Somebody says that this man "was saved at the eleventh hour." I don't know about that. It might have been the first hour with him. Perhaps he never knew of Christ until he was led out to die beside Him. This may have been the very first time he ever had a chance to know the Son of God. How many of you gave your hearts to Christ the very first time He asked them of you? Are you not farther along in the day than even that poor thief? Some years ago, in one of the mining districts of England, a young man attended one of our meetings and refused to go from the place till he had found peace in the Savior. The next day he went down into the pit, and the coal fell in upon him. When they took him out he was broken and mangled, and had only two or three minutes of life left in him. His friends gathered about him, saw his lips moving, and, bending down to catch his words, heard him say: "It was a good thing I settled it last night." Settle it now, my friends, once for all. Begin now to confess your sins, and pray the Lord to remember you. He will make you an heir of His kingdom, if you will accept the gift of salvation. He is just the same Savior the thief had. Will you not cry to Him for mercy? . . . . . . . . . . A cross,--and one who hangs thereon, in sight Of heaven and earth. The cruel nails are fast In trembling hands and feet, the face is white And changed with agony, the failing head Is drooping heavily; but still again, And yet again, the weary eyes are raised To seek the face of One who hangeth pale Upon another cross. He hears no shrill And taunting voices of the crowd beneath, He marks no cruel looks of all that gaze Upon the woeful sight. He sees alone That face upon the cross. Oh, long, long look, That searcheth there the deep and awful things Which are of God! In his first agony And horror he had joined with them that spake Against the Lord, the Lamb, who gave Himself That day for us. But when he met the look Of those calm eyes,--he paused that instant; pale And trembling, stricken to the heart, and faint At sight of Him. . . . . . . . . At length The pale, glad lips have breathed the trembling prayer, "_O Lord, remember me!_" The hosts of God With wistful angel-faces, bending low Above their dying King, were surely stirred To wonder at the cry. Not one of all The shining host had dared to speak to Him In that dread hour of woe, when Heaven and Earth Stood trembling and amazed. Yet, lo! the voice Of one who speaks to Him, who dares to pray, "_O Lord, remember me!_" A sinful man May make his pitiful appeal to Christ, The sinner's Friend, when angels dare not speak. And sweetly from the dying lips that day The answer came.