Lectures to Young People
William B. Sprague, 1830
EXCUSES FOR THE NEGLECT OF TRUE RELIGION
"I ask you, have me excused." Luke 14:18.
The great principles of human nature, though modified in
their operation by circumstances, are substantially the same in all ages.
Hence there is a considerable degree of uniformity in the manner in which
the gospel is treated, at different periods, and by all classes. When the
invitation was sent abroad by the man who had made a feast, instead of being
cordially and thankfully accepted, the servants returned, charged with the
most flimsy and foolish excuses. When the apostles went forth and preached
the gospel to the Jewish nation, here again there were reasons, or rather
excuses, offered for not accepting it; and they were even more preposterous
than those by which they were represented in the parable. And so too when
the servants of the Lord Jesus, at the present day, go forth proclaiming a
universal invitation to the gospel feast, and tell sinners of the rich
provision made for them, and of the expense at which it has been made—Oh how
often are they virtually answered in the language which you have just
heard—"I ask you, have me excused." Lend me your attention then, my young
friends, while, from this passage, I endeavor to show you how totally futile
are the excuses with which, from time to time, you are putting off the
claims of true religion. I am aware that most of the excuses which I shall
notice are urged by others as well as youth; but while I would commend the
subject to the serious consideration of all, I desire that you especially
would ponder it with earnest attention and self-application.
What then, my young friends, are some of the EXCUSES,
by which you are attempting to keep conscience quiet in the neglect of true
religion?
1. The first which I shall notice is, that
it is impossible, amidst all the
conflicting opinions which exist on the subject of religion, to ascertain
what true religion is; and hence it is inferred that they are
the most prudent, who trouble themselves with it the least.
That there are different opinions in respect to true
religion, admits not of question: the world is full of contradictory
speculations on this subject; and some of the grossest absurdities which the
human mind ever conceived, have been found in systems of doctrine
professedly derived from the word of God. If indeed you were required to
frame a system of truth for yourself, out of materials supplied by the
various systems of religion in the world, without recourse to higher
authority, you might well complain that it was an unreasonable and
embarrassing requisition; and that your best efforts to come at the truth
must result in nothing better than conjecture. But no such task is imposed
upon you. You have access to the very fountain of divine knowledge:
you are not only permitted—but required, to search the scriptures for
yourself, using the writings of uninspired men only as helps to enable you
to ascertain the mind of the Spirit.
And you cannot plead as an apology for neglecting to
search the scriptures, that there is any lack of explicitness in respect to
the great truths which they reveal; for the Bible was designed equally for
all; and of course for the poor and illiterate, who constitute a large part
of mankind; and to suppose that its leading doctrines are hidden under a
mass of obscure and technical phraseology, were to charge the adorable
Author of this revelation with trifling with the needs of his creatures.
What then, my young friend, becomes of your excuse for neglecting true
religion, that you cannot ascertain what true religion is? Open your Bible,
and you will there find what it is, written in letters of light—all its
great doctrines and precepts so perfectly intelligible, that the most simple
and unlettered need not mistake them.
But suppose we admit that there are some things in the
Bible which are hard to be understood—and to a certain extent no doubt this
is true—but is this a reason why you should reject or disregard what is
plain? Does the fact that you may not easily comprehend all the
reasonings of Paul on the doctrine of justification, or all the allusions of
the inspired writers to the then existing state of things, furnish any
apology for your neglecting those plain precepts which require you to repent
of your sins, and exercise faith in the atonement of Christ? Before you
plead the obscurity of the Bible as a ground for neglecting true religion,
you must, to be consistent, show yourself ready to receive the truths which
you cannot but acknowledge are clearly revealed; and ready to practice the
duties which you cannot fail to perceive are explicitly enjoined.
Say not then any longer, my young friend, that you do not
know what true religion is. If you do not know, rely on it, it is your own
fault. In giving you the revelation of his Son, God has not been mocking
your necessities, by saying one thing, and meaning another. Will such an
excuse as this stand the test of the final day? Is there one among you, who
would not shudder at the thought of standing before the omniscient Judge
with such an excuse?
2. Youth often excuse themselves for the neglect of true
religion, on the ground that it is
gloomy—that it throws a damp on all the joys of life. This
certainly is a very serious charge, and deserves to be particularly
examined.
Suppose, however, that this representation were just, I
would still maintain that it did not amount even to the semblance of an
apology for neglecting true religion; for it is never to be forgotten
that it is true religion, and that only, which saves the soul from eternal
death, and secures to it everlasting life and glory. What then though true
religion were that chilling and comfortless thing which its enemies would
sometimes represent it; what though it did require us to sacrifice all the
enjoyments of social life, or even to undergo the most painful penance—the
severest lacerations that nature can bear; what would all this be, compared
with the loss of the immortal soul—the tortures of the never-dying worm—the
ceaseless convulsions of the second death? I say then, that let true
religion require of us whatever present sacrifices it might, that man would
be a fool who would not rather make them than expose himself to the agonies
of perdition: for in the one case, the poor and pitiful pleasures of a
moment, would be succeeded by scenes of undying anguish and despair: in the
other, the privations and sufferings of this short life would be followed by
everlasting ages of glory. Admitting this charge, therefore, which you bring
against true religion, in its full extent—we maintain that your conduct in
neglecting it, is, on principles of reason, utterly indefensible.
But let us see whether there be any validity in
this charge; whether it can be sustained either on the ground of reason, or
on the ground of experience.
I admit indeed that the process preparatory to the
sinner's conversion is often a very painful one, and is always
accompanied by serious reflection and deep anxiety: for it were impossible
that a soul should wake to its condition as lost, and exposed to the wrath
of God, and remain unaffected by the woes of that condition. But this,
though indispensable as a preparative for becoming pious, is not true
religion itself; and it were not more absurd to talk against the blessing of
health, because the sick man must submit to some unpleasant prescriptions in
order to regain it, than to condemn true religion as gloomy, because you
cannot partake its joys until you have felt the burden of conviction, and
drank of the bitter waters of repentance.
Moreover, I am willing to admit that there are some
gloomy Christians—people who really have the love of God in their
hearts, who are yet subject through life to a deep and settled melancholy.
But this, instead of proving that true religion is the parent of gloom, only
proves either that some of the truths of religion are misapprehended, and
thus perverted to minister to a gloomy habit, or else that the principle of
true religion is too feeble in its operations to counteract the various
causes which may produce this effect. Nothing can be more unjust than to
make true religion answerable for the existence of evils, which, on account
of the limited influence it has gained over the heart, it does not remove.
Moreover, it admits of no question, that what is called religious depression
is often to be referred to constitutional temperament, and the operation of
other physical causes. So far as religion is concerned with it at all, it
may safely be said that it is not true religion—but the lack of it, which
operates to produce this effect.
In speaking of the delightful influence which true
religion is fitted to exert on the heart, I am aware that we labor under one
disadvantage: it is, that we are supposed to be speaking to people who are
not only strangers to the joys of true religion—but who actually have no
relish for them. But if I mistake not, even such people, if they would
examine the gospel impartially, would find in it no tendency to a spirit of
gloom.
The gospel does indeed announce to man his ruined and
wretched state; but then it does nothing towards bringing him into that
state—but on the contrary, it makes provision to bring him out of it. It
cannot be denied that it speaks to the impenitent sinner the language of
terror; but its practical tendency is to be estimated by its effect on those
who do, and not upon those who do not, yield their hearts to its influence.
And now let me ask you, what there is in it which is
adapted to diffuse gloom over a sanctified soul? Is there anything in the
character of God—in his wisdom, goodness, mercy, or holiness, which is
fitted to damp the Christian's joys? Is there anything gloomy in the thought
that wherever he may be, he is surrounded by Jehovah's watchful care; and
that even the most apparently untoward dispensations will finally redound to
his greatest benefit? Is the glorious work of redemption by Christ—that work
in which all the amiable and venerable attributes of the Godhead shine forth
with transcendent luster, fitted to shed gloom on the best comforts of the
soul? Is there the semblance of gloom in the precious promises of the
gospel—in the promise that Jehovah will guide the Christian by his counsel;
that he will sustain him in the valley of death; and finally be his
everlasting portion? If these and other kindred subjects are not fitted to
dispel gloom, and inspire the soul with serenity and cheerfulness, I ask
what subjects are adapted to produce this effect? The gospel then is not
calculated to make men gloomy—how is it in experience.
I speak not here of those who merely bear the name of
Christians—but of those in whom true religion is a living, acting, reigning
principle; and of such I venture to say, that they are more consistently and
uniformly cheerful than any other class. I do not mean that you will find
them throwing themselves into the current of worldly levities; but I mean,
that in all the various circumstances of life, you may see in them a
dignified cheerfulness, equally remote from an unsocial austerity, or
forbidding gloom, on the one hand; and from a spirit of mirthful frivolity,
on the other.
Place such a person in the humble walks of life, and if
you please, let the night clouds of adversity gather around him, and let him
see one friend after another carried to the grave, and one fountain of
earthly comfort after another dried up, until, to the eye of sense, his last
hold of earthly enjoyment seems to be broken; and tell me whether you can
imagine that peace and even joy can find its way into such a scene as this.
I tell you, my young friend, that that Christian is not bereft of
consolation, though he may be bereft of everything else: amidst all this
desolation without, there is a peace that passes understanding within: there
is a holy confidence in God, a hope sure and steadfast, which is an anchor
to the soul amidst all the storms of trouble that beat upon it.
I speak not here, blessed be God, of rare occurrences;
and I doubt not that some such cases as that which I have supposed, may have
come under your observation; that you may have seen Christian faith rising
and triumphing under a weight of calamity which seemed to you absolutely
insupportable. Surely, then, if true religion is gloomy, she imparts no such
influence in the day of adversity. She has, at least, one bright side; one
friendly, helping hand, to wipe away the tears from the eye of the mourner,
and to carry consolation to the heart, whose sorrows the world is utterly
powerless to assuage.
But there is another and still darker scene through which
we must all pass, in which true religion is, by no means, an idle attendant.
It is in that hour when all the poor helps that nature can yield us, are
failing, and the soul that has not God for its refuge, is put upon its own
naked resources, that true religion most triumphantly refutes the charge of
being gloomy. Did you ever, my young friend, see a Christian dying in
the exercise of a strong and elevated faith? Then I venture to say, you do
not in your heart believe this charge against true religion, which I am
considering. Draw near, you incredulous ones, who have been accustomed to
regard Christianity as only the damper of human joy—draw near to that scene
of mingled agony and triumph, in which a disciple of Jesus is taking his
departure for the eternal world. What now is the world any longer to him?
And what can it do for him, in this hour of his extremity? Nothing! The
chill damps of death are already upon his countenance; and the sinking,
fluttering pulse proclaims that the conflict with the destroyer has begun.
Friends may weep and break their hearts around his dying bed; though even
they can do nothing to enable him to retain his hold on life a single hour.
But amidst all the complicated natural horrors of the death scene, you may
see that Christian fearless and joyful. You may behold a lingering smile of
triumph on the countenance over which the icy hand of the king of terrors is
passing; and perhaps you may hear the praises of redeeming love—the hosannas
of an almost disenthralled spirit, trembling on the tongue which, a few
moments hence, will be motionless in death. And will you say, after all
this, that true religion is the parent of gloom? Go then to the dying bed of
the sinner, and contrast what you have just seen with what you will there
see: go and mark the phrenzied look, and listen to the frantic exclamation,
and measure, if you can, the woes that are clustering on that departing
spirit; and then say, if it is a gloomy thing to die with true religion,
what is it to die without it?
Thus I have endeavored to expose the fallacy of the plea
that true religion is gloomy, by showing that, if the charge were true, it
would amount to no apology for the neglect of it; because it is this alone
which secures our eternal happiness: but that, so far from being gloomy, it
is in itself essentially a system of consolation; and that all experience
proves that it yields support which can be derived from no other source, and
in circumstances in which everything else is completely unavailing.
And has not enough been said under this article to remove
the delusion, if it has existed in any of your minds, that true religion is
too grave a concern for the buoyant spirits of youth; that though old age,
or even manhood, may reasonably enough be brought under its claims, yet the
young have a fair right to be exempted. Believe me, my young friend, there
is nothing in true religion that renders it unsuitable to your period of
life. Its tendency is, not to repress the ardor of youth—but to give a
right direction to it; not to dry up the sources of youthful enjoyment—but
to enlarge and purify them. If you are told that, in becoming pious, you
must yield yourself a victim to melancholy, believe not the slander for a
moment. Be assured, on the other hand, that the "ways" of piety "are ways of
pleasantness, and all her paths are peace."
3. Another excuse which youth, in common with others,
often plead for the neglect of true religion, is drawn from
the infirmities and failings of
professed Christians. These are often triumphantly pointed at
as evidence that true religion does not make men the better, and as an
argument for treating it with indifference, if not with contempt.
But admit the fact that many who profess true religion
apostatize, and many others, in various ways, dishonor a Christian
profession, and all discover remains of moral corruption. Before you can use
this as an argument to disprove the truth of the gospel, you must be able
to show that the gospel has either expressly, or by implication, declared
that all who profess their faith in it are sincere Christians; in other
words, that there is no such character as a hypocrite. But the gospel has
made no such declaration: on the contrary, it was the master's own
prediction that the tares and the wheat should be found together; and it is
agreeable to the uniform tenor of the gospel, that Christians in the present
life are sanctified but in part. The alleged fact, then, of the
imperfections of professed Christians, instead of being an argument against
the truth of our true religion, furnishes strong presumptive evidence in its
favor; because it exactly verifies the declarations which the gospel has
made in respect to the character of its professors.
But this notion which I am endeavoring to expose, is as
much at war with common sense, as with scripture. Is it rational to infer
from the fact that there was a Judas in the family of our Lord, that the
disciples were all nothing better than a band of traitors? Or because there
are professors of true religion, at the present day, who prove themselves
hypocrites, are we hence to infer that there are none in whom true religion
has its genuine operation? Or that the gospel itself is only a miserable
forgery? What would you say of that kind of reasoning which should infer
that the science of medicine or law was only a piece of imposture, from the
fact that some men professing a knowledge of it were quacks or deceivers; or
which should make every individual in the profession responsible for the
ignorance or mismanagement of a few of its members?
The truth is, that common sense decides that the
character of each professed Christian is to be judged independently of every
other; and that the character of the gospel is to be estimated by its
practical tendency. Examine the gospel, then, and see whether it does not
condemn sin in every form, and in every class; and in no class more
explicitly than in those who profess to be the followers of Christ: and in
view of this fact, say whether the imputation which I am considering is not
a foul slander on our holy true religion.
And what, after all, is the amount of the fact alleged in
this charge against true religion? It is only that some of its professors
dishonor the Christian name; while it virtually admits (and certainly the
most unblushing malice against the gospel cannot deny) that a considerable
proportion of them adorn their profession by a holy life. And if the
instances of apostacy, or lamentable declension, which occur among
professing Christians, prove that true religion is all a cheat, I ask, what,
on the other hand, is proved by the fact that so large a number
persevere, and exhibit, to the close of life, a holy conversation and
deportment? The truth is, that the former of these facts proves nothing
against true religion in any way; for it is not to true religion—but to the
absence of it, that it is to be referred: whereas the latter furnishes
decisive evidence that true religion does exert a benign and controlling
influence over the heart and life.
Say now, my young friend, will you dare to plead this
apology for the neglect of true religion any longer? Is it not a reflection
upon your reason that you should have ever ventured to plead it all? That
there are false professors we admit; but your situation as a sinner is just
as alarming, as if there were not a false professor on earth. They indeed
will suffer a tremendous doom: but whatever that may be, certain it is that
the Bible denounces tribulation and anguish upon you; and if you continue in
your present course, you may find, when it is too late to profit by the
discovery, that the time you had spent in caviling about the imperfections
of professors, had been far better employed in mourning over your own sins,
and gaining an interest in the great salvation.
4. The plea of INABILITY is also urged to justify the
neglect of true religion.
I would ask the person who urges this plea, in the first
place, whether he really believes that he has done everything toward the
work of his renovation, that is in his power? Have you reflected daily
and habitually on your guilt and danger, and stedfastly resisted the
temptations of the world, and sought fellowship with God's people, and
availed yourself of every means within your power for becoming acquainted
with your true condition and character, and yielding up your heart to God?
And have you persevered in this course up to the present hour? If your
conscience does not tell you that you have actually left nothing undone
which it was in your power to do towards the work of your salvation, then
you have no right to urge the plea of inability. Nor have you a right, even
in that case, to urge it; for who has told you, if your past efforts have
been unavailing, that a persevering repetition of them may not accomplish
the great object to which they are directed. If it is ever to be urged with
even a semblance of plausibility, it must be in the last moments of your
life, after all that has been in your power has been done, and to no
purpose.
But this plea may be shown to be false in another way.
The whole duty of man is summarily comprehended in love to God. But the
reason why the sinner does not exercise this love, is not because he is
destitute of affections; for he actually bestows them on objects
innumerable, and infinitely less deserving of them than God. Nor is it
because, in the exercise of these affections, he has not all the powers of a
moral agent; for in all his moral exercises, he is conscious of perfect
freedom. He can love the world with intense affection; and he can roll sin
as a sweet morsel under his tongue: but when the most glorious being in the
universe claims the homage of his heart, he coldly refuses the offering, and
shelters himself behind the plea of inability.
And what is the obvious construction of this conduct? Why
manifestly this—that he is so bitter an enemy to holiness, and has such an
aversion to the character of God, that he cannot be reconciled to him. What
would you think if your neighbor should insult you with such an apology for
an injury he had done you? What would you think of the wretch who had burnt
down your dwelling, or the assassin who had murdered your father, that
should enter a court of justice, and plead his innocence on the ground of
his malevolence towards your family? And do you think that such an apology
as this will satisfy the great God for the contempt poured upon his
character? You surely dare not think of carrying this excuse to the
judgment, unless you have made up your mind to encounter the agonies of
perdition.
But if this plea were admitted, look at the
consequences to which it would lead. If that kind of inability which
consists in a simple aversion to the character and service of God, justifies
the sinner in opposition to his character, and in declining his service, we
arrive instantly at the absurd conclusion, that the more a man hates God,
the less guilty he is; and he who hates him with perfect hatred, is
perfectly innocent.
Moreover, this plea is not only false and
preposterous—but, in the highest degree, insincere. Could you hear the
honest language of the sinner's heart, at the very moment this plea is upon
his lips, it would be that he did not believe a word of it. For observe that
this plea proceeds upon the supposition that heaven and hell are realities:
the plea itself is nothing less than that he who offers it, is exposed every
hour to suffer the pangs of the second death; and yet that by the iron bars
of fate, he is prevented from making his escape. If your dwelling were on
fire, and some wretch had chained you down in such circumstances that you
could not escape the devouring element, would you amuse yourself with the
awful grandeur of the scene, or would you be distracted with terror at the
anticipated horrors of the death that awaited you? When we find you frantic
with agony while you are offering this plea, we may acknowledge that there
is at least some appearance of sincerity; but until then, wonder not if we
regard the plea as merely the suggestion of a spirit of rebellion.
But do you inquire whether the work of your salvation is
to depend entirely on yourself: and whether the Spirit of God has
nothing to do in bringing you to repentance? I answer, the Spirit has a most
important part to perform in this great work; insomuch that without his
agency, it would never be accomplished. But the Spirit, in his operations,
contemplates you as active; and if you remain with your arms folded, waiting
for a visit from this divine agent, you may expect to wait until you die,
and then die in your sins. The way to enlist his renewing influences in your
behalf, is to arise, and shake off your sluggishness, and plead mightily
with God to have mercy upon you.
5. The only remaining excuse for the neglect of true
religion which I shall notice, is, that
there is time enough yet. And what is it, my young
friend, for which you are so sure that you have time enough remaining? Is it
merely a momentary turning of your thoughts away from the world, or yielding
yourself for an hour to the impression of eternal things, or performing a
little lip service which you call prayer, or doing the drudgery of a few
external duties? Oh no, it is nothing like this: it is the breaking off
right hand sins: it is the mortification of evil affections: it is the
yielding up the whole heart to God: it is the consecration of the whole man
to his service and glory. And is this a work of so small moment that you can
safely put it off to another day, on the ground that there is time enough
yet for the performance of it?
Besides, let it not be forgotten that true religion
lays its demands upon all your faculties and affections, through every
moment of your existence. Have you time enough then for doing that
hereafter which devolves upon you at this moment, when each future moment
will bring with it its own appropriate duties? If all that you can possibly
do in the next hour, is demanded of you during that hour, how will you find
time then for doing the duties which devolve upon you now? Perhaps, however,
you only mean that there is time enough yet—that is, some more convenient
season than the present—for exercising that repentance of sin which is
necessary to secure your salvation.
But there are two things of which you ought to feel
absolutely assured, before you make up your mind to defer repentance to any
future period. In the first place, in order to justify such a resolution,
you must be certain of the continuance of life. You must have gained an
assurance that, notwithstanding the arrows of death are thickly flying
around you, and every day numbers its victims for the tomb; yet, amidst all
this desolation, your life, for some indefinite period, shall certainly be
preserved. And this you must know on the authority of Him in whose hand your
breath is; for He only who fixes the bounds of our habitation, is competent
to assure you of the continuance of life even for a moment.
And then again, you must be assured that God will grant
you grace to repent, and will accept your repentance at a future day. You
must be able to point to some declaration in the Bible, which makes it
certain that the Holy Spirit, whose influences you now resist, will
hereafter visit your soul again; and if he should, that you will be more
disposed to cherish his influences than you are now. But on both these
points, you cannot but know that the evidence is all against you. There is a
voice from a thousand graves, admonishing you that you cannot presume on the
continuance of life, even until tomorrow; and there is the practical
testimony of many a sinner, whose heart, by procrastination, has become as
hard as the nether millstone, that in calculating on the future efficacious
operations of the Holy Spirit, you have all probability against you.
But if you persevere in saying that there is time enough
yet, let me ask you to define the particular period which you have
allotted to the performance of this work. Is it the period of middle age?
Look then, I pray you, to the man who has actually reached that period, and
judge candidly whether his advantages for becoming pious are increased
beyond what they were in the season of youth. Is there anything in the
pressure of worldly care, in the claims of a rising family, in the numerous
and distracting demands upon time, which that period so commonly brings with
it, that is favorable to the work of repentance—a work which demands
reflection, and self-communion, and abstraction from the world. And if
middle age does not furnish better advantages than youth for becoming
pious, let me ask again, is it more likely to bring with it the
disposition? Is it in accordance with the known principles of human
nature, that a habit of any kind should grow weaker by being cherished? Or
may not the exact opposite of this be anticipated, with as much confidence
as any effect can be looked for from its appropriate cause?
And if experience be consulted, where are the individuals
to testify that familiarity with the world has strengthened the resolution
or the desire to become pious? No, my young friends, the difference between
the period to which you are looking forward, and that through which you are
now passing, is altogether in favor of the latter: If, therefore, you leave
the season of youth strangers to true religion, it is more than probable, if
your life should be spared, that you will leave the season of manhood with
the same character.
But possibly when you say that there is time enough yet,
you are looking forward to a period still more distant—to the season of
old age. I cannot forbear saying, at the outset, that it is only
possible that you may live to that period; the chances, according to the
principles of human calculation, being altogether against you. But suppose,
by a comparatively rare dispensation, your life should be protracted even to
fourscore years, I ask you what there will be in your condition then to
facilitate the great work to which I am urging you? With a mind not
improbably broken by age, or paralyzed by disease; with habits which have
been the regular growth of almost a century; with little of the power, and
still less of the disposition, to reflect closely or for a long time upon
any subject—is there not little probability that the great work of
repentance will ever be seriously thought of—still less, earnestly
attempted—least of all, actually performed? I know there is here and there a
miracle of mercy wrought in the conversion of an aged sinner; but when such
instances occur, they occasion surprise, and every Christian is ready to
exclaim, "What has God wrought!" Dare not, my young friend, to stake your
immortal interests on such a fearful uncertainty!
But I am not certain that there are none of you, who, in
pleading that there is time enough yet, may not be secretly flattering
yourselves with the hope of a death-bed repentance. But do you really think
that you shall be able to meet and answer the claims which God makes upon
you, by the convulsive efforts of your last hour? Who then has told you
that, after you have spent a life of rebellion against God, he will grant
you grace to repent, while the last moments of your probation are on the
wing? Or where has God promised that he will listen to that cry for mercy
which is prompted by the terrors of an opening retribution? Or how do you
know that you may not, like multitudes of others, die in a state of
spiritual insensibility, being actually abandoned of God to a reprobate
mind? Or what evidence have you that your last sickness may not be the
sickness of a moment, and your passage into eternity in the twinkling of an
eye? Or if it should be protracted, who can tell but that you may be given
up to the wild horrors of delirium, and be utterly insensible to your
condition, until death has actually done its work? I say nothing in respect
to particular instances of death-bed repentance; but in general, there is
everything to show that little or no dependence is to be placed upon them.
Oh beware how you defer the concerns of true religion until your closing
hour!
What then, my young friends, is the great practical
inference from all that has been said under this article, and from the
general tenor of this discourse? It is this: "Behold now"—now in the days
of your youth—"is the accepted time." We have examined the excuses with
which you are prone to put off true religion, and have shown you that they
amount to nothing. Dismiss not, I entreat you, the practical contemplation
of this subject, until the effect of it has been to make you realize that
there is no time to be lost in securing your immortal interests; to prepare
you to ask with agonizing earnestness, the momentous question, "What must I
do to be saved?"