If I Perish, I Perish

Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 16, 1857

If I Perish, I Perish.

I can but perish if I go, I am resolved to try; For if I stay away, I know I'm surely doomed to die.

But you will not perish, weeping, trembling, soul. He has told you you shall not. He has sworn by his own name that you shall not. He loves you too well to let you perish. He has bought you with too dear a price to deliver you so easily to the power of the enemy. Go to him, he will recall Calvary; go to him with your doubts, he will remember Gethsemane; go to him with all your temptations and fears, he will recall the wilderness, the pinnacle and the mount. No, you can never perish with such a sympathizer, such a compassionate friend, such an Almighty Saviour to befriend you. Then let not the light of hope so soon fade. Did he ever reject one yet? Did ever poor, trembling sinner come to him on earth, and go away refused of his petition? And does he not himself say that he is the same yesterday, to-day and forever? The same is his power to uphold; the same to pity, the same to love, to guide, to accept, that he ever was. You are not worse than a thousand others. Paul was more blasphemous; Magdalene was more corrupt, the dying thief more abandoned—and were they refused? Our desire to go never equaled his desire to receive us. Our wants of grace never surpass his readiness to supply. Our wish for happiness is always behind his willingness to bestow it. Go, then, he will not refuse. Go and be blessed. Go and touch the extended sceptre and rejoice, and all heaven will rejoice with you; the angels of God will tune a higher note of praise on their harps of gold, and star will whisper it to star, till the whole of God's bright universe shall sing with joy at the return of a long lost soul.