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Tract Text:
When I was a boy at school I saw a sight I never can forget — a man tied to a cart and dragged before the people’s eyes through the streets of my native town, his back torn and bleeding from the last. It was a shameful punishment. For many offences? No, for one offence. Did any of the townsmen offer to divide the lashes with him? No, he who committed the offence bore the penalty all alone. It was the penalty of a changing human law, for it was the last instance of its infliction.
When I was a student at the University I saw another sight I can never forget — a man brought out to die. His arms were pinioned, his face was already as pale as death. Thousands of eager eyes were upon him as he came up from the jail in sight. Did any man ask to die in his place? Did any friend come and loose the rope and say, “Put it around my neck. I’ll die instead”? No, he underwent the sentence of the law. For many offences? No, for one offence. He had stolen a money parcel from a stage coach. He broke the law at one point and died for it. It was the penalty of a changing human law in this case also; it was the last instance of capital punishment being inflicted for that offence.
I saw another sight — it matters not when — myself a sinner, standing on the brink of ruin, deserving nothing but hell. For one sin? No, for many, many sins committed against the unchanging laws of God. But this time, I looked and saw Jesus my Substitute, scourged in my stead, and dying on the cross for me. I looked, and wept, and was forgiven. And it seemed to me to be my duty to tell you of that Saviour to see if you will not also “look and live.”
And how simple it all becomes when God opens the eyes. A friend of mine who lately came from Paris, told me of an English groom there, a very careless old man, who had during a severe illness been made to feel that he was a sinner. He dared not die as he was. The preacher he sent for got tired of visiting him, having told him all he knew of the way of salvation. But one Sunday afternoon the groom’s daughter pleaded once more saying, “You must come, sir; I cannot see my father again without you.” “I can tell him nothing new,” said the preacher, “but I may take the sermon I have been preaching and read it to him.” The dying man lay as before in anguish, thinking of his sins, and where they must carry him. “My friend, I have come to read you the sermon I have just preached. First, I shall tell you the text: He was wounded for our transgressions. Now I shall read. “Hold!” said the dying man, “I have it. Read no more. He was wounded for MY transgressions.” Soon after he died rejoicing in Christ.
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