Dying in Despair


The following certified incident from real life we select from correspondence of the Canada Christian Advocate:


A man who had indulged the hope of final salvation, regardless of character, was on his death bed.

In the prime of life, his cup of pleasure drained to the dregs, and exhausted nature refused to recruit her wasted energies. Pale and wan, with an awful sense of an uncertain future, the horrors of remorse distracting his inmost soul, the bitter cup of despair persistently held to his lips be the unrelenting hand of an abused and now fully awakened conscience, his hope that all would finally be well with him was never swept away. No hope no trust in God; his bed was no bed of roses, although surrounded by every comfort wealth could furnish.



With the dread realities of eternity before his eyes, he cried: “Oh! I can’t die; there is no mercy now for me; God can’t forgive me now. Oh I how I wish I had lived differently; if I could only live, I would lead a different life.”


I encouraged him to hope in the mercy of God in Christ Jesus, and earnestly besought him to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ with all his heart, and he should be saved. “Do you think that God will forgive me for Christ’s sake, such a sinner as I have been?"


“Yes; oh! Yes,” said I; “He came to seek and save just such ones as you; be willing to have Him save you now, just as you are.” “Oh! No,” said he, "it is too late now while the tears streamed down his young face, pallid with disease and suffering. I had never witnessed such a scene, before, and I never shall forget the awful express on of that dying sinner’s face to my dying breath.


I told him I would pray for him, and that he must pray for himself, and left the room ere my senses forsook me. Horror stricken almost, and with a feeling as if death’s fingers were clutching at my own heart-strings, I could not bear to witness such fearful despair. I went down the stairs, and soon one of his spasms of pain came on; and unable to bear it, with no hope, no peace, no Jesus to sustain him, he gave way to the fiends, as it seemed to me, which possessed him.


With fearful curses, frightful imprecations and horrid oaths, he drove his faithful wife from the room; and he lay there alone to battle with the raging hand of disease, cursing God, and screaming with rage and pain, so that he could be heard in the neighboring houses. I could do nothing for him, and the curses and maledictions of that hour ring in my ears like the wail of the lost in the dark regions of despair. And soon I heard he was dead. Gone to the bar of God, to render up his account at the judgment.


God save us from such a passing away as that; torturing fiends, instead of soothing angels round his dying couch. Black despair, in lieu of the overshadowing wing of angelic hope. Death and the judgment staring him in the face, instead of peace in believing and joy in the Holy Ghost. Horrid blasphemies, instead of, “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?”


A fearful looking forward to the future, in lieu of, “I know that my Redeemer liveth, and because he lives, I shall live also.” Too late, too late! Instead of, “Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly.” Such is the fearful end of those who trust in the mercy of God out of Christ, for “God out of Christ is a consuming fire.”

- Golden Dawn


Touching Incidents and Remarkable Answers to Prayer - 1893

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