Tracts on Prophecy (1859)
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The Gift of
the author
Corace Lorenzo Hastings
of
Providence, R.I.,
21 May, 1861.
Digitized by Google TRACTS ON PROPHECY.
COMPRISING:
THE CHURCH NOT IN DARKNESS.
THE THREE WORLDS.
THE LAST DAYS.
PLAIN TRUTHS.
VOICE OF WARNING.
NEW HEAVENS AND EARTH.
ANCIENT LANDMARKS.
OLIVE LEAVES.
DAY OF JUDGMENT.
OUTLINE OF THE COAST.
THE NIGHT COMETH.
IMPORTANT QUESTIONS.
MOSTLY BY
MOSTLY BY H. L. HASTINGS.
Author of " The Great Controversy between God and Man."
"PROVE ALL THINGS, HOLD FAST THAT WHICH IS GOOD."---PAUL.
New-York :
PUBLISHED BY H. L. HASTINGS, 43 CENTRE ST.
G. W. Young, 138 William St., N. Y.; Miles Grant, 167 Hanover St. Boston; A. F. Porter, 726 Eric St., Philadelphia: H. W. Pray, 191 High St., Providence.
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Horace Lorenzus Goestings of Providence .
CHURCH NOT IN DARKNESS.
But ye, brethren, are not in darkness, that that Day should overtake you as a thief.—1 Thess. v., 4.
A deep sense of the vast responsibilities resting upon a servant of God, prompts me to express the thoughts that stir my inmost soul. A fearful prospect lies before me—a world slumbering on perdition's fiery brink,—a church drowsily proclaiming my Lord delayeth his coming—clouds, darker than ever have mantled earth's sky since the first beaming of Bethlehem's star, gathering along the horizon,—pent-up surges of desolation, fire, and blood, pressing against their yielding barriers—and beyond all the rest, the day of God, the mighty judgment, the awful destruction that awaits the ungodly, and the triumphant deliverance of the ransomed of the Lord. These are the scenes that rise before me—the visions that crowd my path in the busy whirl of human activity, or in the place of privacy and of prayer. These are the coming events that cast their shadows o'er my path, and the premonition of whose approach I read in the book of providence and in the Book of God.
The sword cometh—How can I hold my peace? Ths Judge standeth before the door—How can I be silent?
The Day alluded to in this passage is more definitely named in the preceding verses. For the consolation of those of the Thessalonians whose hearts were bleeding with bereavement, the Apostle undertakes to dispel their anguish by dispelling their ignorance, "concerning those who are asleep" in Jesus. Looking downward and pointing to earth's world-wide charnel house, he sees and traces from the rock-hewn tomb of Joseph of Arimathea, a single brilliant ray of light and hope. Here was a torch for the hand of faith and a light for the eye of hope. If God had brought Christ from the dead, then those who are "in Christ" must also be brought. The living shall have no preeminence at last over those who in former ages had lived and died in the Lord. For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven—a mighty shout shall proclaim his victorious power and majesty—the awful voice of the Archangel, and the swelling echoes of the far-resounding trump of God, shall proclaim alike perdition to the sinner and deliverance to the saint. What a scene ensues!—forth from their graves burst the unnumbered saints of God—earth and ocean teem with an immortal host—each living saint feels a sudden thrill,—it is "the power of an endless life"—and lo! this mortal puts on immortality.
And now they ascend. Slowly, calmly they rise! earth sinks and recedes from their view—the deep despairing wail of the ruined world sounds fainter and fainter in the distance—while around them and above them burst on their ears the enrapturing harmonies of Cherubim and Seraphim. Still they ascend—the vast and radiant cloud of glory unfolds a gorgeous portal, and attendant angels escort them within it. Still they come, an innumerable company from every land and clime—from prisons, dens, and deserts, from vallies and from hills.
Oh, how beauteous are their glittering ranks! And now the last one has arrived. The shout of joy goes up—the Savior's smile is seen, the Savior's greeting heard—the pierced hand wipes away the lingering tear—the dead and the living are together once more—the prophets and the apostles meet—martyrs behold their martyred Lord. Sinners saved gaze upon their Savior, and so are they for ever "with the Lord."
Calmly and kindly does the Apostle turn and place this glowing page before the mourners' weeping eye, bidding them to "comfort one another with these words." Blessed words,—consoling thoughts. They have been the "oil of joy" to mourning hearts for eighteen hundred years, and still they "hush the low complaining sigh,"—still they "dry the flowing tear,"—still they make the place of weeping a place of joy, and bind about the tomb the flowers of never fading hope. Still they illuminate the path that lies along the dark valley. Still they strengthen those who stand beside the dying. Still they comfort those who weep above the dead. Never shall the Christian's eye cease to contemplate the picture; never shall his heart cease to thrill with the anticipation—never shall his hope cease to embrace the promise, until the rent heavens disclose the majestic form of the descending King—the quaking earth deliver up its sleeping captives at his call, and the saints from every age and clime, unite in singing the song of Moses and the Lamb,
" Far from a world of grief and sin, With God eternally shut in."
Cncerning "the times and seasons" when these sublime anticipations should be realized, there then existed no present necessity for further communications.
They were perfectly acquainted, however, with the fact, that the day of the Lord in its coming would resemble a thief in the night. When the whisper of 'peace' and the careless thoughts of 'safety' should possess the minds of a slumbering, dreaming, and besotted world—then destruction, unparalleled for suddenness and exterminating fury, shall burst upon them. Vainly they flee from its devastating influence—vainly they pour their piteous prayers for refuge to towering mountains and to craggy rocks. Vainly their mighty wail reaches from sea to sea—overspreading continents—echoing from the islands and comprehending "all the tribes of earth." Vainly are ten thousand stubborn hearts broken—ten thousand blasphemous lips employed in supplication—ten thousand brazen foreheads bowed in sorrow, and ten thousand knees bent before God that never bowed before! Alas, it is too late. "Sudden destruction" has come, and from the faithful word peals forth the dread announcement, "They shall not escape."
It was this "day" which stood full in the view of the inspired Apostle, and the expectant church—this day of resurrection, of triumph, of glory, of reunion, of deliverance, of immortality to the righteous, and of destruction and despair to the impenitent—it was this day to which he alluded when he declared, "But ye, brethren, are NOT IN DARKNESS that THAT DAY should overtake YOU as a thief. Ye are ALL the children of light, and the children of the DAY; we are not of the night nor of darkness."
The teaching, then, of the Apostle was clearly this: First:-That the people of God at that period, needed no special information concerning "the times and seasons" of the Saviour's second advent.
SECOND:—They were informed that the coming of that day would be sudden and unanticipated by the world. THIRD:—That, still further, at its coming the wicked would be denying the very possibility of its approach, and dreaming of perfect safety. FOURTH:—That at that time of profoundest carelessness, the sudden and unavoidable destruction from the Almighty should fall with resistless fury upon their heads. FIFTH:—That the people of God were not in darkness but were "of the day." SIXTH: That, therefore, that day can not overtake them as a thief, but by watchfulness and sobriety they might discern its proximity, observe its precursors, and escape its terrors, while they participated in its joys.
Concerning this "great and terrible day of the Lord," we are not left destitute of further information. Information, too, that is amply sufficient to stir the deep and swelling surges of emotion within every pious soul. Strangely hardened must be the heart that can behold unmoved the approach of the tremendous scene, and strangely perverted must be that Christianity that can view without the intensest awe and solemnity, the coming of that day of clouds and darkness, of judgment and of wrath—or that can anticipate without delight that day of deliverance, of triumph, of joy, of songs and of crowns, for "all that love His appearing."
The events of that great day are most graphically sketched by the Apostle Peter, in the concluding chapter of his last epistle. Carrying the lustful scoffers of the last day backward on the track of time, to the antediluvian world, he, by that awful example, reproves their impious mockery. He teaches us that the same God who condemned that world, condemns this, and "the same word" that overwhelmed that with water, shall desolate this by fire. Notwithstanding the patience and compassion of God—notwithstanding his "long-suffering to us ward,"—notwithstanding his unwillingness that one guilty rebel "should perish,"—notwithstanding his mercy holds open the door of refuge, and his love bids and entreats sinners to enter therein—notwithstanding all this, yet "the day of the Lord" must and "will come as a thief in the night;" wickedness must find a shore to its foaming wave; impiety must be smitten on its brazen front; oppression must be punished; blasphemy must be hushed; and righteousness, so long abased and abused, must triumph at last.
Hence "the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night." And in that day the ascending fires of wrath shall reach the very heavens—awful thunderings shall tell their dissolution and departure: "The elements shall melt" like wax within the glowing furnace: earth, too, shall be molten before the presence of her God, and shall roll, an orb of fire within a sky of flame, while "the works that are therein," the products of human pride, and power, and cruelty, shall perish with the enemies of the Most High, amid those all-devouring flames.
But beyond all this, a vision of purity and peace rises in brightness before the prophet's eye. God's curse hath devoured the earth, his blessing shall restore it. No longer groaning beneath the burden of sin; no longer charred and molten by the fires of wrath, her desolateness is exchanged for the verdure of Eden; perfection blooms where barrenness reigned; Carmel and Lebanon are faint types of its blushing beauty and unfading green; the glory of God floods it with one sea of radiant splendor, and peace waves her olive branch from shore to shore. Righteousness, too is there—not as a visitant, merely—not as a contrasting spot amid surrounding corruption—not as exemplified in the character of a single "Man of sorrows," but as the prevailing principle, the constant disposition, the ruling thought of an innumerable, peaceful, and adoring throng.
There, on a throne "established in righteousness," reigns a righteous king "over all the earth" There the people are "all righteous, they inherit the land forever." There the "righteous flourish." There the "work of righteousness is peace, and the effect of righteousness quietness and assurance forever." There the pilgrim finds his home, the Christian his rest, the martyr his crown, and the mourner his joy, in that "new heavens and new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness."
This, then, is a brief, a faint and an imperfect sketch of those tremendous scenes that go to fill up, and add grandeur and importance to the "great and terrible day of the Lord." It is this day, concerning which the church of God "are not in darkness;" it is this day which shall not come upon them "as a thief." It is this day that shall be put far off by a dreaming world, and which, coming suddenly, shall find them sleeping, and overwhelm them with consternation and despair. It is this day for which the church of God are to look, it is this day for which the children of Satan will not look. It is this day for which the church of God should watch—it is this day for which the children of Satan will not watch. It is this day for which the church of God seek to prepare—it is this day for which the wicked will not prepare. This day will bring deliverance to the saint and perdition to the sinner. What will it bring to you?
In further illustration and proof of the main proposition before us, namely: That the people of God are not and should not be "in darkness" concerning the coming of that day, we may cite the recorded occurrences of ages past, "written for our learning" in the Book of God.
Reasoning from analogy, we conclude that God will be just. because he has been in time past; that he will be mer ciful, because he has been in days gone by; that he will hear the cry of sincere penitence, because he has always done so; that he will care for the interests of his people, because his care for them has marked with many a monument the track of ages past. And so in the present argument, if we look to the dealings of God with his church and with the world, we shall find that in every dispensation of mercy and judgment which has proceeded from the Almighty in days gone by: the same principle has been attended to and acted upon by the Most High, the Unchangeable God.
We go back, then, and witness the consequences of primeval transgression, as exemplified in the first universal and total revolt of rebellious humanity from their allegiance to the God of heaven.
Go, stand with me upon the yet undeluged world. Gaze upon the Eden-like beauty of the wide-spreading landscape. Paradise has been closed and the curse has fallen, but still the earth retains its primitive form, and to a great extent its pristine glory. Earth, though cursed, still is glorious beyond description. In that healthful climate, old age comes slowly on, and numerous centuries are the measure of human existence. But wickedness abounds—defilement prevails—violence fills the earth. Men's hearts in all their purposes are at war with the Almighty. Muttered blasphemies and outspoken words of defiant impiety are heard on every hand. The altar-fires have ceased to burn, and with a single exception, houses and families of prayer seem to be unknown.
One voice amid all this transgression is raised in reproof. One venerable patriarch learns, from lips that cannot lie, that this world-wide iniquity cannot long remain unpunished. To him is revealed the solemn fact that earth's probation is limited, and that within the space of one hundred and twenty years man must repent or perish.
That patriarch raises his voice in warning and expostulation. To the gathering multitudes around him, who have hitherto known him as a "just man," he becomes "a preacher of righteousness." The world are thus shut up—"spirits in prison"—"prisoners of hope" if penitent, of despair, if they will not repent. Time rolls on, the Spirit strives; by it Christ, through the instrumentality of Noak faithfully admonishes a sinful race, but it is in vain: the heed not the warning, they despise the entreaty, they mock the reproof.
And now Noah's heart is sad. There is no hope of the world's repentance, and the fear of its ruin broods heavily on his soul. "Moved with" this "fear," he seeks to escape. Looking round on his wife and the children that gathered by his side, he "prepared an ark for the saving of himself and house."
Exposed to fresh insults by his obedience to God, he commences and continues to rear the mighty structure. Bearing their jeers, enduring their scoffs, submitting to all their mockery, beneath his assiduous hand the future ark arose and approached completion. By faith he prepared it. Faith in God, "in things not seen as yet," in things disbelieved and unheeded by the world, this was the spring of action. Faith hewed each timber, faith laid each plank, faith fastened each bolt, faith finished with pitch the mighty structure, and then sat down to calmly wait the issue.
Behold the edifice! The world denominate it "Noah's folly;" the fruit of insensate and blind fanaticism; the work of an idiot, a lunatic; the strange hobby of a croaking fool; the result and end of all his paltry religion, his fanatical preaching and praying. But faith calls it Noah's Ark prepared "for the saving of himself and his house."
How the world mocked and scoffed and sneered at that ark I cannot tell. How oft they tried to raise a smile upon the melancholy countenance of that sad old man, I know not—and how sadly, yet eloquently, he besought them to seek with him a refuge from impending destruction, I cannot determine. This much I know, they heeded it not.
The last week of human probation commenced. The beasts of earth and the fowls of heaven had found their way into the ark, but the sinners passed heedlessly by. And now the day of destruction has dawned. They eat, they drink, they buy, they sell, they fear no evil. Noah is within the ark. The hand of God has shut the door. He is safe. And now earth reels and rocks with mighty throes, floods burst forth from the pent up caverns of the depths beneath, and above, one sheet of lurid flame lightens the angry clouds, the thunders mutter and swell, and roll, and lo! all the floodgates from on high are opened on a ruined world. O! what a wail goes up from the impious host of the enemies of God. The distant horizon is one mass of rushing waves—onward and still onward the surging waters sweep; the ark sways heavily above the swelling tide; the waves rush on—they sweep away the fleeing enemies of God; descending torrents flood the loftiest hills, and drench each sinner there. Night comes on. The darkness is thick, and still the dread roar of heaven's artillery is heard; still the awful clouds ride madly o'er the boiling deep; still the vivid lightning plays and dashes along the darkened sky, or hisses amid the swelling waves.
The morning dawns, but no sunbeam gilds the scene of despair; still descending and ascending waters meet, and borne upon their heaving bosom, the ark glides safely away.
Thus for forty days did these rains descend, and for forty nights did those waters accumulate, till the last man upon the topmost summit of the highest mountain had met his fate—the race was destroyed—earth was one shoreless ocean—and the light that faintly gleamed from the window of that storm-tost, heaven-guarded ark, was the only token of hope to a sinful and a ruined race.
The sun shines once more. The angry clouds once more disappear in the distant horizon. The waters assuage. The swelling waves sleep silently beneath the sky. The ark grates on the towering summit of Araraṭ, and its tossings and its swayings cease. The "dove" and the "olive leaf" tell the tale of God's returning favor, and are consecrated for ever as the emblems of peace. The patriarch leads forth his family upon the surface of the emerging earth—the altar is erected—the sacrifice smokes thereon, the rainbow spans the heaven with its arch of glory—God's covenant is made once more with man, and a new probation is granted to the fallen race.
In this transaction we observe these prominent facts. FIRST: Noah was previously warned of the approaching danger. SECOND: He faithfully warned the world around him, giving them as favorable an opportunity as he himself had to know and escape the danger. THIRD: The world did not and would not know the truth. FOURTH: Noah was ready—was "not in darkness, that it should come upon him a thief," and he was saved. FIFTH: "They
knew not till the flood came," found them unprepared, "and took them all away."
To this type we find all the subsequent judgments of God conform. Destruction cometh not undeserved.—Mercy's warnings and expostulations are expended without stint. Those who heed them anticipate and escape the foretold destruction, while others pass on and perish in their wilful ignorance, their blind stupidity, their obdurate impiety, and their invincible unbelief. From the base of Ararat we pass on—we leave the unfinished Babel, the monument of human pride and folly, and the token of returning ungodliness, and we pass to the fertile valley of Jordan. Beauteous as the garden of God, it seems to carry us back for a moment to the time when Eden was the abode of the happy and the blest. Lured by the fertility of the soil, and the genial beauty of the landscape, Lot, the kinsman of Abraham, had chosen it as his residence, unmindful of the fact that the "men of Sodom were sinners exceedingly," and forgetting that great blessings are great curses in the hands of wicked men. The current of sin rolled on apace. Pride, gluttony, idleness, especially among her daughters, cruelty to the poor, haughtiness and untold abominations, the reeking slime and filth of the lowest depths of polluting licentiousness—these, with steadfast refusal to obey the Almighty, and with unflinching determination to maintain the wrong and deny the right; were the sins that rolled heavenward a cry which reached the listening ear of God, and awoke to judgment the wrath of him whose mercy was thus abused.
It was a sultry summer day when Abraham arose from the shelter of his tent to welcome the wayfaring angels, and give them entertainment. And as they turned to go to wards the vale of Siddim in the accomplishment of the purpose of their journey, the question arose, "Shall I hide from Abraham that thing which I do?"
Another moment and we find Abraham informed of the meditated judgment, and standing up to plead in behalf of those guilty cities. The promise is given that "for ten righteous men" the city shall be spared, and Abraham proceeds to his place.
Onward pass those mysterious strangers towards the cities of the plain. Lot, in the performance of the duties of hospitality, entertains "angels unawares;" and in the wild and beastly brawl before his door the strangers find enough to indicate the character of the place. The warning is given, and the father trembling with fear goes out to apprise his children and their families. How startling his admonition, "Up! get you out of this place! for the Lord will destroy this city!" Thus did the old man plead with the children of his love, but he plead in vain. And as the daylight reddened the eastern sky, Lot was bidden to depart. Led forth and quickened in his tardy course by angelic kindness, as the sun arises he enters Zoar.
But how is Sodom now? Hark! the shouts of the revellers that have arisen through the weary night, are still rising drowsily upon the morning air. Wickedness is bold and brazen as before. They eat, they drink, they buy, they sell—they dream on.
But see! ah, see that awful lurid cloud, as it enters o'er that city! How it veils for ever the pride and sin of the cities of the plain from the sunshine of heaven. O, hark, that bursting thunder! and see! see!—terms of fire---torrents of burning brimstone----floods of hot, hotting, roaring flame fall from above----while earth bears a cie and quakes and kindles with the wrath of God. The last note of music—the last sound of mirth—the last terrific blasphemy—the last song of the drunkard—the last jeer of lust—the last scoff of brutalized and impious humanity is lost and swallowed up amid the mighty roar of sulphurous flame.
Early in the morning, the anxious eyes of Abraham were turned towards the cities of the plain; and lo! the fertile valley was one vast furnace, and from the seething lake of fire arose a cloud of smoke that covered all the adjacent country, and ascended slowly toward the skies.
Sodom is overthrown, and now let us go and sit upon that encrusted shore, and gaze upon the boding waves of the Dead Sea that roll sluggishly there. Let us interrogate them and learn wisdom from their dark and solemn flow.
We find here, as in the case of the deluge, FIRST: Lot (and Abraham also) was previously warned of the danger in season to make his escape. SECOND: those around were warned by him that they might also escape. THIRD: They did not and would not give heed to the admonition. FOURTH: Lot was "not in darkness that that day should overtake him as a thief," and he was saved. FIFTH: They knew not till the fiery tempest burst upon them—found them unprepared, and they perished, and "are set forth as an example to them that should afterwards live ungodly, suffering the vengeance of eternal fire."
Throughout this whole transaction we see the same principles of reasonable justice prevailing. First, warnings and deliverance for those who heed the admonitions. Second, punishments for those who disregard them.
Similar in character were the dealings of God with the kingdom of Babylon. Warnings had been given, and they were understood by the people of God. During the last scene of impious and insulting revelry and sacrilege, when the vessels of Jehovah's Temple were made the instruments of riotous intoxication—at that hour, the mysterious hand traced in characters legible and intelligible to the anointed eye of the Hebrew Seer, the last warning of Babylon's overthrow.
That night, the glory of that kingdom passed away and those who had long refused to listen to the warning providences of God, were overwhelmed in irretrievable ruin. While on the other hand, those who wept at the remembrance of their much-loved Zion, while they hanged their harps upon the willows of Babel's streams, found in that overthrow of their oppressors, the pledge of deliverance, liberty and restoration, for which they had so long and patiently waited.
We might notice other instances, but the time would fail us to relate them all. One more may be adduced.
We pass onward in earth's story of sin and rebellion, until we notice the people of God, the Jewish nation, filling to the brim their cup of iniquities and abominations The appointed time of their foretold overthrow approaches. They are about to consummate their blackest crime in the crucifixion of their King.
A solemn weeper overlooks the city of Jerusalem from an adjacent height. "How oft would I have gathered you—but ye would not. * Your house is left unto you desolate." These are the pathetic utterances that issue amid tears and sighs, which speak the anguish of an affectionate heart. A warning too is spoken in the ears of those disciples that gather around him. "When ye see Jerusalem compassed with armies, then flee!"
Years passed away ere that sight was beheld. But at length they saw it. The Roman ea-les glittered in the surrounding valleys, and destruction seemed inevitable.
Suddenly that army withdrew itself, and then with all haste the followers of Christ fled from that devoted city. The village of Pella afforded them a resting place. But the Jews were heedless. Notwithstanding the command of Jesus, that those who were in the adjacent countries should not enter into the city, they continued to come. The appointed feast congregated the multitudes of that hypocritical nation, and again a Roman force environed the city of blood and violence. The horrors of that fearful siege no tongue can tell. The violence that reigned—the sedition that prevailed—the intestine divisions that consumed their strength—the determined energy of those assaults, and the wild fury of that resistance—the wasting famine—the loathsome pestilence—the intolerable hunger, compelling women to devour even their infant children—the nauseous stench of the unburied dead—the awful warning, "Woe, woe to Jerusalem," that was uttered by that haggard man who trod the ramparts of the city until slain himself—the fierce and final struggle—the burning of the temple—the overthrow of the charred and tottering walls—the tortures and sufferings of the captives—the cruelty of the captors—the passing of the ploughshire of destruction over the very ground on which that city stood—all these and other circumstances of unmitigated suffering, stand too full upon the page of history to require a repetition.
But the important fact is that not ONE Christian perished there. ELEVEN HUNDRED THOUSAND Jews were destroyed in the siege. NINETY-SEVEN THOUSAND were carried away captive, and NOT ONE Christian among them all. Why was all this? It was because the church of God were apprized of the predetermined desolation, and made their escape.
Here we find the same principles of justice and reason that we have observed before in the dealings of God with those who incurred his displeasure. FIRST: The church of God were forewarned. SECOND: They communicated the warning to others that they might escape. THIRD: The wicked did not and would not heed the admonition given. FOURTH: The Christians "were not in darkness," and were not overtaken unawares. FIFTH: The wicked knew not the danger, and were overwhelmed in ruin. Destruction vast, inevitable and indescribable came down upon them as the tempest bursts in fury upon some careless and unwatchful sailor, and sinks his bark beneath the yawnir wave.
These are the facts of the past, and they are "written for our learning." The deluged world—the wave-covered plain of Jordan—the scathed and desolate heaps that mark the place of Babel's past and punished pride and glory—the ruined temple of Jerusalem, and the scattered remnant of her ancient people—all these are eloquent teachers of mankind. From them we learn such lessons as these: "The secret
From them we learn such lessons as these: "The secret the Lord is with them that fear him." "The wise shall understand, but the wicked shall do wickedly, and none of the wicked shall understand."
Centuries have passed away since these examples have been recorded for our admonition and instruction. But while the great facts stand blazoned on the historic page, the mighty morals, the important lessons which these examples were to teach, have almost faded from the mind and memory of mankind. The world has grown old, and careless, and proud, and lustful, and covetous, and cruel, and oppressive, and impious, and defiant, and secure. Sodom and Egypt may be regarded as the appropriate types of perverted humanity as it appears at present.
Sodom's pride, fulness of bread, abundance of idleness, cruelty to the poor, and unbridled licentiousness; and Egypt's infidelity, unbelief, oppression, and impiety; these are marked characteristics of human character at the present day.
These were long since predicted by the prophets of God and by the Saviour himself. There are the same "perils" that were to mark the "perilous times" that should be "in the last days." There is the same powerless "form of godliness;" there is the same turning "their ears from the truth;" there is the same turning "unto fables;" there are the same "seducers" waxing "worse and worse;" there are the same resisters of the truth, like "Jannes and Jambres" of old: there is the same abundance of iniquity; there is the same waxing cold of love; there are the same lustful "scoffers;" there is the same taunting denial of the coming of Christ; there is the same "evil servant," saying "in his heart, my Lord delayeth his coming;" there is the same "smiting of fellow-servants;" there is the same "eating and drinking with the drunken;" there is the same slumbering and sleeping; there is the same saying "peace and safety" that was to mark the concluding period of earth's sinful course.
So also in the political world. There is the same corruption—the same laxity of principle—the same unscrupulous ambition—the same warlike spirit and preparation—the same political upheaving—the same wide-spread national "distress"—the same "perplexity"—the same waking up of "mighty men"—the same gathering of Israel's enemies and Satan's friends—the same thickening struggle of mighty powers—the same war of principles, religions, and races—the same stupendous preparations for the coming "battle of the great day of God Almighty" that we are warranted in anticipating, in connection with the approach of the day of the Lord.
In the natural world, too, pestilential diseases, earthquakes, signs "in heaven above and earth beneath," "the sea and the waves roaring," all these speak the concluding groans and throes of that "whole creation," which "groaneth and travaileth together in pain until now, waiting for" the final and eternal deliverance from the vanity and sorrow of a cursed and mortal state.
Here then we stand, and while beset by ignorant scoffers, while listening to the deceitful declaration of "peace and safety," we hear a voice coming down above the storms the tempests of eighteen hundred years, and ringing in our cars like the clarion blast that wakes a slumbering army, "But ye, brethren, are not in darkness, that that day should overtake you as a thief."
Can it be possible, then, that the church of Christ in this world, are to remain in utter ignorance of the approach of that tremendous day? Such a supposition is entirely at war with the whole character of God as exemplified in his dealings with the human race in ages past. Would God forewarn the antediluvians, the Sodomites, the Babylonians, the Jews, yea, every nation upon whom his wrath has fallen, of their approaching doom, and afford them opportunity to repent, and escape—and shall the last world-wide catastrophe, come unheralded, unpredicted? Shall guilty cities and kingdoms, be the objects of God's care and compassion, and receive admonitions and warnings from his mouth, and shall he at last permit all the kingdoms of the world to fall beneath his exterminating ire, unadmonished and unwarned! Impossible! "Surely, the Lord Goa will do nothing, but he revealeth his secrets to his servants the prophets."
Upon this point the teachings of His word are equally explicit. The duty of watchfulness is enjoined. The necessary preparation is only found in expecting the approach of that day, and in the most strict and constant obedience to the commands of God.
God is ever merciful and in all the manifestations of his judgments in days gone by, the disobedient have been the wilful victims of their own inattention to the commands of God. They have not known his approaching judgments, not because they could not, but because they would not know. So it shall be at the end. Men are willingly ignorant and willfully impenitent. They do not discern the signs of the times because they are resolute in their determination to sin on in security, and to close their eyes against every heaven-sent warning that God in mercy gives them. Let us watrh lest coming suddenly he find us sleeping.
When we recollect that "The Lord God will do nothing, but he revealeth his secrets to his servants the prophets;" that "The things that are revealed belong to us and to our children;" that the Jews were condemned as hypocrites because they would not "discern the signs of the times;" that their house was left desolate because they "knew not the time of their visitation;" that Jesus has commanded us to lift up our heads, "knowing that our redemption draweth nigh;" that we are commanded to "know that the Kingdom of God is nigh at hand—even at the door;" that to be ignorant is to be guilty, when light is given and when the word of prophecy as a light "shineth in a dark place, until the day dawn;" when we recollect all these things, the conclusion is inevitably forced upon our minds, that it is the stern and solemn duty of the church of God and of every individual Christian to be searching the word of God, discerning the signs of the times, giving heed to the sure word of prophecy, and waiting "for the Son of God from heaven."
We have reasoned from analogy. We have drawn our conclusions from the known facts in history and from known principles of divine government. But, though this reasoning is clearly conclusive in itself, we intend to make it far more conclusive still. When we read the record of antediluvian sin, and reproof, and disregard, and destruction, we are not left to a mere supposition that earth's approaching catastrophe will transpire under similar circumstances. No! Lips that cannot lie, have uttered the solemn truth, that "as in the days that were before the flood, they were eating and drinking, marrying, and giving in marriage, until the day that Noah entered into the ark, and knew not until the flood came and destroyed them ALL, so also SHALL the COMING OF THE SON OF MAN BE."
Thus inspiration positively teaches us that as in the days of Noah the people of God knew the danger, as the wicked were warned of it, as the people of God expected it, as the wicked put it off, as the people of God were saved and the wicked destroyed, so shall the coming of the Son of Man be.
So also in the case of the cities of the plain. Reasoning from analogy, we are led to think that as God is unchangable in his principles of impartial justice, he will punish this world, delivering the just, as in the case of Sodom. But the Savior tells us that this which we might infer is really and truly so. The concluding days of the Gospel dispensation shall be like the days of Sodom. Then they ate, they drank, they bought, they sold, they planted, they builted—they shall do so at the end. Then Lot was warned, and also warned others—it shall be so at the end Then, they disregarded and despised the warning—it shall be so at the end.
Then "the same day that Lot went out of Sodom, it rained fire and brimstone from heaven and destroyed them all: even thus shall it be in the day when THE SON OF MAN IS REVEALED."
No language can be more explicit. There will be such circumstances developed in connection with the close of this dispensation, and it is left to us to choose the position which we will occupy. Warnings have been given. While the godless world and a slothful church are gazing forward to scenes of worldly prosperity, aggrandisement, and peace—while many are putting away indefinitely that evil day because they wish it far off—while others strangely regard the declaration, "no man knoweth the day and hour," as precluding the possibility of knowing "when it is nigh, even at the door"—while the world sleep on and dream on, the day breaketh, the morning cometh. The foretold tokens of redemption at hand, are before our gaze, and the weary eyes of the anxious watcher on Zion's walls, are greeted by the lustre of the ascending day-star, that portends the speedy rising of the King of Light. Signs of this description thicken on every hand. They cloud the heavens, they fill the earth, andwe are bound to heed them. If we do it, it is our safety; if we neglect them it is at our peril.
We are to look, then, and wait for the Son of God. We are not to be "in darkness." We are to anticipate and prepare for that day. Ere we are aware it shall come upon us. Like the stealthy thief prowling in the midnight darkness, like the travail of a woman with child, like the sudden snare, entrapping the unwary feet, yea, like the brilliant lightning as it rends the cloud and gleams athwart the midnight sky, so sudden, so unexpected, so startling. shall the coming of the Son of Man be. Hence the necessity of diligence that we may "be found of him in peace" Reader, are you saying peace and safety?
Are you fancying that your Lord delayeth his coming? Are you saying in mockery and incredulity, Where is the promise of his coming? Oh, friend, remember where you are. Heed the word of God. Heed the revelations of his holy prophets. Heed the prophetic warnings of his Son who died for thee. Forget not the sayings of holy men of old. Study God's word. Discern the signs of the times, and prepare to meet thy God. While all the elements of strife are let loose, while the whirlwind speeds from land to land, while the tempest sweeps wildly along and will soon burst heavily upon the earth, while nations are in their death struggles, and while others are hastening toward the outer circles of the awful whirlpool which shall speedily engulf them in destruction and perdition, while the notes of pleading entreaty and solemn warning fall upon thine ear, while mercy yet lingers to call you, and waits to receive you, I pray you flee from the impending storm. A little while, and it may be too late. "Sudden destruction cometh," and the unprepared "shall not escape." Heed, then, the voice of God. Repent! Why live on in sin? Why court ruin and wrath? Why earn death? Why crucify afresh the Son of God? Why despise his outpoured blood? Why rush madly on to perdition? Why grieve the heart of him who died for thee? Why reject a salvation that is free and boundless as the unmeasured love of God? Why WILL YOU DIE?
Reader, are you a Christian? a watchful observer and discerner of the signs of the times? Then you are not in darkness. But are you where and what you should be? Are you serving God with all your heart? Are you laying up treasures in heaven? Are you taking heed lest at any time your heart be overcharged, and that day come upon you as a thief?
Are you faithful to God? to yourself? to the world? to the church of Christ? to sinners around you? Do you confess Christ? Do you bear his cross? Do you obey his commands? Are you alive or dead? Are you in Christ Jesus, or out? Are you hot or cold? Are you lukewarm? Are you watchful? Are you prayerful and laborious? Are you pure from the blood of all men? Take time to consider these questions. Ponder them: you had better settle them now than at the judgment-seat of Christ. Let us who are of the day be sober, putting on the breast-plate of faith and love, and for an helmet the hope of salvation. Your duty is before you. Will you do it? WILL YOU DO IT? Spirit of the living God, fasten this question on the reader's heart!
Christian pilgrim, rejoice! Lift up thy head. Lo heaven is radiant with the promise of the hastening day. You "are not in darkness," why need you be in tears? The morning cometh—the morning that shall end thy woes. The morning that shall chase away thy sorrows, that shall waken with its rising glory thy loved ones that sleep in Jesus, and that shall throw the vigor of immortality throughout thy wan and weary form.
Ah, yes, in the nearing distance gleam the crystal towers and the glittering palaces of the city of God. A little while, and the swelling anthem of the redeemed shall burst sublimely on thy ravished ear, the crown of glory shall sparkle on thy brow, the palm of triumph shall wave above thy head, the spotless raiment of the blest shall be thy fair adorning, the angels of God shall be thy joyful company, the marriage supper of the Lamb shall be thy feast, the voice of Jesus shall pronounce thy blessed welcome, the peaceful paradise of God shall be thine everlasting home, and thou shalt be forever with the Lord.
THREE WORLDS;
OR,
EARTH'S PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE.
BY H. L. HASTINGS.
The past, the present, and the future. These are the three all-embracing divisions of events and things, through which human imagination and human research pursue their course. The past—dim, shadowy, and obscure; the present—restless, changeful, and inconstant: and the future—vast, portentous, and uncertain; these furnish a field for the widest wanderings of those thoughts that roam throughout eternity—for the farthest stretch of human imaginations.
But whether we inquire concerning the past, the present, or the future, we find ourselves surrounded by numberless perplexities. History is brief in its extent, meagre in its details, and often contradictory in its declarations. Opinion, as it regards the present condition of earthly affairs, is vague, various, and conflicting. And the veil of futurity hangs its gloomy folds over the obscure, the mysterious, the unknown hereafter.
Surrounded then, as we are, by uncertainty and anxiety, longing for a more definite apprehension of human history and of human destiny, we invoke external aids to assist us in pursuing the object of our desires.
Navigating this stormy and tempestuous sea, we desire a chart to inform us of our locality, and look forth for some guiding star to direct our course. Groping in a dark and devious path- ray, we seek anxiously for some lamp which shall illuminate our footsteps, and conduct us to a peaceful termination of our weary journey.
That chart is granted us! That star we can see! That lamp is placed within our hand! It is the Word of God—the transcript of the divine will and mind—the certified and attested copy of the things "noted in" those awful "Scriptures of Truth" which mortal eye has never gazed upon, and upon which the hand of mortal was never laid. By this, alone, we thread the mazes of the intricate past. By this we correctly estimate the inconstant present. By this, too, we behold as through a glass the dim and shadowy future, revealed in bold and striking outline, thrilling us by its terror, cheering us by its beauty, or entrancing us with its sublime and resplendent majesty.
The Word of God, in its historical records, its declarations, and its prophetic delineations, brings to our view three worlds, with which human destiny has been, is, and is to be connected. These worlds, existing in successive and consecutive chronological periods, distinctly separated from each other by unmistakable periods and processes of transition, are termed "The World that then was," "The Heavens and Earth that now are,' and "The World to come," or "The new Heavens and the new Earth." To sketch, briefly, these worlds in their origin, progress, and course, is the object of the present writing
What occurred prior to "the beginning," an account of which we find in the opening pages of Divine revelation, it is neither important or possible for us to ascertain.
Beyond that landmark, eternity expands its vast extent. There we may conjecture, but we cannot affirm. The silent depths of the eternal Past are unfathomed and unfathomable.
"In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth." This is the sublime announcement of the world's origin. "He spake, and it was done. He commanded, and it stood fast." At His word, a flood of light burst in upon the heaving mass, that lay formless and unfurnished beneath the overshadowing wings of night. His mandate gathered the waters together, shut up the sea with doors, made the cloud the garment thereof, and the darkness its swaddling band. He established his decree upon it, saying, "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther; and here shall thy proud waves be stayed." His word established the earth in strength, and robed it in verdure and beauty, while trees of God's own planting stood, in all the magnificence of Paradise, on every hand. Above, the stars and planets were marshalled at his call; by day, a flood of glory, and by night, a still, calm radiance fell softly on the new made world. At His voice, earth teemed with life. The noble forests and the verdant fields were peopled with hosts of living ones. Gay birds, of beauteous wing and melodious note, were waving their sun-lit pinions and trilling their gushing songs; and the blue and silent waters of the mighty deep were swarming with ten thousand things of life and joy, from the mighty levitathan to the smallest creature that played and gambled amid the ripplings of the sparkling waters.
And when the mighty work was accomplished, and a new
province, created for the glory of God's name, was added to His vast dominion—when the seal of perfection was set upon it all, then God created its ruler and lord.
Moulded of clay, formed in the image of God, enlivened by the breath of the Almighty, and receiving at his hands the sceptre of universal dominion, he became the ruler over all the world. The gay phantom of universal dominion so often pursued by mad ambition, was here a sober reality. To Adam were committed the reins of government. Earth was his dominion, and all its multitudinous inhabitants were his peaceful and rejoicing subjects.
"And the Lord God saw EVERY THING that was made, and behold it was VERY GOOD." Our ideas of good are relative, not absolute. To the savage, his hut is good; it affords him shelter from the storm. To the peasant, his cottage is good; it is his joy-lit home. To the hunted Christian, the cave is good; it is a hiding place from foes. To the warrior, his castle is good; it is a tower of strength. To the king, a palace is good; it is the repository of regal magnificence. To the Hebrew, the temple was good; for a day in its courts was better than a thousand. But what must that be, when the infinite God, dwelling in the heavenly abodes of light and glory, could look with approval upon it, and pronounce it "very good."
How pure such a world must be—how holy, how full of peace and love; how sweet the rich beauty of its landscapes, and how perfect the character of all its inhabitants, ere God, beholding all, could pronounce it "very good." It was very good. The earth was good, as it expanded in firmness and beauty—the abode of the creatures of God. The sea was good, as it glittered in the sunbeams, or rippled like a flood of molten gold beneath the breathing of the evening zephyr and the shining of the setting sun The sun was good, as it declared the glory of the Lord, and went forth in its diurnal splendor to illuminate the world.
The moon was good, as it walked in its brightness, mellowing all around with its silver light, and shedding a softened glory through the starlit heavens. The animate creation were good, as they dwelt in peaceful companionship, yielding obedience to their common Lord. Adam was good, as he stood erect in all the majesty of manhood, imaging forth in his noble countenance the glory of his Creator. Everything was good, and at the conclusion of Creation's week, God's Sabbath—earth's first day of solemn rest—at like a crown of light upon the wondrous week, hallowing, calming, and sanctifying all around.
Thus was carth created, and, as if this was not enough to reveal the fullness of Divine beneficence, away in the eastward, amid the spice-laden trees and flowery fields of Eden, beneath the first beams of the rising sun, God planted a beauteous garden.
We have heard of the royal gardens of antiquity; we have seen the gardens of the rich, where wealth, and art, and taste, and pride united to lavish all their beauties on some little spot of earth. But what are these gardens with their stately trees, with their gorgeous flowers, with their sparkling waters and their verdant banks, compared with that beauteous work of God? On that virgin soil grew "every tree that was pleasant to the sight, and good for food." How stately were the palms of Paradise! How beauteous the orange-laden groves! How rich the pending fruits! How gay and glorious the flowers! How sweet the floating fragrance of the sighing sephyr! How soft the murmur of the passing breeze!
How brilliant the gushing music of the fair-winged birds! How fair the Tree of Life, with its monthly fruits and its healing leaves! How bright the waters of that crystal river, that spread perpetual beauty on its verdant banks, and rolled its divided waters to the far-off regions of Havilbah, Ethiopia, and Assyria! Ah! those were happy days, when this garden stood like a gem of unfading beauty upon the peaceful bosom of the world that then was.
We have tried to imagine some of the glories of that world. Shall we dwell upon its ruin? Shall we speak of the entrance of sin; of the consequent guilt, and shame, and condemnation; of the sorrow and remorse of those erring ones who go forth in tears from that fair abode; of the dazzling glare of the flaming sword, and of the majestic glory of the guardian cherubim? Shall we mark the disorder that reigned from that fatal hour when Jehovah said, "Cursed is the ground for thy sake"? The fields of Paradise a tangled mass of thorns and thistles—the flowers fading, the leaves drooping, the beauty fleeting, the strength decaying; the beasts howling, and roaming far and near in their thirst for blood; the winds wailing and moaning amid the upturned trees; dark masses of clouds rolling angrily about the sky, and all nature giving signs of commotion and unrest. Shall we follow man through his life of toil, and misery, and anguish, and woe, and guilt, and sin, and fear, and trembling, and infirmity, and sickness, and old age, until finally he sinks into the darkness of a dishonored grave? Alas! the picture is too dreary for our lengthened contemplation, and we cannot forbear a sigh as we behold the fair image of God reduced by sin and death to corruption and to dust. "By one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin, and so death passed upon all The subsequent history of "the world that then was" is brief, but sad in the extreme.
The first-born of earth was a murderer, and the second was a martyr. Generation succeeded generation, and degeneracy and sin marked the protracted periods of their misspent lives. A few holy men stood forth as lights shining in a dark place, holding forth the truth of God; but they were like the oasis in the desert, the island in the sea, or the faint glimmering of a single star amid the blackening rage of the midnight tempest. Of one of these, it is recorded that he walked with God for many years, and after predicting the advent of the Lord, with ten thousand of His holy ones, he passed gently away from earth, unharmed and unhindered by the hand of Death, and the simple record of his departure was, "God took him." But the common character and the common lot of mankind were widely different. The prevailing tendency of human character and of human purpose from the beginning, was from good to bad, and from bad to worse. There were men of might, and honor, and renown, before whom men couched in terror, or bowed in suppliance, but the penetrating glance of the All-seeing One beheld "that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and every imagination of his heart was only evil every day." The earth was corrupt—all flesh had corrupted its way, and the earth was filled with violence. This was the result of man's revolt—this the return for the divine indulgence which had lengthened out his hour of probation. Throughout the world sin had spread like some loathsome pestilence, and scarcely an individual had escaped its polluting power.
Amid this world-wide transgression, one person was "found righteous"—one man was "just and perfect in all his ways"—one man walked with God, and notwithstanding
the surrounding impiety, found grace in the eyes of the Lord.
He alone was found worthy to escape the things that were coming on the earth. He was selected as the only proper medium for the communication of the Divine will and the Divine warnings to mankind. In his ear the mysterious whisperings of the Eternal Spirit could find audience. His obedient heart would heed them and obey them. Accordingly he was warned of approaching danger. His eye, anointed by the Holy Ghost, foresaw the approaching deluge; and moved with fear, he not only warned others and preached faithfully to the world, but he prepared an Ark for the saving of himself and house. Thus he condemned the world. Thus he was justified before God, and became heir of the righteousness which is by faith.
But the same spirit of disobedience which invoked the righteous indignation of God upon that race, closed their ears against the warnings of the Almighty, and sealed their eyes to the denunciations of approaching and impending danger. Hence the hours that might, well filled with penitence, have averted the dread calamity, were employed in filling up the cup of sins to its brim, and in heaping up iniquity before Jehovah, thus treasuring up wrath against the day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of God.
Swiftly the appointed day sped on. Men pursued their ceaseless round of business, sin, and pleasure, forgetting that they were wearing out the last brief moments of divine forbearance and of human probation, and thus braving the vengeance of the Almighty.
Let us sit down within the Ark. The family of Noah are there, and the animate creation have their representatives. The door is closed by ar invisible hand, and now
we wait the departure of the last hours of human probation and impiety.
How solemn that last week! The dying hour of a single sinner, or the execution of one criminal, is enough to chill the stoutest heart. But what emotions swell within us as we mark the solemn march of probation's departing hours, and await the execution of a guilty world! How dread the suspense! how breathless the anxiety!
The world goes on as usual. The farmer is in his field, the merchant in his shop, the drunkard at his cups, the reveller at his revelry, and the sinner at his sin. Violence and strife and iniquity roll on in resistless current, the world is given up to destruction, and yet fears no danger. What a scene! to-night a world's feast, to-morrow a world's funeral! To-night a world's revel, to-morrow a world's ruin! To-night a world's exultation, to-morrow a world's execution! To-night a world's debauch, to-morrow a world's destruction!
The last day dawns. . . The laborer goes to his toil, the tradesman pursues his calling, the murderer marks his victim, the robber watches for the unwary, the harlot gads about in gay attire, the drunkard cracks his maudlin joke about Noah's Ark, little children join in mockery of the man of God, men shake their heads and say, We're safe enough, and Noah will feel different to-morrow. But hark! The swelling echoes of the distant thunder. . . See! swift as the eagle's flight, vast inky clouds roll up the sky. Earth rocks like a storm-tossed vessel beneath the blackened heavens, and on every hand the ground swells and yawns beneath our feet. Who can depict the scene? The floodgates of heaven are opened—the foundations of earth are broken up—the deep rolls up its floods—the waves roar—the winds howl—the clouds gather—the rains de-
scend—the lightnings blaze—the thunders bellow—sinners wail—joy perishes—hope expires—and all above, beneath, and around is one wild scene of confusion, darkness, anguish and dismay.
What a funeral! The funeral of a godless world! The wide earth was their burial place—the rushing wave their winding-sheet—the swelling thunders their funeral knell—the hanging clouds their gloomy pall,—and the mourners—who were they? Were they not those eight lonely survivors who surveyed in safety the terrific scene? Were they not the angels who once shouted for joy over that now ruined earth? Aye! and was there not sadness in the very heavens, and did it not repent the Lord that he had made man upon the earth?
What a night succeeded that fearful day! No sun, no moon, no stars; no peace, no joy, no hope; but one dread scene of alternate blackness and brightness, of gleaming lightnings, and of booming thunders, of falling torrents and of rushing waves. How different from the previous night! What a change from the music, mirth and blasphemy which were then wide as the world, to the awful roar of deep calling unto deep and thunder answering thunder. So suddenly were they cut off! so fearfully did the storm break in upon their carnal slumbers! Shall I anticipate? Shall I drop a warning in the careless reader's ear? Hear it: "As it was in the days that were before the flood, they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day that Noah entered into the ark, and knew not until the flood came and destroyed them all, so also shall the coming of the Son of Man be."
That flood closed the history of that dispensation and of that world. This is distinctly affirmed by the Apostle who declares that "The world that then was, being overflowed by water, perished."—2 Pet. iii: 6.
The history of that world is a sad one, as we have seen. Good at first, evil at last. Created by God for man's happiness—cursed by God for man's transgression, and destroyed by God for man's ungodliness. Alas, that we should be constrained to say that it furnished but too true an index of human character—always progressive, but progressive towards ruin, always advancing, but advancing to destruction.
A year passed away, and on the towering summit of Mount Ararat, from the door of a strange and weather-beaten structure, there came forth (with no scoffer to deride or insult them) a solitary family, to stand upon the bosom of a new world. Every thing around was strange. Nothing familiar was visible. Paradise and every thing else which reminded man of the days of human innocence and primeval happiness, had been "pushed by the horned flood" into the watery depths, or buried amid the ruins of some upturned mountain; while the marine remains scattered everywhere around, gave evidence that the highest summits once lay beneath the level wave, and the whole wide landscape was but a memorial of God's disapprobation of sin and iniquity.
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