Christ is the star of hope. I would like to have my death-bed under that star—I would like to have my eye on that star, so I could be assured of the morning. Then the dash of the surf on the sea of death would only be the billowing up of the promise, “When thou passest through the waters I will be with thee, and the rivers, they shall not overflow thee.” All other lights will fail, the light that falls from the scroll of fame, the light that flashes from the gem in the beautiful apparel, the light that flames from the burning lamps of a banquet—but this light bums on and bums on.
Paul kept his eye on that star until he could say, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.” Edward Payson kept his eye on that star until he could say, “The breezes of heaven fan me.” John Tennant kept his eye on that star until he could say, “Welcome, sweet Lord Jesus, welcome, eternity.” No other star ever pointed a mariner into so safe a harbor. No other star ever sunk its silver anchor so deep into the waters.—TALMAGE.
