he next of kin is on his track, he
will not flee to the City of Refuge. If the sheep has no fear of wolves,
it will choose to be outside the fold among the succulent herbage. Did
you ever see how, in a Welsh slate-quarry, before a blast, a horn is
blown, and at its sound all along the face of the quarry the miners run
to their shelters, where they stay until the explosion is over? What do
you suppose would become of one of them who stood there after the horn
had blown, and said: 'Nonsense! There is nothing coming! I will take my
chance where I am!' Very likely a bit of slate would end him before he
had finished his speech. At any rate, do not you, dear friend, trifle
with the warning that says: 'Flee for refuge to Christ and shelter
yourself in Him.'

There are some people, too, who stop outside because they do not much
care for the entertainment that they will get within. It does not strike
them as being very desirable. They have no appetite for it. We preachers
seek to draw hearts to Jesus by many motives--and among others by
setting forth the blessings which he bestows. But if a man does not care
about pardon, does not fear judgment, does not want to be good, has no
taste for righteousness, is not attracted by the pure and calm pleasures
which Christ offers, the invitation falls flat upon his ear. Wisdom
cries aloud and invites the sons of men to her feast, but the fare she
provides is not coarse and high spiced enough, and her table is left
unfilled, while the crowd runs to the strong-flavoured meats and foaming
drinks which her rival, Folly, offers. Many of us say, like the
Israelites 'Our souls loathe this light bread,' this manna, white and
sweet, and Heaven-descended, and angels' food though it be, and we
hanker after the reeking garlic and leeks and onions of Egypt.

Some of us again, would like well enough to be inside, if that would
keep us from dangers which we believe to be real, but we do not like the
doorway. You may see in some remote parts of the country strange,
half-subterranean structures which are supposed to have been the houses
of a vanished race. They have a long, narrow, low passage, through which
a man has to creep with his face very near the ground. He has to go low
and take to his knees to get through; and at the end the passage opens
out into ampler, loftier space, where the dwellers could sit safe from
wild weather and wilder beasts and wildest men. That is like the way
into the fortress h