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Many years ago there lived a German countess, who violently disbelieved in a future life. She died at thirty years of age, and gave orders that her grave should be covered with a solid slab of granite, that around it should be placed square blocks of stone, and that the corners should be fastened to each other and to the granite slab by heavy iron clamps. It was done, and on the stone was cut: “This burial place, purchased to all eternity, must never be opened.” Thus even in her grave she defied the Almighty. But, strange to say, a little seed sprouted under the covering, and its tiny shoot found its way between the stones, and grew there, slowly yet surely and steadily forcing itself, until the iron clamps were torn asunder, and the immense granite slab was lifted up by the growing roots. Now a great tree stands over the grave, and the stones lie against it.
No wonder the people of Hanover regard it with almost superstitious feeling, as God’s answer to the terrible defiance of the young countess. Certain it is that her grave will prove no refuge to her in the day of God’s wrath. Certain it is, too, that each one of us must stand before Christ’s judgment seat. And in that dread day the only refuge will be Christ himself. The judge will be the Lamb, the Lamb that in all his glory appears as a Lamb that has been slain. The only refuge from Christ will be in Christ.