The Spirit Quenched – Dwight Lyman Moody

A few months ago in New York a physician called upon a young man who was ill. He sat for a little by the bedside examining his patient, and then he honestly told him the sad intelligence that he had but a short time to live. The young man was astonished; he did not expect it would come to that so soon. He forgot that death comes “in such an hour as ye think not.” At length he looked up in the face of the doctor and, with a most despairing countenance, repeated the expression: “I have missed it — at last.” “What have you missed?” inquired the tender-hearted, sympathizing physician. “I have missed it — at last,” again the young man replied. The doctor, not in the least comprehending what the poor young man meant, said: “My dear young man, will you be so good as to tell me what you —?” He instantly interrupted, saying: “Oh! doctor, it is a sad story — a sad — sad story that I have to tell. But I have missed it.” “Missed what?” “Doctor, I have missed the salvation of my soul.” “Oh! say not so. It is not so. Do you remember the thief on the cross?” “Yes, I remember the thief on the cross. And I remember that he never said to the Holy Spirit — Go Thy way. But I did. And now He is saying to me: Go your way.” He lay gasping awhile, and looking up with a vacant, staring eye, he said: “I was awakened and was anxious about my soul a little time ago. But I did not want religion then. Something seemed to say to me, Don’t postpone it. I knew I ought not to do it. I knew I was a great sinner, and needed a Saviour. I resolved, however, to dismiss the subject for the present; yet I could not get my own consent to do it until I had promised that I would take it up again at a time not remote, and more favourable. I bargained away, insulted and grieved the Holy Spirit. I never thought of coming to this. I meant to have religion, and make my salvation sure; and now I have missed it — at last.” “You remember,” said the doctor, “that there were some who came at the eleventh hour.” “My eleventh hour,” he rejoined, “was when I had that call of the Spirit; I have had none since — shall not have. I am given over to be lost.” “Not lost,” said the doctor; “you may yet be saved.” “No, not saved — never! He tells me I may go my way now; I know it — I feel it here,” laying his hand upon his heart. Then he burst out in despairing agony: “Oh, I have missed it! I have sold my soul for nothing — a feather — a straw; undone forever!” This was said with such unutterable, indescribable despondency, that no words were said in reply. After lying a few moments, he raised his head, and, looking all around the rooms as if for some desired object, turning his eyes in every direction, then burying his face in the pillow, he again exclaimed, in agony and horror: “Oh, I have missed it at last!” and he died.

(D. L. Moody.)