'To-day, dear friends, I speak to you of yet another tug of war. The
place is the same, Runswick Bay and our village green, but the weight to
be drawn is not a boat, not a handkerchief; the weight is _a human
soul._ It is your soul, my friend, your immortal soul; _you_ are
the one who is being drawn.
'And who are the pullers? Oh, how many they are! I myself have my hands
on the rope. God only knows how hard I am pulling, striving with all my
might, if possible to draw you, my friend, to Christ. But there are
other hands on the rope besides mine. Your conscience pulls, your good
old mother pulls, your little child pulls, your Christian mate pulls;
each sermon you hear, each Bible class you attend, each hymn you sing,
each prayer uttered in your presence, each striving of the Spirit, each
God-given yearning after better things, each storm you come through,
each danger you escape, each sickness in your family, each death in your
home, each deliverance granted you, gives you a pull God-ward,
Christ-ward, heaven-ward.
'Yet, oh, my dear friend, you know, as clearly as you know that you are
sitting there, that, so far, Christ's pullers are drawing in vain.
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