so
roughly treat Him upon whom everything depends.

I do not know how you will get away from this subject. You see that
you are sold out, and that Christ wants to buy you back. There are
three persons who come after you to-night: God the Father, God the
Son, and God the Holy Ghost. They unite their three omnipotences in
one movement for your salvation. You will not take up arms against the
Triune God, will you? Is there enough muscle in your arm for such a
combat? By the highest throne in heaven, and by the deepest chasm in
hell, I beg you look out. Unless you allow Christ to carry away your
sins, they will carry you away. Unless you allow Christ to lift you
up, they will drag you down. There is only one hope for you, and that
is the blood. Christ, the sin-offering, bearing your transgressions.
Christ, the surety, paying your debts. Christ, the divine Cyrus,
loosening your Babylonish captivity.

Would you not like to be free? Here is the price of your
liberation--not money, but blood. I tremble from head to foot, not
because I fear your presence, for I am used to that, but because I
fear that you will miss your chance for immortal rescue, and die. This
is the alternative divinely put: "He that believeth on the Son shall
have everlasting life; and he that believeth not on the Son shall not
see life, but the wrath of God abideth on him." In the last day, if
you now reject Christ, every drop of that sacrificial blood, instead
of pleading for your release as it would have pleaded if you had
repented, will plead against you. It will seem to say: "They refused
the ransom; they chose to die; let them die; they must die. Down with
them to the weeping and the wailing. Depart! go away from me. You
would not have me, now I will not have you. Sold out for eternity."

O Lord God of the judgment day! avert that calamity! Let us see the
quick flash of the cimeter that slays the sin but saves the sinner.
Strike, omnipotent God, for the soul's deliverance! Beat, O eternal
sea! with all thy waves against the barren beach of that rocky soul,
and make it tremble. Oh! the oppressiveness of the hour, the minute,
the second, on which the soul's destiny quivers, and this is that
hour, that minute, that second!

I wonder what proportion of this audience will be saved? What
proportion will be lost? When the "Schiller" went down, out of three
hundred and eighty people only forty were saved. When the "Ville du
Havre" went down, out of three h