Page:Letters of Life.djvu/187

Rh old who stood unmoved amid the ruins of their altars, content to die for the faith they had espoused. Wickliffe, John Huss, and Jerome of Prague bore perilous testimony to the truth. Luther, the rugged Atlas of Germany, stood unmoved by persecution—a "bush burning, yet not consumed."

"The people answered not a word." Why? Was there nothing to say? Was not the appeal forcible? And is it not much more so now, through the eloquence of Him who in His own person "tasted death for every man"? Yet here is the smile of pleasure, and the sun of prosperity, and the blandishments of the things that "perish in the using," and for their sake we turn away from the voice of Him that "speaketh from heaven."

Man, though often deceived by the objects with which he deals, finds nothing more deceitful than his own heart. Ere he plunges deeply in guilt, he is prone to pause, and resolve not to wander long or wide in paths that are forbidden. Perhaps he proposes that his first step over the boundary of virtue shall be the last. Perhaps he sees a path almost parallel to it, but slightly diverging. He enters it, and they never again reunite. Their goals are as diverse as the groans of hell and the melodies of heaven.

Oh, soul of mine! see the end of this "halting between two opinions." Dost thou hesitate whether to choose the God of all grace and consolation, or him