Better is the end.
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“Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof.” — Ecclesiastes 7:8
Look at David’s Lord and Master; see His beginning. He was despised and
rejected of men; a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. Would you
see the end? He sits at His Father’s right hand, expecting until His enemies
be made his footstool. “As He is, so are we also in this world.” You must
bear the cross, or you shall never wear the crown; you must wade through
the mire, or you shall never walk the golden pavement. Cheer up, then,
poor Christian. “Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof.”
See that creeping worm, how contemptible its appearance! It is the
beginning of a thing. Mark that insect with gorgeous wings, playing in the
sunbeams, sipping at the flower bells, full of happiness and life; that is the
end thereof. That caterpillar is yourself, until you are wrapped up in the
chrysalis of death; but when Christ shall appear you shall be like Him, for
you shall see Him as He is. Be content to be like Him, a worm and no man,
that like Him you may be satisfied when you wake up in His likeness.
That rough-looking diamond is put upon the wheel of the lapidary. He
cuts it on all sides. It loses much — much that seemed costly to itself. The
king is crowned; the diadem is put upon the monarch’s head with
trumpet’s joyful sound. A glittering ray flashes from that coronet, and it
beams from that very diamond which was just now so sorely vexed by the
lapidary. You may venture to compare yourself to such a diamond, for
you are one of God’s people; and this is the time of the cutting process.
Let faith and patience have their perfect work, for in the day when the
crown shall be set upon the head of the King, Eternal, Immortal, Invisible,
one ray of glory shall stream from you. “They shall be Mine,” saith the
Lord, “in the day when I make up My jewels.” “Better is the end of a
thing than the beginning thereof.”
“Knowest thou not that it will be bitterness in the latter end?” — 2 Samuel 2:26
If, O my reader! thou art merely a professor, and not a possessor of the
faith that is in Christ Jesus, the following lines are a true ketch of thine
end.
You are a respectable attendant at a place of worship; you go because
others go, not because your heart is right with God. This is your beginning.
I will suppose that for the next twenty or thirty years you will be spared
to go on as you do now, professing religion by an outward attendance
upon the means of grace, but having no heart in the matter. Tread softly,
for I must show you the deathbed of such a one as yourself. Let us gaze
upon him gently. A clammy sweat is on his brow, and he wakes up crying,
“O God, it is hard to die. Did you send for my minister?” “Yes, he is
coming.” The minister comes. “Sir, I fear that I am dying!” “Have you any
hope?” “I cannot say that I have. I fear to stand before my God; oh! pray
for me.” The prayer is offered for him with sincere earnestness, and the
way of salvation is for the ten-thousandth time put before him, but before
he has grasped the rope, I see him sink. I may put my finger upon those
cold eyelids, for they will never see anything here again. But where is the
man, and where are the man’s true eyes? It is written, “In hell he lifted up
his eyes, being in torment.” Ah! why did he not lift up his eyes before?
Because he was so accustomed to hear the gospel that his soul slept under
it. Alas! if you should lift up your eyes there, how bitter will be your
wailings. Let the Saviour’s own words reveal the woe: “Father Abraham,
send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my
tongue, for I am tormented in this flame.” There is a frightful meaning in
those words. May you never have to spell it out by the red light of
Jehovah’s wrath!
