The Sight of Hell

by John Furniss

Little child, if you go to hell there will be a devil at your side to strike you. He will go on striking you every minute for ever and ever without stopping. The first stroke will make your body as bad as the body of Job, covered, from head to foot, with sores and ulcers. The second stroke will make your body twice as bad as the body of job. The third stroke will make your body three times as bad as the body of Job. The fourth stroke will make your body four times as bad as the body of Job. How, then, will your body be after the devil has been striking it every moment for a hundred million of years without stopping?

Perhaps at this moment, seven o'clock in the evening, a child is just going into hell. To-morrow evening, at seven o'clock, go and knock at the gates of hell and ask what the child is doing. The devils will go and look. They will come back again and say, the child is burning. Go in week and ask what the child is doing; you will get the same answer, it is burning; Go in a year and asks the same answer comes--it is burning. Go in a million of years and ask the same question, the answer is just the same--it is burning. So, if you go for ever and ever, you will always get the same answer--it is burning in the fire.

Look at that deep pool of fire and brimstone. See, a man has just lifted his head up out of it. He wants to ask a question. He speaks to a devil who is standing near him. He says, 1 What a long time it seems since I first came into hell! I have been sunk down in this deep pool of burning fire. Years and mercy of God disown the notion of putting the wicked into infernal flames for ever. Endless torture disturbs the picture of happiness in God's years have passed away. I kept no count of time. Tell me, then, what o'clock is it?' 'You fool!' the devil answers; 'why do you ask what o'clock it is? There is no clock in hell. A clock is to tell the time with. But in hell time is no more. It is eternity.' Psalm lxxx., ' Their time shall be for ever.'

"Lookinto this little prison. In the middle of it there is a boy, a young man. He is silent; despair is on him. He stands straight up. His eyes are burning like two burning coals. Two long flames come out of his ears. His breathing is difficult. Sometimes he opens his mouth, and breath of blazing fire rolls out of it. But listen! there is a sound just like that of a kettle boiling. Is it really a kettle which is boiling? No. Then what is it? Hear what it is. The blood is boiling in the scalded veins of that boy. The brain is boiling and bubbling in his head. The marrow is boiling in his bones! Ask him, put the question to him, why is he thus tormented? His answer is, that when he was alive his blood boiled to do very wicked things, and he did them, and it was for that he went to dancinghouses, public-houses, and theatres.