The PyroManiacs devote some space each weekend to highlights from the lifetime of works from the Prince of Preachers, Charles Haddon Spurgeon. The following excerpt is from The Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit, volume 15, sermon number 876, "The unwearied runner.""Scores of timid believers creep towards heaven as the snail crept into the ark, and yet, being chosen of God in Christ Jesus, they are safe."
What scenery it is through which the Christian man walks—the towering mountains of predestination, the great sea of providence, the mighty cliffs of divine promise, the green fields of divine grace, the river that makes glad the city of God—oh, what scenery surrounds the Christian, and what fresh discoveries he makes at every step!
The Bible is always a new book. If you want a novel, read your Bible; it is always new; there is not a stale page in the word of God; it is just as fresh as though the ink were not yet dry, but had flowed to-day from the pen of inspiration.
There have been poets whose sayings startled all England when first their verses were thrown broadcast over the land, but nobody reads their writings now; yet the pages that were written by David and by Paul are glowing with the radiant glory which was upon them when long ago the Holy Spirit spake by them.
As we advance in the King’s highway of righteousness, there are such fresh things in the Christian’s experience, and in Christian truth, that we run and are not weary. Above all, there is one fact that keeps the Christian from weariness, namely, that he looks to the end, to the recompense of the reward. He longs for the resurrection, and he hears the voice that crieth, “Therefore, be ye steadfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.”
When travelers sail near to certain spice-islands, they tell their nearness to the gardens of perfume by the odours wafted to them on the winds; even so: as the Christian runner advances nearer to heaven, he enjoys new delights such as celestial spirits rejoice to experience.
In proportion as he draws nearer and nearer, the perfume from the many mansions, from the garments of Christ who dwelleth there, and whose garments smell of myrrh, and aloes, and cassia—that perfume, I say, comes to him, and it quickens his pace.
The body may be waxing feeble, but the soul is growing strong. The tabernacle may be falling, but the sacred priestly soul within carries on its devotion with greater zest; so, when you would think that the pilgrim’s soul must faint, he grows vigorous; when he sinks to the earth, he stretches out his hand and grasps his crown.
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