“So what you worrying about, Brother Branham? Why did you preach so hard? When you going to this…” Oh, I can’t go home satisfied. I mustn’t go by myself. These hands will only be mortal once. These lips will only be mortal once. And you, my brother and sister, will only be mortal once. And while this Spirit inside of me, through tired flesh and weary hours, cries to you, it’s only for one thing. That’s to bring you into this fellowship here, not to bring you into the church, but to bring you into Christ, that in there you have a hope, steadfast and sure. It’s anchored by an oath of God. He’s confirmed it, and run the forerunner yonder, showing Who He was, and raised Him up on the last day, on that day there, the resurrection. It proved that we who are in Him will come forth in the resurrection. And every man that comes through this veil–veil now, justified in the sight of God, God looks down and says, “I’ve glorified him already and set him yonder in heaven.” Do you see it?
I can’t go wrong. There’s Something in me that won’t let me do it. He has to… Oh, sure, I could return back to the little tabernacle here, and spread it out across here, and Brother Neville and I get together here. And I could probably keep my children from starving. Certainly. That’s right. I could do that. Perhaps I got enough friends in the world right today, if I wanted to just maybe go out and make one good drive across the country, they’d give me a hundred thousand dollars. That’d keep me the rest of my days, if I lived to be a hundred years old. It’d probably keep me, is a hundred thousand dollars, what little, oh, just splice along here and there, and maybe do a little trapping, hunting, something another like that, pick some blackberries in the summertime. A few things of that way, I could get by. I wouldn’t have to do it. That’s true. But, oh, my. Oh, that don’t even move me nowhere.
There’s something down in here looks at that poor heathen yonder with stubbed hands with leprosy, that poor blind man on the street, that little kid that’s hungry, and his hand stretching out. They’ll do without dinner; they’ll do without anything else, if you’ll just tell them that Somebody loves them. It’s the Lord Jesus Christ. They die like dogs. They’re buried in trenches like animals, and knowing nothing about God. And forty thousand a day is dying. Forty thousand a day is dying without God, without Christ, without hope.
Oh, how can I, God? I wish I could just stay, get younger, and stay that way all the time, till He got ready to take me. I could just preach and preach and preach, and cry, and beg, and try. See, American people, you can tell them anything, they believe it. American people, you get in and got to show them the truth where it lays, right here. They get out here and join a church, say, “Well, I’m just as good as you are. I don’t care.” Oh, my.
When I see that, I want to say, “All right, brother. That’s all right.” But I can’t do it. I know unless he’s in here, he’s lost. He’s lost. He can’t be saved. There’s nothing out there to save him. Here’s the salvation here, through the spray, through the Blood, through the riven veil. He brought us in here and made us sons and daughters of God. That’s the only way, only thing that I know. God, be merciful.
He Swore By Himself
Jeffersonville, IN
54-1212