'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. You
have never yet, you know it, crossed the line which divides the saved
from the unsaved. Why is this? Why, oh, why are you so hard to move?

'Oh, my friend, do you ask why? Surely you know the reason! Is it not
because there are other hands on the rope, other pullers drawing in an
exactly opposite direction? For Satan has many an agent, many a servant,
and he sends forth a great army of soul-pullers. Each worldly friend,
each desire of your evil nature, each temptation to sin, each longing
after wealth, each sinful suggestion, gives you a pull, and a pull the
wrong way, away from safety, away from Christ, away from God, away from
heaven, away from Home. And towards what? Oh, dear friend, towards what?
What are the depths, the fearful depths towards which you are being
drawn?'

He said a good deal more, but I did not hear it. That question seemed