During my meeting in Augusta Ga., a few years ago, at an hour like this, when I had reached the last service of the series and was just closing it, an old minister, one of the pastors, stepped to the front and said, “Brother Jones, before you pronounce the benediction, let me say a word.” I said: “Go on, my brother; you always have the right of way in my meetings.” The venerable old preacher looked like a veritable prophet of God as he stood before the great audience.
He threw his forefinger out over the audience three times before he spoke, and then in the deepest emotion he said: “My brethren, this scene tonight reminds me of the scene in my boyhood days. My father’s home was on the beach, and every morning when I came out on the porch to wash my face and hands my eyes swept the beach. One morning, as I looked up and down the beach, I saw that the storm of the night before had driven ashore an old ship that had been unloaded and deserted. I picked up my little cap and ran down to the beach and stood beside the old ship, as it lay careened on one side, high and dry on the sand. I looked upon it with boyish sympathy, and said: ‘Poor old ship, I wonder if you will ever go out to sea again?’
“I waited anxiously for the spring tide. As the waters came out farther and farther, and higher and higher on the old ship, I ran down to the shore. When I saw the old ship moving under the pressure of the waves, I threw up my little cap and said: ‘Go out, old ship; go out, old ship; this is the high tide. You better go out with this tide, or you will fall to pieces on the shore.’ But the spring tide receded and the old ship was left again, high and dry. I said: ‘Poor old ship, you ought to have gone out with that tide.’
“I waited anxiously for the full title to come in. I ran down to the shore to watch the ship. I saw the high, full tide come out around the old ship. I watched the water get higher and higher, until the ship began to move under its tide. I waved my little cap again and said: ‘Please old ship, go out. This is the highest tide you will ever see. Go out, old ship, go out with this tide.’ But the waters receded, and the old ship was left again on the sand.
“I arose one morning after a stormy night. I stepped out on the porch and, as my eyes swept the shore, I saw that the old ship had crumbled into ten thousand pieces the night before. I ran down to the shore, and looking at the wreck said: ‘Poor old ship. I told you so. You ought to have gone out with that tide.’
“My brethren, how like that picture is the scene of the last night of these services! I have sat here and watched the tide of God’s love and mercy come over this audience night after night, and as the tide has risen higher and higher, I have said in my heart, ‘Go out, old sinner, go out with this tide.’ I have seen you moved to tears under the influence of the gracious services, and as the tide rolled higher and higher, I have cried in my heart again: ‘Go out, old sinner, with this tide, go out.’ But the services have closed and you did not move.
“I have watched the tide rise in the next service; I have seen you moved under its influence, and again I have cried in my heart: ‘Go out, old sinner, go out with this tide, go out. But the tide has receded again, and you have not moved. And now, we have come to the last service, and I have watched the tide rise higher and higher, until I have said in my heart, ‘This is the highest tide that ever struck Augusta. Go out, old sinner, go out with this tide, or you will be left to be shattered by the storm of death forever. God help you go out with this tide. Go out with this tide.”