I just came across this sentence again, though not while reading Pilgrim's Progress this time, but in a book on writing sentences, and its power falls heavily on my heart afresh, with the weight of the worst burden you've ever borne, only without any burden at all, but with lightening, releasing, freeing efficacy, lifting up to the heights of heaven's highest joys.
"Now he had not run far from his own door, but his wife and children perceiving it, began crying after him to return, but the man put his fingers in his ears, and ran on, crying, Life! Life! Eternal life!"
How many times do we—Christian brother, Christian sister; you alone know this—need to plug our ears even to near and dear relations, not to mention the pleas of this planet's impure allure, and run on, crying, "Life! Life! Eternal life!" refusing to listen to low and perishing things, things of vanity and not of eternity?
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