Charles Spurgeon Comfort for the Desponding

 “Oh that I were as in months past.” Job 29:2

FOR the most part the gracious Shepherd leads his people beside the still
waters, and makes them to lie down in green pastures; but at times they
wander through a wilderness, where there is no water, and they find no city
to dwell in. Hungry and thirsty, their soul fainteth within them, and they cry
unto the Lord in their trouble. Though many of his people live in almost
constant joy, and find that religion’s ways are ways of pleasantness, and all
her paths are peace, yet there are many who pass through fire and through
water: men do ride over their heads,-they endure all manner of trouble and
sorrow. The duty of the minister is to preach to different characters.
Sometimes we admonish the confident, lest they should become
presumptuous; oftentimes we stir up the slumbering, lest they should sleep
the sleep of death. Frequently we comfort the desponding, and this is our
duty this morning-or if not to comfort them, yet to give them some
exhortation which may by God’s help be the means of bringing them out of
the sad condition into which they have fallen, so that they may not be
obliged to cry out for ever-”Oh that I were as in months past!”
At once to the subject. A complaint; its cause and cure; and then close up
with an exhortation to stir up your pure minds, if you are in such a
position.

I. First, there is a COMPLAINT. How many a Christian looks on the past
with pleasure, on the future with dread, and on the present with sorrow!
There are many who look back upon the days that they have passed in the
fear of the Lord as being the sweetest and the best they have ever had, but
as to the present, it is clad in a sable garb of gloom and dreariness. They
could wish for their young days over again, that they might live near to
Jesus, for now they feel that they have wandered from him, or that he has
hidden his face from them, and they cry out, “Oh that I were as in months
past!”

1. Let us take distinct cases one by one. The first is the case of a man who
has lost the brightness of his evidences, and is crying out, “Oh that I were
as in months past!” Hear his soliloquy:-”Oh that my past days could be
recalled! Then I had no doubt of my salvation. If any man had asked for the
reason of the hope that was in me, I could have answered with meekness
and with fear. No doubt distressed me, no fear harassed me; I could say
with Paul, ‘I know whom I have believed,’ and with Job, ‘I know that my
Redeemer liveth;

‘My steady soul did fear no more
Than solid rocks when billows roar.’

I felt myself to be standing on the rock Christ Jesus. I said-

‘Let cares like a wild deluge come,
And storms of sorrow fall;
Sure I shall safely reach my home,
My God, my heaven, my all’

But ah! how changed it is now! Where there was no cloud it; all cloud;
where I could read my ‘my title clear,’ I tremble to read my damnation
quite as clearly. I hoped that I trusted in Christ, but now the dark thought
rises up, that I was a hypocrite, and had deceived myself and others. The
most I can attain to, is-Methinks I will hope in him still; and if I may not be
refreshed with the light of his countenance, still in the shadow of his wings
will I trust.’ I feel that if I depart from him there is no other Savior; but oh!
what thick darkness surrounds me! Like Paul of old, there have been days
and nights wherein neither sun, nor moon nor stars have appeared. I have
lost my roll in the Arbour of Ease; I cannot now take it out of my breast,
and read it to console me on my journey; but I fear that when I get to the
end of the way they will deny me entrance, because I came not in by the
door to receive his grace and know his love, but have been deceived, have
taken carnal fancies for the workings of the Spirit, and have imputed what
was but natural conviction to the work of God the Holy Ghost.”
This is one phase, and a very common one. You will meet many who are
crying out like that-”Oh that I were as in months past!”

2. Another phase of this great complaint, which it also very frequently
assumes, is one under which we are lamenting-not so much because our
evidences are withered as because we do not enjoy a perpetual peace of
mind as to other matters. “Oh “says one, “Oh that I were as in months
past; for then whatever troubles and trials came upon me, were less than
nothing. I had learned to sing-

‘Father, I wait thy daily will;
Thou shalt divide my portion still;
Give me on earth what seems thee best,
Till death and heaven reveal the rest.’

I felt that I could give up everything to him; that if he had taken away
every mercy I could have said-

‘Yea, if thou take them all away,
Yet will I not repine;
Before they were possessed by me,
They were entirely thine.’

I knew no fear for the future. Like a child on its mother’s breast I slept
securely; I said, ‘Jehovah-jireh, my God will provide,’ I put my business
into his hands; I went to my daily labor; like the little bird that waketh up in
the morning, and knoweth not where its breakfast is to come from, but
sitteth on the spray, singing-

‘Mortal, cease from toil and sorrow
God provideth for the morrow;’

as was I. I could have trusted Him with my very life, with wife, with
children, with everything, I could give all into his hands, and say each
morning, ‘Lord, I have not a will of my own, or if I have one, still, thy will
be done; thy wish shall be my wish; thy desire shall be my desire.’ But ‘oh
that I were as in months past!’ How changed am I now! I begin fretting
about my business; and if I lose now but a live pound note, I am worried
incessantly, whereas, if it were a thousand before, I could have thanked the
God who took it away as easily as I could the God that gave it to me. How
the least thing disturbs me. The least shadow of a doubt as to some
calamity that may befall me, rests on my soul like a thick cloud. I am
perpetually self-willed, desiring always to have just what I wish. I cannot
say I can resign all into his hands; there is a certain something I could not
give up. Twined round my heart there is an evil plant called self-love. It has
twisted its roots within the very nerves and sinews of my soul. There is
something I love above my God. I cannot give up all now; but ‘oh that I
were as in months past!’ For then my mercies were real mercies, because
they were God’s mercies. “Oh,” says he, “‘that I were as in months past!’ I
should not have had to bear such trouble as I have now, for though the
burden might have pressed heavily, I would have cast it on the Lord. Oh!
that I knew the heavenly science of taking the burdens off my own
shoulders, and laying them on the Rock that supports them all! Oh! if I
knew how to pour out my griefs and sorrows as I once did! I have been a
fool, an arrant fool, a very fool, that I should have run away from that
sweet confidence I once had in the Savior! I used then to go to his ear, and
tell him all my griefs.

‘My sorrows and my griefs I poured
Into the bosom of my God;
He helped me in the trying hour,
He helped me bear the heavy load.’

But now, I foolishly carry them myself, and bear them in my own breast,
Ah!

‘What peaceful hours I then enjoyed!’
Would that they would return to me.”

3. Another individual perhaps is speaking thus concerning his enjoyment in
the house of God and the means of grace. “Oh,” says one, “in months past,
when I went up to the house of God, how sweetly did I hear! Why, I sat
with my ears open, to catch the words, as if it were an angel speaking; and
when I listened, how at times did the tears come rolling down my cheeks!
and how did my eyes flash, when some brilliant utterance, full of joy to the
Christian, aroused my soul! Oh! how did I awake on the Sabbath morning,
and sing,

‘Welcome, sweet day of rest,
That saw the Lord arise;
Welcome to this reviving breast,
And these rejoicing eyes!’

And when they sang in the house of God, whose voice was so fond as
mine. When I retired from worship, it was with a light tread; I went to tell
my friends and my neighbors what glorious news I had heard in the
sanctuary. Those were sweet Sabbaths; and when the prayer-meetings
came round, how was I found in my places and the prayers were prayers
indeed to my spirit; whoever I heard preach, provided it was the gospel,
how did my soul feed and fatten under it! for I sat at a very banquet of joy.
When I read the Scriptures they were always illuminated, and glory did gild
the sacred page, whenever I turned it over. When I bent my knee in prayer,
I could pour my soul out before God, and I loved the exercise; I felt that I
could not be happy unless I spent my time upon my knees; I loved my God,
and my God loved me; but oh! how changed now! ‘Oh that I were as in
months past!’ I go up to God’s house; it is the same voice that speaks, the
same man I love so much, still addresses me; but I have no tears to shed
now; my heart has become hardened even under his ministry; I have few
emotions of joy; I enter the house of God as a boy goes to school, without
much love to it, and I go away without having my soul stirred. When I
kneel down in secret prayer, the wheels are taken off my chariot, and it
drags very heavily; when I strive to sing, all I can say is, ‘I would but
cannot’; ‘Oh that I were as in months past!’ when the candle of the Lord
shone round about me!”

I trust there are not many of you who can join in this; for I know ye love to
come up to the house of God. I love to preach to a people who feel the
word, who give signs of assent to it-men and women who can afford a tear
now and then in a sermon-people whose blood seems to boil within them
when they hear the gospel. I don’t think you understand much of the phase
I am describing; but still you may understand a little of it. The word may
not be quite so sweet and pleasant to you as it used to be; and then you
may cry out-”Oh that I were as in months past!”

4. But I will tell you one point which perhaps may escape you. There are
some of us who lament extremely that our conscience is not as tender as it
used to be; and therefore doth our soul cry in bitterness, “Oh that I were as
in months past!” “When first I knew the Lord,” you say, “I was almost
afraid to put one foot before another, lest I should go astray; I always
looked before I leaped; if there were a suspicion of sin about anything, I
faithfully avoided it; it there were the slightest trace of the trail of the
serpent on it, I turned from it at once; people called me a Puritan; I
watched everything; I was afraid to speak, and some practices that were
really allowable I utterly condemned; my conscience was so tender, I was
like a sensitive plant; if touched by the hand of sin, my leaves curled up in a
moment; I could not bear to be touched I was so tender, I was all over
wounds, and if any one brushed against me I cried out. I was afraid to do
anything, lest I should sin against God. If I heard an oath, my bones shook
within me; if I saw a man break the Sabbath, I trembled and was afraid;
wherever I went, the least whisper of sin startled me; it was like the voice
of a demon when I heard a temptation, and I said with violence, ‘Get thee
behind me, Satan,’ I could not endure sin; I ran away from it as from a
serpent; I could not taste a drop of it; but ‘Oh that I were as in months
past.’ It is true, I have not forsaken his ways; I have not quite forgotten his
law; it is true, I have not disgraced my character, I have not openly sinned
before men, and none but God knoweth my sin; but oh! my conscience is
not what it once was. It did thunder once, but it does not now. O
conscience! conscience! thou art gone too much to sleep, I have drugged
thee with laudanum, and thou art slumbering when thou oughtest to be
speaking! Thou art a watchman; but thou dost not tell the hours of the
night as thou once didst. O conscience! sometimes I heard thy rattle in my
ears, and it startled me, now thou sleepest, and I go on to sin. It is but a
little I have done; still, that little shows the way. Straws tell which way the
wind doth blow; and I feel that my having committed one little sin,
evidences in what way my soul is inclined. Oh! that I had a tender
conscience again! Oh! that I had not this rhinoceros conscience, which is
covered over with tough hide, through which the bullets of the law cannot
pierce! Oh! that I had a conscience such as I used to have! ‘ Oh that I were
as in months past!’”

5. One more form of this sad condition. There are some of us, dearly
beloved, who have not as much zeal for the glory of God and the salvation
of men as we used to have. Months ago, if we saw a soul going to
destruction, our eyes were filled with tears in a moment; if we did but see a
man inclined to sin, we rushed before him with tears in our eyes, and
wished to sacrifice ourselves to save him; we could not walk the street, but
we must be giving somebody a tract, or reproving some one; we thought
we must be for ever speaking of the Lord Jesus; if there were any good to
be done, we were always first and foremost in it: we desired by all means
to save some, and we did think at that time that we could give up ourselves
to death, if we might but snatch a soul from hell. So deep, so ardent was
our love to our fellowmen, that for the love we bore Christ’s name, we
would have been content to be scoffed at, hissed at, and persecuted by the
whole world, if we might have done any good in it. Our soul was burning
with intense longing for souls, and we considered all things else to be mean
and worthless; but ah! now souls may be damned, and there is not a tear;
sinners may sink into the scalding pit of hell, and not a groan; thousands
may be swept away each day, and sink into bottomless woe, and yet not an
emotion. We can preach without tears; we can pray for them without our
hearts. We can speak to them without feeling their necessities; we pass by
the haunts of infamy-we wish the inmates better, and that is all. Even our
compassion has died out. Once we stood near the brink of hell, and we
thought each day that we heard the yellings and howlings of the doomed
spirits ringing in our ears; and then we said, “O God, help me to save my
fellow-men from going down to the pit! “But now we forget it all. We have
little love to men, we have not half the zeal and energy we once had. Oh! if
that be your state, dearly beloved; if you can join in that, as your poor
minister, alas! can do in some measure, then may we well say, “Oh that I
were as in months past!”

II. But now we are about to take these different characters, and tell you
the CAUSE AND CURE.

1. One of the causes of this mournful state of things is defect in prayer; and
of course the cure lies somewhere next door to the cause. You are saying,
“Oh that I were as in months past!” Come, my brother; we are going into
the very root of the matter. One reason why it is not with you as in months
past is this: you do not pray as you once did. Nothing brings such leanness
into a man’s soul as want of prayer. It is well said that a neglected closet is
the birth-place of all evil. All good is born in the closet, all good springeth
from it; there the Christian getteth it; but if he neglecteth his closet, then all
evil comes of it. No man can progress in grace if he forsakes his closet. I
care not how strong he may be in faith. It is said that fat men may for a
time live on the flesh they have acquired; but there is not a Christian so full
of flesh that he can live on old grace. If he waxes fat he kicks, but he
cannot live upon his fat. Those who are strong and mighty in themselves
cannot exist without prayer. If a man should have the spiritual might of
fifty of God’s choicest Christians in himself, he must die, if he did not
continue to plow. My brother, cannot you look back and say, “Three or
four months ago my prayers were more regular, more constant, more
earnest than they are now; but now they are feeble, they are not sincere,
they are not fervent, they are not earnest? “O brother, do not ask anybody
what is the cause of your grief; it is as plain as possible; you need not ask a
question about it. There is the cause; and where is the remedy? Why, in
more prayer, beloved. It was little prayer that brought you down; it is great
prayer that will lift you up. It was lack of prayer that brought you into
poverty, it must be increase of prayer that will bring you into riches again.
Where no oxen are the crib is clean. There is nothing for men to eat where
there are no oxen to plough; and where there are no prayers to plough the
soil, you have little to feed upon. We must be more earnest in prayer. Oh!
beloved, might not the beam out of the wall cry against us? Our dusty
closets might bear witness to our neglect of secret devotion; and that is the
reason why it is not with us as in months past. My friends: if you were to
compare the Christian to a steam-engine, you must make his prayers, fed
by the Holy Spirit, to be the very fire which sustains his motion. Prayer is
God’s chosen vehicle of grace, and he is unwise who neglects it. Let me be
doubly serious on this matter, and let me give a home-thrust to some. Dear
friend, do you mean what you say, and do you believe what you say-that
neglect of prayer will bring your soul into a most hazardous condition? If
so, I will say no more to thee; for thou wilt easily guess the remedy for thy
lamentable cry, “Oh that I were as in months past!” A certain merchant
wishes that he were as rich as he used to be:-he was wont to send his ships
over to the gold country, to bring him home cargoes of gold, but ne’er a
ship has been out of port lately, and therefore can he wonder that he has
had no cargo of gold? So when a man prayeth he sends a ship to heaven,
and it comes back laden with gold; but if he leaves off supplication, then
his ship is weather-bound and stays at home, and no wonder he cometh to
be a poor man.

2. Perhaps, again, you are saying, “Oh that I were as in months past!” not
so much from your own fault as from the fault of your minister. There is
such a thing, my dear friends, as our getting into a terribly bad condition
through the ministry that we attend. Can it be expected that men should
grow in grace when they are never watered with the streams that make
glad the city of our God? Can they be supposed to wax strong in the Lord
Jesus, when they do not feed on spiritual food? We know some who
grumble, Sabbath after Sabbath, and say they cannot hear such and such a
minister. Why don’t you buy an ear-trumpet then? Ah! but I mean, that I
can’t hear him to my soul’s profit. Then do not go to hear him, if you have
tried for a long while and don’t get any profit. I always think that a man
who grumbles as he goes out of chapel ought not to be pitied, but
whipped, for he can stay away if he likes, and go where he will be pleased.
There are plenty of places where the sheep may feed in their own manner;
and every one is bound to go where he gets the pasture most suited to his
soul; but you are not bound to run away directly your minister dies, as
many of you did before you came here. You should not run away from the
ship directly the storm comes, and the captain is gone, and you find her not
exactly sea-worthy; stand by her, begin caulking her, God will send you a
captain, there will be fine weather by-and-bye, and all will be right; but
very frequently a bad minister starves God’s people into walking skeletons,
so that you can tell all their bones; and who wonders that they starve out
their minister, when they get no food and no nutriment from his
ministrations. This is a second reason why men frequently cry out, “Oh that
I were as in months past!”

3. But there is a better reason still, that will come more home to some of
you. It is not so much the badness of the food, as the seldomness that you
come to eat it. You know, my dear friends, we find every now and then
that there is a man who came twice a day to the house of God on the
Sabbath. On the Monday night he was busy at work; but his apron was
rolled up, and if he could not be present all the while, he would come in at
the end. On the Thursday evening he would, if possible, come to the
sanctuary, to hear a sermon from some gospel minister, and would sit up
late at night and get up early in the morning, to make up the time he had
spent in these religious exercises; but by-and-bye he thought, “I am too
hard-worked; this is tiring; it is too far to walk.” And so he gives up first
one service, and then another, and then begins to cry out, “Oh that I were
as in months past!” Why, brethren you need not wonder at it. The man
does not eat so much as he used to do. Little and often is the way children
should be fed, though I have given you a great deal this morning. Still, little
and often is a very good rule. I do think, when people give up week-day
services, unless it is utterly impracticable for them to attend them, farewell
to religion. “Farewell to practical godliness,” says Whitfield, “when men do
not worship God on the week-day!” Week-day services are frequently the
cream of all. God giveth his people pails full of milk on the Sabbath, but he
often skims off the cream for the week-day. If they stay away, is it
wonderful that they have to say, “Oh, that I were as in months past!” I do
not blame you, beloved; I only wish to “stir up your pure minds by way of
remembrance.” A very plain fellow that is-is he not? Yes, he always tells
you what he means, and always intends to do so. Stand to your colors, my
men! Keep close to the standard if you would win the battle! And when
there seems to be the slightest defection, it is simply our duty to exhort
you, lest by any measure ye depart from the soundness of your faith.

4. But frequently this complaint arises from idolatry. Many have given
their hearts to something else save God, and have set their affections upon
the things of earth, instead of the things in heaven. It is hard to love the
world and love Christ, it is impossible: that is more; but it is hard not to
love the creature; it is hard not to give yourself to earth; I had almost said,
it is impossible not to do that; it is difficult, and only God can enable us; he
alone can keep us with our hearts fully set on him; but mark whenever we
make a golden calf to worship sooner or latter it will come to this,-we shall
get our golden calf ground up and put into our water for us to drink, and
then we shall have to say, “He hath made me drunken with wormwood.”
Never a man makes an idol for himself to worship but it tumbles down on
him and breaks some of his bones. There was ne’er a man yet who
departed to broken cisterns to find water, but instead thereof he found
loathsome creatures therein, and was bitterly deceived. God will have his
people live on him, and on none else, and if they live on anything else but
him he will take care to give them of the waters of Mara, to embitter their
drink, and drive them to the Rock of purest streams. Oh, beloved, let us
take care that our hearts are wholly his, only Christ’s, solely Christ’s! If
they are so, we shall not have to cry out, “Oh that I were as in months
past!”

5. We scarcely need, however, detail any more reasons. We will add but
one more and that is the most common one of all. We have, perhaps,
become self-confident and self-righteous. If so, that is a reason why it is
not with us as in months past. Ah! my friends, that old rascal selfrighteousness,
you will never get rid of him as long as you live. The devil
was well pictured under the form of a serpent because a serpent can creep
in anywhere, though the smallest crevice. Self-righteousness is a serpent;
for it will enter anywhere. If you try to serve your God, “What a fine
fellow you are,” says the devil. “Ah! don’t you serve your God well! You
are always preaching. You are a noble fellow.” If you go to a prayer
meeting, God gives you a little gift, and you are able to pour out your
heart. Presently there is a pat on the back from Satan. “Did not you pray
sweetly? I know the brethren will love you; you are growing in grace very
much.” If a temptation comes, and you are able to resist it, “Ah!” says he
at once, “you are a true soldier of the cross; look at the enemy you have
knocked down; you will have a bright crown by-and-bye; you are a brave
fellow!” You go on trusting God implicitly; Satan then says, your faith is
very strong: no trial can overcome you: there is a weak brother, he is not
half as strong as you are!” Away you go, and scold your weak brother,
because he is not as big as you, and all the while Satan is cheering you up,
and saying, “What a mighty warrior you are! so faithful-always trusting in
God, you have not any self-righteousness.” The minister preaches to the
Pharisee: but the Pharisee is not fifty-ninth cousin to you; you are not at all
self-righteous in your own opinion, and all the while you are the most selfrighteous
creature in existence. Ah! beloved, just when we think ourselves
humble we are sure to be proud; and when we are groaning over our pride
we are generally the most humble. You may just read your own estimate
backwards. Just when we imagine we are the worst, we are often the best,
and when we conceive ourselves the best, we are often the worst. It is that
vile self-righteousness who creeps into our souls, and makes us murmur,
“Oh that I were as in months past!” Your candle has got the snuff of selfrighteousness
upon it; you want to have that taken away, and then you will
burn all right. You are soaring too high; you require something that will
bring you down again to the feet of the Savior, as a poor lost and guilty
sinner-nothing at all; then you will not cry any longer. “Oh that I were as in
months past!”

III. And now, the closing up is to be an EXHORTATION.

An exhortation, first of all, to consolation, One is saying, “Oh! I shall never
be in a more happy state than I now am in, I have lost the light of his
countenance; he hath clean gone away from me, and I shall perish.” You
remember in John Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress,” the description of the
man shut up in the iron cage. One says to him, “Wilt thou never come out
of this cage?” “No, never.” “Art thou condemned for ever?” “Yes, I am.”
“Why was this?” “Why I grieved the Spirit, and he is gone; I once thought
I loved him, but I have treated him lightly and he has departed. I went from
the paths of righteousness, and now I am locked up here, and cannot get
out.” Yes, but John Bunyan does not tell you that the man never did get
out? There have been some in that iron cage that have come out. There
may be one here this morning, who has been for a long while sitting in that
iron cage, rattling the bars, trying to break them, trying to file them
through with his own little might and strength. Oh! dear friend, you will
never file through the iron bars of that terrible cage; you will never escape
by yourself. What must you do? You must begin to sing like the bird in the
cage does; then the kind master will come and let you out. Cry to him to
deliver you; and though you cry and shout, and he shutteth out your
prayer, he will hear you by-and-bye; and like Jonah you shall exclaim in
days to come, “Out of the belly of hell I cried unto the Lord, and he heard
me.” You will find the roll under the settle, although you have dropped it
down the Hill of Difficulty; and when thou hast it thou will put it in thy
bosom again, and hold it all the more tightly, because thou hast lost it for a
little season.

“Return, O wanderer, return,
And seek an injured Father’s face;
Those warm desires that in thee burn
Were kindled by reclaiming grace.”

And now another exhortation, not so much to console you as to stir you up
more and more to seek to be what you ought to be. O Christian men and
women, my brethren and sisters in the faith of Jesus Christ! How many
there are of you who are content just to be saved, and merely to enter
heaven. How many do we find who are saying “Oh! if I can but just get in
at the door-if I can simply be a child of God!” and they carry out their
desires literally, for they are as little Christian as possible. They would have
moderation in religion! But what is moderation in religion? It is a lie; it is a
farce. Doth a wife ask her husband to be moderately loving? Doth a parent
expect his child to be moderately obedient? Do you seek to have your
servants moderately honest? No! Then how can you talk about being
moderately religious? To be moderately religious is to be irreligious. To
have a religion that does not enter into the very heart and influence the life,
is virtually to have no religion at all. I tremble sometimes, when I think of
some of you who are mere professors. Ye are content ye whitewashed
sepulchres; because ye are beautifully whitened ye rest satisfied, without
looking at the charnel-house beneath. How many of you make clean the
outside of the cup and platter; and because the church can lay nothing to
your charge, and the world cannot accuse you, you think the outside of the
cup will be sufficient. Take heed! take heed! The judge will look at the
inside of the cup and platter one day; and if it be full of wickedness he will
break that platter, and the fragments shall for ever be cast about in the pit
of torment. Oh! may God give you to be real Christians! Waxen-winged
professors! ye can fly very well here; but when like Icarus, ye fly upwards,
the mighty sun of Jesus shall melt your wings, and ye shall fall into the pit
of destruction. Ah! gilded Christians, beautifully painted, varnished,
polished, what will ye do when ye shall be found at last to have been
worthless metal? When the wood, hay, and stubble shall be buried and
consumed, what will ye do if ye are not the genuine coin of heaven, if ye
have not been molten in the furnace, if ye have not been minted from on
high? If ye are not real gold, how shall ye stand the fire in that “great and
terrible day of the Lord?” Ah! and there are some of you who can stand
the fire, I trust. You are the children of God, but, beloved, do I charge you
wrongfully when I say, that many of us know that we are the children of
God, but we are content to be as little dwarf children, we are always crying
out, “Oh that I were as in months past!” That is a mark of dwarfishness. If
we are to do great things in the world we must not often utter this cry, We
must often be singing

“I the chief of sinners am; but Jesus died for me;”

and with cheerful countenance we must be able to say that we “know
whom we have believed.” Do you wish to be useful? Do you desire to
honor your Master? Do you long to carry a heavy crown to heaven, that
you may put it on the Savior’s head? If you do-and I know you do-then
seek above all things that your soul may prosper and be in health-that your
inner-man may not be simply in a living state, but that you may be a tree
planted by the rivers of water, bringing forth your fruit in your season, your
leaf never withering, and whatsoever you do prospering. Ah! do you want
to go to heaven, and wear a starless crown there-a crown that shall be a
real crown, but that shall have no star upon it, because no soul has been
saved by you? Do you wish to sit in heaven with a dress of Christ’s on, but
without one single jewel that God has given you for your wages here
below? Ah! no; methinks you wish to go to heaven in full dress, and to
enter into the fullness of the joy of the Lord. Five talents well improved,
five cities; and let no man be satisfied with his one talent merely, but let
him seek to put it out at interest; “for unto him that hath shall be given, and
he shall have abundance.”

And finally, to many of you what I have preached about has no interest
whatever. Perhaps you may say, “‘Oh that I were as in months past!’ for
then I was quite well and a jolly fellow was I. Then I could drink with the
deepest drinker anywhere. Then I could run merrily into sin, but I cannot
now. I have hurt my body. I have injured my mind. It is not with me as it
used to be, I have spent all my money. I wish I were as I used to be!” Ah!
poor sinner, thou hast good reason to say, “Oh that I were as in months
past!” But wait four or five months, and then you will say it more
emphatically, and think even to day better than that day; and the further
you go on, the more you will wish to go back again; for the path to hell is
down, down, down, down-always down-and you will be always saying,
“Oh that I were as in months past!” Thou wilt look back to the time when
a mother’s prayer blessed thee, and a father’s reproof warned thee-when
thou wentest to a Sabbath-school, and sattest upon thy mother’s knee, to
hear her tell thee of a Savior; and the longer the retrospect of goodness,
the more that goodness will pain you. Ah I my friends, ye have need to go
back, some of you. Remember how far ye have fallen-how much ye have
departed; but oh! ye need not turn back! Instead of looking back and
crying, “Oh that I were as in months past!” say something different. Say,
“Oh that I were a new man in Christ Jesus-”It would not do for you to
begin again in your present state; you would soon be as bad as you now
are; but say, “Oh that I were a new man in Christ Jesus; oh that I might
begin a new life!” Some of you would like to begin a new life-some of you
reprobates, who have gone far away! Well, poor mortal, thou mayest.
“How?” savest thou. Why, if thou art a new man in Christ Jesus thou wilt
begin again. A Christian is as much a new man as if he had been no man at
all before; the old creature is dethroned, he is a new creature, born again,
and starting on a new existence. Poor soul! God can make thee a new man.
God the Holy Spirit can build a new house out of thee, with neither stick
nor stone of the old man in it, and he can give thee a new heart, a new
spirit, new pleasures new happiness, new prospects, and at last give thee a
new heaven. “But,” says one “I feel that I want these things; but may I
have them?” Guess whether you may have them, when I tell you-”This is a
faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into
the world to save sinners.” It does not say it is worthy of some acceptation,
but it is worthy of all the acceptation you will ever give it. If you now say,
“Jesus came into the world so save sinners, I believe he did! I know he did;
he came to save me,” you will find it “worthy of all acceptation.” You say
still, “But will he save me?” I will give you another passage: “Whosoever
cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.” Ah! but I do not know whether
I may come! “Whosoever,” it saith. “Him that cometh unto me I will in no
wise cast out.”

“Whosoever will, let him come,” it is written. Dost thou will? I only speak
to such as will, who know their need of a Savior. Dost thou will? Then
God the Holy Spirit says, “Whosoever will let him come, and take the
water of life freely.”

The feeble, the guilty, the weak, the forlorn,
In coming to Jesus shall not meet with scorn;
But he will receive them, and bless them, and save
From death and destruction, from hell and the grave.
and he will lift them up to his kingdom of glory. God so grant it; for his
name sake