Sin is a perpetual disease. It rages day and night, on the sea and on the land, in the house of mirth and in the house of God. The wicked “sleep not, except they have done mischief.” They devise mischief upon their beds. They “cannot cease from sin.” Even in sleep, their dreams are vain or vile. Sin has no rest. If for a season the evil spirit forsakes his house, it is only to bring with him seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and dwell there, and the last state of that man is worse than the first.
Nothing but the cross will melt a hard heart, or bend a stubborn will, or give a death-blow to corruption. A sight of hell never frightened one out of the love of sin. The thunders of Sinai never made a rebellious heart submit to God. Pliny, the naturalist, says that blood readily extinguishes fire. It is sure that the blood of Christ not only quenches the flaming wrath around the throne of God, but it also extinguishes the fires of unhallowed desires in the soul. It begets hatred to sin, and love to holiness.