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SOLDIERS' TRACT ASSOCIATION*, ) No. 68, 
 
 Richmond, Va. $ 
 
 
 THE CONTRAST, 
 
 By Rev. L. B. Mad ison, of the Western Va. Conference. 
 
 ( — L ' 
 
 • In the following pages, I address myself particularly to the 
 soldiers of the Southern armies; and' impelled by an earnest 
 desire to do them good, I beg a careful perusal of them by 
 every one into whose hands this little'tract may fall. I know 
 that there are thousands of our^soldiers who are always glad 
 to receive tracts, and will read and prize them highly, while I 
 regret, to say that there are some who will accept them when 
 offered by the chaplain or colporteur, but often throw them 
 aside without even taking a glance at their contents. This 
 ought not to be so. You ought, my friends, to read them all 
 carefully, as you would a letter from home. They are mes- 
 sages of love sent to you by your friends. They freely con- 
 tribute of their means to send these little angels of mercy to 
 you, freighted with the glad tidings of salvation, and you 
 ought to appreciate their kindness and heed the admonitions 
 thus given you. I am happy, however, to say, that there are 
 comparatively few, so far as my observation extends, who do 
 not appreciate this kindness on the part of their friends. 
 
 Your situation now is very different to what it was a short 
 time ago. You were then in the midst of kind and affection- 
 ate friends. A mother's smiles, a sister's affection or a wife's 
 devotkvi filled yor.r breast with the happiest emotions, and 
 your life was comparatively a life of comfort and happiness; 
 but now no companions but your comrades in arms greet you. 
 Yon are cut aS frtfna all the aggrvdatitos tf tftost and happitfr 
 I 
 
2 The Contrast. 
 
 days, and are denied those enjoyments to which you were ac- 
 customed before the war. The contrast is any thing but a 
 pleasant one, and I deeply sympathize with you, and with you 
 sigh for a return of peace, that we may all again enjoy that 
 delightful society of home-friends of which we have been de- 
 prived so long. 
 
 But this is not the contrast which' I wish to bring before 
 you for your consideration, striking and painful as it may be; 
 and involving as much interest as it does, it is not of so great- 
 importance as other matters to whrch I wish to call your at- 
 tention. 
 
 I intend to notice something of the life of the Christian, 
 and of the sinner. A most ^striking and powerful contrast 
 may be seen here. Indeed, there are no two points of resem- 
 blance between them in the whole course of life. They are 
 diametrically opposed to each other." Friendship with the 
 world or with sin is enmity against God; and once enliste'd 
 under the banner of King Immanuel, we must forever con- 
 tend against the powers of sin and darkness. There is no 
 medium or half way ground in the matter — we are either on 
 the one side or the other. 
 
 The Christian is the child of God. u His delight is in the 
 law of the Lord, and in* his law doth he meditate day and 
 night." He is devoted wholly to the service of God." He 
 denies himself all ungodliness, and lives soberly and right- 
 eously in this present world." In trouble and affliction he 
 looks upward to God, and feels a calm, holy resignation to the 
 will of God. He is patient under trials, and murmurs not at 
 any dispensation of Providence 
 
 Th.6 sinner io a child of the devil. He delights in sin. 
 He is opposed to the simple plan of sajvation as taught in the 
 gospel of our Lord Jeeus Christ. He rises up in the morning 
 to gin against God, and all tha. day long "ha roll* ein as a' 
 
- 
 
 The Contrast. U? 8 
 
 sweet morsel under bis tongue." He thinks not of God but 
 to blaspheme his name, nor of those thiugs which relate to 
 his eternal destiny. He listens to the voice of the tempter, 
 and heeds the whisperings of his own evil heart, enticing him 
 on in the way of sin, nor regards the admonitions of friends, 
 nor the "still, small voice" within his own breast. He is en- 
 raptured, infatuated by the syren song of pleasure that is fast 
 lulling him into an awful security which must end in his eter- 
 nal ruin. 
 
 He may be an outbreaking sinner, regarding not even the 
 moral law ; he may revel in drunkenness and profanity ; he 
 may be found at the gaming table, risking the earnings of 
 months upon the turning of a card; and he may visit places 
 more fiendish and wicked, nearer akin to hell, if possible, than 
 ■ those we have mentioned. Sin leads a man to many places 
 and by many ways that would perhaps at one time have caused 
 the blush of shame to mantle his features. But you say that 
 you do not belong to this class of sinners, and hurl back the 
 insinuation with scorn and indignation. You do respect the 
 moral law; you are not guilty of the sin of profanity; you 
 never get drunk nor visit scenes of disorder and hellish de- 
 bauchery — never even so much as play card? for amusement — 
 and upon the whole you thinl£ you are not so great a sinner 
 after all, and are inclined to think that there is more ado 
 made about religion than is necessary. 
 
 Stop, my friend, if you please — not so fast. I did not say 
 that all sinners would go to such lengths in sin. I know that 
 there are many who lay greal claim to morality and make 
 great noise about it, expecting it to work great things for 
 them, but even they are in "the gall of bitterness and the 
 bonds of iniquity ;" and while the contrast with the Chris- 
 tian's. life may not be so striking and not so easily seen by the 
 casual, uninterested^ observer, yet a very great contrast cer- 
 
 • r-. rt a c% C\ Ck 
 
4 * The Contrast. 
 
 taiuly exists and is easily seen by unfolding the objects, aims 
 and motives by which each is respectively impelled. 
 
 You, friend moralist, are depending upon your own right" 
 eousness, your deeds of benevolence, your honesty, your 
 strictly upright and moral course of life; but while the Chris- 
 tian possesses all of these as "well as you, and to a higher de- 
 gree, yet he does not depend on them for salvation. He looks , 
 only to "the blood of Christ, which cleanseth from all sin;" 
 and throwing all his good works aside, hides behind Mount 
 Calvary and holds up the cross, " all stained with hallowed 
 blood," and pleads the merits of that atonement alone. 
 
 Your heart is yet unsubdued. You are in possession of the 
 carnal mind, which is "enmity against God," as the apostle 
 plainly declares. You are not born again, and our Saviour 
 explicitly says, "ye must be born again." You have none of 
 the mind that was in Christ, and consequently are none of his. 
 The heart of the Christian is made anew. He constantly 
 strives to "grow in grace," and to be nearer and more like 
 his blessad Lord and Master. 
 
 And again — examine your heart and motives, and see if 
 you are not impelled more in your course of life by temporal 
 considerations, than by any desire to please God and glorify 
 his name. Now be candid and honest with yourself in this 
 examination. I wish to probe down to the bottom of your 
 heart, and if possible lay open its blackness, corruption and 
 deceit to you, that you may see what sort of a creature you 
 really are. Is it really through respect to the Divine require- 
 ments that causes' your morality and prevents your going to 
 greater lengths in sin ? or is it not rather through respect for 
 yourself? You know that your reputation is at stake, and 
 that the vile wretch who is guilty of the abominations men- 
 tioned above loses the respect of the good and the wise, and 
 is thrown a miserable outcast from society. You could not 
 
The Contrast 5 
 
 succeed in your plans, as well ; your affairs would not prosper 
 so well; and- you would in all probability become poor and 
 troubles would increase. I am inclined to the belief that the 
 glory of God is very little consulted by the moralist who ad- 
 heres so steadfastly to his good works, and pleads them as 
 being a sufficient, ground to expect the ultimate favor of God 
 and a homo in Heaven. 
 
 The Christian's first and highest aim is to glorify God. He 
 labors for the advancement of His kingdom in the earth, and- 
 u strives to let his light so shine before men, that they, seeing 
 his good works, may glorify his Father in Heaven." If in an 
 evil hour he listens for a moment to the voice of the tempter 
 and does something which may bring reproach upon the cause 
 of Christ, he is filled with "shame and remorse as soon as he 
 reflects upon what he has done — not so much through fear of 
 punishment as the knowledge of having displeased God. 
 
 When the moralist commits some sin which may alike dis- 
 honor God and himself, he is concerned, not because he has 
 ■offended God, but because he has lowered himself in the esti- 
 mation of other men, whose good opinion he wished to main- 
 tain. It cannot be otherwise. "The heart of man is deceit- 
 ful above all things, and desperately wicked ;" and no man 
 can know it until the reflection of the light of Divine grace 
 shines in upon it and reveals it to him in its deceit and wick- 
 edness. The Christian is afraid to trust that wicked and de- 
 ceitful heart of his, and ever seeks the guidance of God's 
 Spirit. 
 
 The moralist glories in his own strength, "and thinks he is 
 able within himself to resist temptation, and consequently 
 seeks no help from God, nor acknowledges his dependence on 
 Him. He does not believe that he has a wicked and deceitful 
 heart, the declarations of Divine truth to the contrary, not- 
 withstanding. When told of it, he denies it, and immedi- 
 
6 The Contrail, 
 
 ately begins to recount his many- virtues. " I am not as 
 other men are — unjust, extortioners," &c, but render to 
 every man his dues, give of my means to relieve the dis- 
 tressed, and contribute liberally to the support of the gospel, 
 &c. Blinded by sin, he thinks there is great. virtue in these 
 things, which " are but filthy rags." What infatuation! 
 what madness, to trust in that which has no merit, and which 
 cannot give us the least favor in the sight of (3-od 1% " that 
 men were wise ; that they understood this ; that they would 
 consider their latter end !" • ■ 
 
 The Christian enjoys peace of mind. Pie is not haunted 
 by the fear of death, but rather feels that " to die is gain." 
 He looks forward to death as a relief from the many troubles 
 and anxieties which he endures here, and anticipates a glorious 
 entrance into the city of the "new Jerusalem ana* an eternity 
 of bliss. 
 
 The sinner knows not peace. He is constantly harassed 
 with the fear of death. In his most joyful and pleasant 
 hours, the thought of the. grim monster arises like some 
 ghastly spectre, and fills his mind with fearful forebodings. 
 He does not think of Heaven as his home. He knows that 
 he can never enter there in his sins, and he loves them too 
 well to give them up. He feels that he has no right to expect 
 any thing but the displeasure of God, and consequently pun- 
 ishment for his waywardness and sin. Such thoughts as these 
 deprive the soul of ease, and fill the breast with bitter stings. 
 But perhaps the most striking contrast is shown on the death- 
 bed. There is no dissembling there. Every one feels then 
 that death and the judgment are stern realities, and the Chris- 
 tian is prepared to meet them. It has been said that 
 
 "The chamber where the good man meets his fate 
 Is privileged beyond the common walks of life." 
 
Hhe Contrast. 7 
 
 And how true it is ! Did you ever see a Christian die? Did 
 you notice the heavenly gleam on his countenance? And 
 even when the heart had ceased its pulsations, and the tongue 
 was motionless, and the film of death had forever closed over 
 the eye, and the hands lay still, and the limbs moved not, and 
 a still, awful silence reigned around — the silence of the death- 
 chamber — did you notice that au almost angelic smile lingered 
 over the marble features, as if the cold and lifeless clay was 
 rejoicing with the freed spirit in the paradise of God? 
 
 One evening last winter I was asked to go into one of the 
 wards in Chimborazo hospital, where I have been laboring for 
 several months, to see some young men who desired Christian 
 counsel and prayers. In the ward there were several wounded 
 and several sick soldiers, whom I had visited before, and it 
 was some of these who wanted to see me now. As soon as I 
 entered the ward, I was attracted by the -most lamentable 
 cries, proceeding from a young man suffering from gangrene, 
 the result of a wound in his foot. " O my mother, my dear 
 mother, my dear sister, if I could only see you again !" and 
 such exclamations as these were made by him in the most 
 touching manner, denoting the greatest anxiety. I immedi- 
 ately went to his side and spoke to hinj as kindly and sooth- 
 ingly as possible, and succeeded in -getting his mind partially 
 composed, when he readily entered into conversation with me. 
 Upon asking him a few questions, I found that he did not ex- 
 pect to recover; and "0!" said he, "I would so love to see 
 my dear mother and sister before I die!" ".Yes," I replied;' 
 "but knowing that it is impossible under the circumstances, 
 you ought not to think about it so much, and try to be as 
 calm and composed as possible, as the. excitement makes you 
 worse.'* "It is but human nature, sir," said he, "and I can- 
 not help it." Pretty soon I introduced the subject of reli- 
 gion, and asked him how he felt on that subject. " My mind 
 
8 The Contrast. 
 
 is quiet on that subject," he answered, "and I am not afraid 
 to die." After talking further With him, and finding that his 
 faith was well founded, he being so ill I thought it best at 
 once to obtain from him his father's address. This done, I 
 asked him if he had any message to send to his parents and. 
 sisters. "Yes sir/' said he; "tell them that my last mo- 
 ments were spent in perfect peace." I visited him frequently 
 after this, and always" found him in the enjoyment of perfect 
 peace. Not a fear or shadow of doubt of his acceptance with 
 the Beloved ever seemed to cross his mind. Sometimes I 
 would ask him, ".Have you no fears of death?" when his in. 
 variable reply was, "None at all, none at all." Thus brightly 
 burned his lamp to the last, reflecting the very light and glory 
 'of a future blissful immortality, and impressing us all forcibly 
 with the beauties of that religion that has such comfort in it 
 for its dying votaries. 
 
 This is but a feeble picture of the dying Christian. There 
 is a sublimity not unmixed - with awe investing such a scene, 
 which is- beyond the power of words to describe. But con- 
 trast this picture with the following, and tell me which of the 
 young men had shown the greatest wisdom : 
 
 In the parlor of the magnificent liotel at the White Sul- 
 phur Springs, Virginia, used at the time of which I speak as 
 a hospital for the armies of Western Virginia, lay a young 
 man, pale, emaciated, feeble, suffering from the ravages of 
 typhoid fever, and fast sinking into the cold embrace of death, 
 without a hope to cheer him through the thick gloom that 
 wrapped him, and was fast hiding this world forever from his 
 sight'. As thoughts of eternity came into his mind, and 
 knowing that be must soon enter upon its dread reality, he 
 was deeply anxious for his safety, and requested that I*should 
 come to see him. Upon reaching his bed-side, he said, "I 
 have sent for you to see if you could give me. any instrac- 
 
The Contrast. 9 
 
 tion in the way to be saved. I have but a few hours longer to 
 live, and I want to goto Heaven." He tolcl me that lie had 
 been thinking of preparation for death for some time past, but 
 had not been able to find peace, having had no instruction, 
 and not understanding fully the plan of salvation. I endea- 
 vored to point him to the " Lamb of God, that taketh away 
 the sin of the world/' gave him all the instruction I could, 
 and commended him to God in prayer. He was deeply ear- 
 nest, and did not want me to leave him; but my business 
 prevented my remaining constantly with him, so I visited him 
 at short intervals during the afternoon and evening, giving 
 him all the instruction and encouragement in my power, and 
 prayed with him several times. At my last visit, about nine 
 o'clock at night, I saw that he was rapidly sinking, and I 
 asked his father's post-office, and also if he had any message 
 to send home. " I would like," said he, u if I knew that I 
 could be saved, for you to tell them to meet- me in Heaven. 
 My mother and grandmother and some little brothers and sis- 
 ters have gone before, and I want to meet them there;" and 
 sometimes he would ask, " Do you think it is too late?" In 
 a few hours his spirit was in the presence of his God. 
 
 What a difference in these two deaths ! Thi* young man 
 may have found peace in his last moments, and I sincerely 
 hope did; but to |ay the least, there is much uncertainty in 
 such a death. 
 
 What a difference in the messages sent, home ! One so full 
 of comfort and strong confidence — the other filled with doubt 
 and uncertainty. The one was the language of the dying 
 Christian — the other of one who had devoted his life to the 
 pleasures of earth. While the one had* been in health striv- 
 ing " to enter in at the strait gate," the other labored only 
 "for the meat'that perisheth." -Sinner, which proved in the 
 end the-wisest course? Let your own heart answer. 
 
 • 
 
10 The Contrast. 
 
 Ah, my friend, the death-bed of the Christian presents a 
 powerful contrast when compared with that of the sinner. I 
 have seen the sinner raviDg and dying, filled with despair, 
 without the least shadow of hope; but I preferred to give you 
 the picture of the death of the sinner in the most favorable 
 light possible. The Christian " leans his head on Jesus' 
 breast, ancf breathes life out sweetly there;'' and wo, all ex- 
 claim : v 
 
 How blest the righteous when he dies! 
 
 When sinks a weary soul to rest, 
 How mildly beam the closing eyes ! 
 
 How gently heaves th' expiring breast ! 
 
 So fades the summer cloud away ; 
 
 So sinks the gale when storms are o'er; 
 
 So gently shuts the eye of day ; 
 So dies a wave along the shore. 
 While 
 
 Scenes of horror and of dread- 
 Await the sinner's dying bed; 
 
 Death's terrors all appear in sight, 
 
 - Presages of eternal night. 
 
 His sins in dreadful order rise, 
 
 And fill his soul with sad surprise ; • 
 
 Mount Sinai's thunders stun his ears, 
 And not one ray of hope appears. 
 
 Tormenting pangs distract his breast; 
 
 Where'er he turns he finds no rest;' 
 Death strikes the blow — he groans and cries — 
 
 And in despair and horror dies. 
 
 But the contrast does not stop here— it reaches beyond the 
 grave. We may not lift the vail that hides futurity from our 
 eyes, and see the full bliss of the beatified saints; or upon 
 the other hand gaze upon the writhings of those miserable 
 lost sinners that people the regions of endless wo — nor are we 
 
The Contrast. 11 
 
 able to conceive' the bliss, the glory, the felicity that the saints 
 in light enjoy in " our Father's house;" and it is equally im- 
 possible for us to imagine all the horrors that seize upon the 
 guilty soul when it has received the sentence of eternal ban- 
 ishment from the presence of God — yet revelation teaches us 
 enough for us to know, in order to make Heaven more desira- 
 ble than all else besides, and to cause us to try to shun hell. 
 
 The^ase of the rich man and. Lazarus is in itself sufficient 
 to show us something of the " wide extremes 'twixt heaven 
 and Jiell." Widely different in their manner of life, in death 
 and even in burial, they still remain separated in eternity. 
 "Lazarus died and was carried by angels into Abraham's 
 bosom," there-to "banquet foucver on celestial bread." The 
 rich man also died, and alas ! in hell he lifted up his eyes, and 
 seeing Abraham afar off with Lazarus in his bosom, he cried 
 and said, "Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send 
 Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and 
 cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame." What a 
 difference in their conditions I A short time ago, a rich man 
 "faring sumptuously every day," now. too poor to L.uy a drop 
 of water. A short time ago he probably would havo dis- 
 dained to speak to the beggar at his gate, now begging a 
 favor from him, and apparently how small a favor! Who of 
 us would not give even a cup of water to one in distress? 
 But this favor cannot be granted. He must suffer in the hor- 
 rid flames, and Lazarus no longer a beggar, but rich in eter- 
 nal glory. What a change, too, for him ! how glorious ! how 
 sublime ! 
 
 And this is not all — rifc is an eternal contrast. The happi- 
 ness of Lazarus mu6t increase to all eternity, and the misery 
 of poor Dives will not decrease while eternal ages roll on. 
 AUs for any one who chooses this w^rld for bis portion azrd 
 rfcj'&cte tne MVe&d gofepel 1 
 
12 The Contrast. 
 
 Now, dear reader, you have looked upon the two pictures, 
 but poorly portrayed — for the half has not been told you — 
 and it only remains for you to decide which you will choose 
 as your ground of acfion. • You must figure in one or the 
 other. You must live the life of the Christian, die the death 
 of the Christian, and enjoy the heaven of -the Christian; Or 
 else you must live the life of the sinner, die the death of the 
 sinner, and endure the hell of the sinner ! Choose between 
 the two. You ha've life and death before you. " Choose ye 
 this day whom you will serve." 
 
 In-what confusion earth appears- — 
 . God's dearest children bathed in tears! 
 While they who heaven itself deride 
 Riot in luxury and pride. 
 
 But patient let my soul attend, 
 And, ere 1 censure, view the end: 
 That end how different t — who can tell 
 The wide extremes of heaven and hell ? 
 
 See the red flames around him twine 
 Who did iu gold and purple shine ; 
 Nor can his tongue one drop obtain 
 T allay the scorching of his pain. 
 
 While round the saint, so poor below, # 
 Full rivers of salvation flow; 
 On Abrah'm's breast he leans his head, 
 And banquets on celestial bread. 
 
 Jesus, my Saviour, let mo share 
 The meanest of thy servants' fare: 
 
 : &t last &p£roach to 'aate 
 The blessings of thy marriage feast. 
 
 Soldiers' Trait Afsccistioc, H. B. Churchj 9csth. 
 
Hollinger Corp. 
 P H8.5