Infidelity and the Future.
By W. M. Roe
On starting to one of my appointments recently, after taking a seat in a railroad coach, I was acosted by a gentlemen who inquired if I was engaged in preaching. I responded in the affirmative. With an air of indignity he then said, "I am using all my influence against the Bible. I believe that Jesus Christ was a base impostor, and I hesitate not to affirm my conviction that all those who call themselves Christians are the veriest hypocrites and knaves." After he had expatiated at some length upon what he was pleased to denominate the evils of Christianity, I begged the privilege of asking him one question. "What, sir," said I, "are your prospects beyond the hour of dissolution?" He sneeringly replied, "I have no concern about the future." Ah, thought I, how callous, how unfeeling, and how depraved must be the heart of that man who can thus speak in reference to the grave and eternity. "I have no concern about the future." Such indeed is the language of infidelity. Kind reader, are you a parent? Still fresh in your memory are the many happy hours you spent with that prattling, darling child of yours, which was indeed the pride of your heart and the solace of your soul. You well remember the sweet accents that greeted your ears and gladdened your heart as that loved one lisped the endearing appellations of "Pa" and "Ma." With retrospective view, you love to see those gentle smiles, soft as the tints of spring, that cheered your lonely hours, and fitly betokened the innocence of your playful little child. But where is that loved one now? With the death-damp cold upon its brow, with palsied limbs and pulseless heart, it sleeps now in the cheerless house of the mouldering dead. Torn from your fond embrace by the cruel and relentless hand of death, it has gone to that bourne whence no traveler returns. As you stand by the dusty bed of death where repose the ashes of the loved departed one, can you then say in truthfulness, "I have no concern about the future?" Many indeed who read these lines will recall to mind the fond reminiscences of a mother's solicitude and a father's care, whose kind counsels they enjoy no more. Those amiable and affectionate parents have finished their career on earth, and entered the dark portals of the grave. Clad in the habiliments of the tomb, in awful silence they sleep among their kindred dead. They are deaf now to the emoluments and honors of the world, they heed not the voice of joy and gladness. They are unmoved by the conflict of nations, and the booming artillery of earth. The fearful approach of the destructive tornado with its deafening peals of thunder and vivid glare of forked lightnings that blaze athwart the heavens, arouses them not from the repose of death. When spring, with all her wonted charms of beauty and loveliness returns, they still sleep on. When the sear and yellow leaf betokens the arrival of autumnal frosts, which invest the forests with a melancholy hue, they are still held under the dominion of the fell Destroyer. The weeping willow that bends in solemn mien over their sleeping dust may attract the attention of the passers by, but their tongues are cold and mute in death. They heed not even the sad sighs of the wailing winds that sing the requiem of the departing year. As you pensively stand by the sacred spot where the mouldering remains now rest, and fond memories of bygone days come crowding upon the mind, bringing fresh to view the lovely scenes of your youth when blessed with parental care and instruction, can you, gentle reader, then truthfully exclaim, "I have no concern about the future?" We doubt indeed if any sane person lives who does not occasionally, at least, feel a deep anxiety with regard to his eternal destination in the great unbounded future. He who rejects the divine origin of the Bible is deprived of the highest aspirations that ever animated the human soul. "Without God and without hope in the world," no pleasing prospect meets his gaze beyond the confines of the noisome grave. Enveloped in the darkness of unbelief, his hopes extend not beyond the hour of his approaching dissolution. He takes with his dying friends the parting hand with no cheering prospect of a happy re-union beyond the gloomy vale of death. The raven wings of gloom and despair brood over his eternal destination in the future. How different the prospect that cheers the Christian as he journeys through life's uneven ways. With unfaltering confidence in the unfailing promises of Heaven, he rejoices in the divine assurance that though "his earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, he has a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." Implicit faith in the sacred and lofty claims of Jesus of Nazareth has dispelled the terrors of death, and cast a heavenly radiance over the dismal mansions of the grave. He is a pilgrim in the present world, but he seeks an everlasting abode in the midst of the Paradise of God. He beholds the resplendent glories of the eternal world, and rejoices in the pleasing hope of a speedy admission into the peaceful realms of immortal glory. He bids adieu to140his friends on earth with the full anticipation of a happy greeting upon the fair banks of eternal deliverance where joy is unmixed with grief, and where pleasure is uninterrupted by pain. Who that is not mentally deranged, would prefer the gloom of Infidelity to the bright and glorious hopes inspired by faith in the immaculate Son of God? W. M. Roe.—Weekly Christian Record.