SERMON XX. THE PROFIT DERIVED FROM MEDITATION ON DEATH. IF perhaps not the smallest interval of time elapses, my Christian hearers, in which new comers are not arriving on the stage of life, whilst those who have occupied it for a longer or shorter period, again quit it, yet it sometimes appears, as if the messengers of death were doubled, and as if he more urgently and unsparingly demanded his ever certain prey. This is also actually the case from time to time, not only when on fields of battle he mows off, as the reaper the ears of corn, thousands in a few hours, or when he knows no mercy in frightful disorders and contagious diseases, the consequence of war or of hostile elements. Even in the midst of peace, and when all seems safe and free from care, he often quickly attacks every age, every rank, every generation, and hurries them, prepared and unprepared, out of the number of the living. And if there are some among them, whom we personally knew, with whom the relations of professional employment, of business, or friendship, or similarity of years and of destination, made us acquainted, a secret consternation naturally seizes us, and the accustomed proportions of life and death appear to us subverted by a greater mortality. The last days that have elapsed confirm my observation. More frequently than usual the last pomp of death and the funeral bell, which attend the dead to the common resting-place, have reminded us of the departed. Old, well-known, and proved fellow-citizens have attained their end. To others, who a few weeks ago were strong and vigorous in their calling, before they, before we, apprehended it, their final evening of rest is come. Nor has death spared childhood and the flower of youth. You yourselves, my friends, have followed the coffin of one of your brethren to the grave. How is it on all sides confirmed, "The days of man are but as grass; he flourisheth as a flower of the field. When the wind goeth over it, it is gone, and the place thereof knoweth it no more." Whoever does not pass his days entirely without thought, is not unmoved on such occasions. But how dissimilar are the impressions which they leave behind. That which in one person finds vent in empty unmeaning talk, becomes in another abundant matter for earnest meditation. That which fills one only with anxiety and terror, engenders in another calm resignation. Whilst the former strive to efface the |