O my reader! If you merely profess faith in Christ Jesus but do not possess it, let me show you exactly where you're heading.

You're a respectable church attender. You go because others go, not because your heart is right with God. This is how it begins. Let's say you're given another twenty or thirty years—you keep going through the religious motions, showing up for the means of grace, but your heart stays far from the matter.

Tread softly now. I must show you the deathbed of someone just like you.

Let us gaze upon him gently. Clammy sweat beads on his brow. He wakes with a cry: "O God, it is hard to die! Did you send for my minister?"

"Yes, he is coming."

The minister arrives. "Sir, I fear that I am dying!"

"Do you have any hope?"

"I cannot say that I have. I fear to stand before my God; oh! pray for me!"

The prayer is offered with sincere earnestness. The way of salvation is explained for the ten-thousandth time. But before he can grasp the rope, I see him sink. I may put my finger upon those cold eyelids—they will never see anything here again.

But where is the man? Where are the man's true eyes? It is written: "In hell he lifted up his eyes, being in torment."

Ah! Why didn't he lift up his eyes before? Because he was so accustomed to hearing the gospel that his soul slept under it. Alas! If you should lift up your eyes there, how bitter will be your wailings! Let the Savior's own words reveal the woe: "Father Abraham, send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue, for I am tormented in this flame."

There is a frightful meaning in those words. May you never have to spell it out by the red light of Jehovah's wrath!