Sorrow is the continual attendant on human life. Every
day, to some poor sufferer, is darkened with distress, and yet the
spectators are frequently no more concerned, than if the patient were only
to set out from the city to his country home. Were a king coming to sit in
judgment on a beloved friend of ours, and to examine strictly his
actions—with life and death hanging in the balance—could we shake ourselves
free from a thousand agitating thoughts? dislodge our bosoms of anxious
fears, and many a fervent wish? Now, when a person is pining on a sick-bed,
or expiring on a death-bed, the King of kings seems to mount his
judgment-throne, and order the spectators into his solemn presence, where
the examination will be strict, and the trial issue in eternal life, or
eternal death.
And yet how trifling often is the discourse of the
attendants! how jocular and sportive their talk! But, O if the invisible
world of spirits would flash fully in their face; if but all the disembodied
souls of their acquaintance would start up around them, how would they stare
and be distracted! though they can now dance about the grave, and laugh
amidst the glooms of death. To this invisible world their friend seems fast
going, and they, in spite of all their stupidity, are fast following. When I
look into the bed, and see my poor fellow-creature in that dying state, it
excites my sorrow; and when I look around at the company in their apparent
disbelief of a future state—it so moves my compassion, that I am at a loss
whether most to pity the dying or deplore the living.
But my soul, be not an idle spectator also. Know the
sentence, that all must die—reaches you as well as others. Perhaps death has
the summons in his hand already, or is filling his quiver with arrows for
the decisive battle; nay, he may be placing an arrow on the bended bow, to
sink the sickening shaft into your heart!
"Man that is born of a woman is of few days;" this all
the nations know; "and full of trouble;" this I daily find. "He comes forth
as a flower," frail and fading; "flees also as a shadow," quickly gone, and
quite forgotten. I carry death in my mortal body, which, like a fiery spark
concealed within, will sooner or later lay the house to ashes.
It is but a small thing to grapple with death, to enter
the lists with the king of terrors, or be enclosed in the gloom of the
grave. But it is another thing to enter into a world of spirits—to launch
into an unknown and endless eternity—and see God face to face. Roman
fortitude may defy the grave and brave death; but nothing but a
well-grounded faith can carry one calmly, cheerfully, and comfortably, into
a fixed and eternal state.
The trifles of life are of small account at death. What
can riches do—but encumber with too much splendid care, and troublesome
attendance? What can a character do—but publish his decease? What can
opulence do—but give a pompous funeral, and a costly tomb? What can friends
do—but weep about the bed, and bewail their dying relative? But your love,
dear Lord, can enlighten my passage through death—and lead me safely to my
Father's house!