glorious hope beamed brightly in his sky, holding before him a wreath of joys, unspeakable and full of glory, bound together by a Father's love. Let us pause and think of that happy state. But we cannot comprehend the measure of its bliss. In God's creation nothing was wanting. All was good; and the crowning work, man in the image of his Maker, was noble and excellent. But the great arch foe was preparing his snare. His envy was stirred; his jealousy was kindled. He could not bear to have that glorious light beaming on man, while blackness of despair was his only portion. He held up a glittering phantom to lure man from the true light. The victim faltered; he stumbled; he fell. Glorious hope was no longer his. It was recalled. It was conditionally his, but he complied not with the conditions, and, with all its joys and glories, it quitted his horizon. He awoke to see only anguish and despair marshaling their hosts of darkness around him. Angels looked with pity, but had no power to help.

But there was one higher than the angels, dwelling in the love and fellowship of his Father—the only-begotten Son of God, holy, pure, spotless. His heart was thrilled with love and compassion. He had the power. He stepped between man and ruin. Through him the promise is again given, and the glorious hope of life and immortality again beams from the sky.

That hope is the only true hope. It shines with a sure, steady light, through all the shifting conflicts and turmoils. Satan still spreads his snares. The whole earth, up to the very margin of the narrow way, is spread with his toils and meshes. Every step is waylaid, and he hangs up thousands of gilded phantoms on every side, and calls them splendid hopes. And man yields still to his delusions, turns from the only true hope, and seeks from these false lights his joy and guidance. Ah! those false hopes of the great arch foe! They lure to death. When the hour of trial comes they go out forever, leaving their votaries in dark despair on which no morning of hope will ever dawn.

Oh! for the true hope, which shines only more brightly when trials come, and that throws its glad rays far beyond to the portals of our Father's house. Its light falls purely on the narrow path that leads to the mansions of bliss; and on it no snares of Satan are spread.

Ah, look beyond! The vision is brightening. We are nearing, nearing the fruition of that glorious hope. Oh! how near the heavenly mansions really are! Cheer up, pilgrims, it is no time for fainting. The conflict has been long with the great adversary. His wrath has long and fiercely raged against those on the King's highway, whose light has been that blessed hope. The course of the church has lain through seas of blood, and great tribulation, and now the wrath of Satan is raging with wilder fury, for he knows his time is very short. He is trying every artifice to entangle the little flock in his snares. Oh! to make them stumble. Oh! to make them take one faltering step from the narrow way. How triumphantly he exults! How eagerly he watches! How he softly prepares some grand, fatal snare, and places it just before that step, and tempts, and flatters, and deludes, oh! how gently, till it is taken. Then deeper, deeper, sinks the victim. Oh! it was the fatal quicksand on which that snare was set. Gradually the light of that holy hope grows dim. It is lost, gone forever.

Oh, pilgrim, beware! These snares and quicksands are love of the world. Keep the eye straight up for the blessed hope. Cast the world aside. You cannot take its possessions, its fashions, its pride, its fame, to the immortal kingdom. Seize the golden promises that inspiration has given. Twine them around your heart. They are the golden chords of a Saviour's love. He holds them firmly in his own hands. Cling to them fearlessly. What though Satan hiss and rage; deliverance is fast approaching. Jesus' coming on the great white cloud is almost the next event. Cast aside every weight. Gird on the armor more closely. Watch and pray, ever keeping in view the blessed hope.

G. M. O'NEIL.