BY J. A. HALL.
A SERMON
Suggested by the Death of Webster,
DELIVERED BY THE
REV. CHARLES WADSWORTH,
In the Arch Street Presbyterian
Church,
ON SUNDAY EVENING, OCT. 81ST.
[Published By Request.]
I , THERE IS A TIME TO DIE."-
ECCLESIASTES, 111. 12.
You will have already anticipated our
reasons for the selection of our text. He
that would "rightly divide the Word of
Truth," will seek in the volume of Reve
lations parallelisms to the present peculiar
utterances of creation and providence.—
Indeed, God's written and unwritten Rev
elations are never to be read seperately,
neither can be understood rightly alone—
mutually they confirm and illustrate one
another. Ncw, the utterance of our text
is just now as well the peculiar utterance
of God's special providence.
Since I last stood in this sanctuary that
providence 'has rendered us a nation of
mourners— a great light has been extin
guished—a mighty mind has been called
away: The great statesman and orator of
our land and generation has passed in sol
emn glory to his grave—and the nation
mourns as in sackcloth over the noblest
and first born of her sons. And it were a
mutilation of God's solemn oracles were we
to pass such a providence by without sol
emn consideration. Do not mistake us
though—it is with the simpler and more
personal, and not the wider and sublimer
lessons of this death we are just now to
concern ourselves. We are not here •in
this holy place to utter words of praise of
him whose eloquent tongue has failed—
whose mighty intellect has passed away
forever. indeed, Eulogy has mistaken her
province and her powers when she takes for
her theme the name of the departed. His
loftiest eulogy is in that profound regret
which the sad tidings of his death have
caused throughout tho length and breadth
of the land. Nor are we here the more to
advert to this death in its aspect on the
political prospects and interests of our
country. Such discussion were unsuited
alike to our province and our powers. Po
liticians come not to the pulpit for instruc
tion in statesmanship—and the religious
teacher has a nobler occupation than any
lectureship on the principles of governments'
and constitutions. We are here to con
template death in its teachings to ourselves.
For us, higher than all political bearings,
has this providence a personal, and pressing
significance. God hash stricken him in all
the glory of, his eloquence and intellect--
not merely that his grave should be to us
a nation's Mecca shrine—decked with our
garlands and wet with our tears--but that
a voice of earnest exhortation should come
up from its depths in the mighty and re
sistless eloquence of death. He died to
warn us—he died to preach solemnly unto
us of the mortal, and immortality. He
died to make proclamation for our God of
the insignificance of the glories of time, and
the boundless splendors of eternity. He
died to send unto every soul, more mighti
ly than in all the pomp of his matchless
living eloquence, a demonstration of the
vanity of the things that are around Ifs,
and the magnificence of the realities that
rise just before us. He died to cry start
lingly in our every car words a thousand
times uttered, but never methinks before
more eloquent in there touching and im
pressive sadness —.There is a time lo die"
—"There is a time to die !"
I. This simply is our text then. Let us
ponder it—desultorily and briefly— ,, There
is a time to die!" If you will examine
the context carefully, we think you will ex
perience great wonder. The royal preach
er is discoursing on the fitness el special
times for special transactions; and the won
derful thing about it is, that, of.all the il
lustrations he adduces, our text should be
at once the most apparently truthful, and
the least considered. Who questions ei
ther iu his credenda or in his practice that
'‘there is a time to speak !' a time
to build !"— ,, a time to laugh !"—and "a
time to dance !" All this we believe—all
this we act as if we believed—and yet who
of us all acts as if ho believed the truth
of the more apparent and appalling utter
enee—“There is a time to die ?" I say
the most apparently truthful. 0, what
need of preaching on such a point? It
seems the one great utterance of universal
nature. The lulling leaf—the fading flow
er—the setting sun—the revolving year—
the tolling bell—the open grave;--these,
then, are the syllables wherein God utters
his great orae.es. And it is as if the great
anthem of nature were attuned into rquiew,
and the entire — universe took up the wild
utterance and cried in the heating of the
great human audience—ever and only—
.. There is aurae to die !' And the secret
of our strange insensibility to a truth so
loudly uttered, lies, perhaps even deeper
than our unwillingness to dwell upon it. It
arises from the instinctive feeling of the
human heart, that death unto our race is
nn - tinobot
HUNTINGDON, PA., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 1852.
die! Of man primitive and unfallen our
text had not been true. Death is not the
natural issue of life's long processes—it is
their interruption ? Death is an appoint=
ment ! a dread infliction ! a tremendous
curse! The body, with its bright eye and
noble brow, was not made to lie down with
the feeding worm in the unpitying grave.
The soul, with its strong clingings to life's
cherished things, was not made to be driven
forth from its shattered tenement a disro
bed and disembodied wanderer to eternity !
Death is not the natural transition of a soul
in its ascent to immortality. It is the
, dread result of sin—it is the direful curse
of God—it is the fruit of that forbidden
tree which man dared to touch. ‘4.9 time
to die !" And what is death ! I said it
was not the natural issue of life's long
processes; and herein lies its terribleness.
The prophet's exodus to glory with whirl
wind and fire was not terrible; but death is
terrible—God meant it to be terrible. It
is the severance of tender ties—it is the
hushing of beloved accents—it is the 'nigh
ty stop on all life's big and busy energies
—it is the awful shadow on the bright eye
—it is the wild farewell on the beloved lip
—it is the appalling loneliness in the de
serted home and the broken heart—it is the
immense pang wherewith the heartstrings
break—it is the earthquake shaking wild
ly to the dust the clay dwelling—it is the
giant spring of the immortal guest from its
shattered house the untravelled realms
that spread through eternity. Death! Death!
Alas, great monster ! It breaks the heart
—it desolates the home—it makes the
child motherless—it makes the patent
childless—it hushes forever the eloquent
tongue, and Twitches the earthly light of
the mighty intellect. Yea, it tears the
world away—it ends protection—it casts
the beloved form to the unpitying grave—
it summons the undying soul to the pomps
of the judgement. And it is unnatural—
it is terrible—to die !
11. "..4 time to die !—A set thne—An
appointed time--to every one of us a/ poin
ted—we do not know it--but God knows it.
In his awful book is it written that in such
a year, in such a month, on such a day, in
an hour—you—you—that man—that maiden
—that child--you--you--shall die! And
escape is impossible. As well might you
stop yonder sun, or roll back the tides of
a resistless ocean. We are prisoners awai
ting the order for execution. Since we
came to this house an hour of the reprieve
is wasted. Since the sun arose a day near
er hath come the last agony. You may be
on the very verge of dath, A thousand
human beings are dying this moment.—
E very breath you breathe is a human death
knell. This sky is the canopy of a great
death chamber. This earth is a cavernous
and mighty sepulchre. And our times are
appointed!--our days are numbered! For
a set time and an appointed, is--" The•
time to die !"
111. "There is a tone to die !" For
whom? Oh, for all of us--for you to die,
and for me. Difficult I know it is to real
ize this—most difficult to impress it on the
living conscience. I can believe that oth
ers are mortal. I can believe that you are
mortal. I can believe that the dearest
ones ou earth will lie cold, and shrouded,
and coffincd in the grave. But, alas, I
can scarcely bring it home to my own heart
that death will come to me—that this hand 1 1
will soon be pulseless--this voice soon be
hushed forever--this heart beat no inure—
this forehead be pressed down by the cof
fin lid and the cold, dark earth. But yet
sure as God liveth, it comes—death comesl
- , -to us all ! Youth, beloved youth, you
will die ere the Spring brightens. Aged,
man—you whose hoary head is a crown of
glory in our midst--a few more days, and
those gray locks will be put away form that
forehead fur the mourners to look upon.--
Dear child, you will lie in a little coffin,
cold, senseless, silent as the dead
Man.-Mall in your noble stature and unbent
strength—that flashing eye will fade—that
'nighty heart will break. 011, I see it !--,
A darkened chamber—friends gathering si
lently and sadly—beloved forms pressing to
the beds:de—a pale face—a convulsed frame
work. Oh, I hear it--the wild farewell
—the breath drawn gaspingly—the broken
hearted sobbing of the mother, of husband,
of wife, of child. Oh, I see it !--the
shroud--the coffin—the bier—the funeral
train—the open grave ! But whose? do you
ask—whose? alas, yours!—and yours!--and
yours. Oh, my God! what, what is life I
A cloud, a vapor, a dream that vanishoth
--a tale that is told--a walk blindfold amid
open graves and on the brink of great pro
, climes. Think of it--oh, think of
I appointed time to die !" In yonder pris
on there lies a man appointed to execution.
All appeals for executive clemency have
been vain. On such a day, in such a month,
he dies. Oh, if he could come and stand
in this place, bow he would preach to you,
How think ye time seenzs to him. How
terrible these morning and evening bolls
'1 that *measure his being ! How awful the
slow movement of sunbeams along the dun
geon walls ! How wild each hourly strokd
on the great time keeper. How every
that creeps through that gloomy cell—
seems the footfall, the whisper, the shad
ow of that dread thing, Death ! And yet
is ho nearer to death surely than we Why
where is Death--away yonder? Nay, sirs,
he is here--here—sitting in these seats—
walking through these aisles—his shadow
falls between speaker and hearer -Death is
here! Where is eternity—years away
Nay, here—just behind the curtain. Hark !
this little' knock sounds through--death
and in eternity are here. We sometimes
picture life as a great path, leading to a
precipice. But this is not true; it is a nar
row path, right along a precipice. ! The
verge crumbles now! The awful abyss
yawns at your feet just nnw ! Oh my God !
write it on our hearts-- send from the grave
of the glorious dead a voice to bring the
mighty truth in thunder on our slumber
ing souls=-There is a time to die! There
is a time to die !
IV. ~. /1 time to die!"—.fl fitting time
—An appropriate time. And here let
me turn a moment from these simple and
personal moralities to consider this truth
in regard to the departed great man whop
our land mourns. At first thought it may
be we question the wisdom of this dispen
sation. Admitting that as an evolution of 1
Divine providence every man .dies at the
very time when, all things considered, it is
best that lie should die—yet here, at least,
we feel the heart rising up the cry—that
surely this was uo fitting time for the buri
al of our great statesman.
We have seen one mighty man, and an
other mighty man taken from us; and now
the very last of our mighty men, and the
noblest and mightiest of them all, has fal
len away from the midst of us. And who
is to fill their places—where find we cham
pions of like girth and stature to stand
forth for our land in the hours of of her
I sure coining trials. Alas, alas! the pro
phet's mantel falls on no fellow of pro
phecy—and our cry in despondency and
fear is—"My Father, my Father—the
chariot of Israel and the horsemen there
of." Nor is this an unfounded desponden
cy. Great statesmen are the bulwarks of
free nations. ' and a nation that know as
little as we how to value and to repay the
gifts and the consecration of great states
manship, deserves never again from our
God such gifts and such consecration.—
Nay more than this—it has been observed.
in all time that when Providence is about
to work vengeance on any people, the in
fliction is bigun in taking away row her
places of rule her ablest men: and then,
of wise counsels, public affairs fall into
confusim and result in disaster. Nor is
this the result of observation only—it is
the express oracle of Revelation as well—
for thus saith Jehovah, "Behold the Lord,
the Lord of Hosts doth take away the
mighty men, and the men of war, the
judge, and the prophet and the prudent,
and the ancient, the captain of fifty, and
the honorable man, and the counsellor,
and the cunning artificer, and the eloquent
orator. And following fast on this remo
val of her bulwarks comes the curse impo
tent governors and foolish counsellors, and
ruthless anarchy." For the oracle adds
—"I will give children to be their prin
ces, and babes shall rule over them; and
the people shall be oppressed every ono
by another, and every one by his neigh
bor, the child shall behave himself proud
' ly agait.st the ancient, and the base against
the honorable."
Alas, alas! my hearers, when we look
forth on the stormy seas, over which in
tremendous national progress we are rush
ing with such startling and terrible veloci
ty, and know what seamanship is needed,
we look up from this great shadow of death,
with hands clasped in despondency, crying
in the track of the ascending chariot—
"My Father—my Father." And yet,
mourning as we do for our great loss, we
mourn not as those without hope. Though
the Moses whose rod was for the dividing
of the sea bath gone up to Pisgah, yet
blessed be God, His ark is yet in our midst
for the rolling back of the Jordan. Our
trust in the Lord who made heaven and
earth, that as an eagle bearteh her young,
we shall be borne still upward and onward
on the wings of His all-sustaining provi
dence. And with this hope over in regard
of our land, we can see how, for her no
blest champion, the present was— ,, The
time to die." Ho died as a candidate for
our great national office, in the hour of our
great national election—and methinks the
glorious shadow of his death falling on the
nation that is mingling in the strife—and
the smaller mon that• await its great issue
—will be subduing and sanctifying. He
died, too, when his geatest work was ao
complished, and the fretted chord of our
national brotherhood had grown strong
again by the twining of his self-sacrificing
and heroin consecration. And surely, in
the shadow of such a death, this saved na
tion will rise us in its strength, and tram
ple into dust that foul and frenzied fans.
ticism that would sever again with its rep-'
tile tooth a cord strengthened' by the very
heart strings of those mighty men, who,
together, that it might be immortal, have
enri eliArt
Ay, it is well that the funeral train of a
giant is borne through a weeping land,
with its colossal shadow and its overwhel
ming eloquence, in an hour like this.—
But be this as it may, sure we are that in
regard to the great statesman himself=
so far as the full measure of his earthly
glory was concerned—the hour of his sum
mons to the immortal was—" The time to
die!"
If such a mat must die at all, let him
die as he did. We thank God on his be
half, that the tumult of the coming conflict
will fall only on his grave. Had he pass
ed through that election a living man, yet
a defeated man, then upon the depths of
that mighty heart the bitter sense of a
land's ungratefulness would have fallen as
a great shadow. lied he passed through
it in triumph to the high place of the na
tion, it could have added nothing to his
honor; and his tomb will be more glorious
in all future time, that official distinction
dared not mar with its tinsel the evoriast
ing sculptures of his own great fame. Ah,
the only fitting procession of such a man,
through these paltry feuds of partizanship,
was the bier borne so gloriously to his ma
jestic grave. He died, moreover, as he
wished to die--gazing on a scene his own
devotion had helped to realize, and his elo
quence to paint.
"Gazing not on the broken and dishon
ored fragments of a once glorious Union—
on States discovered, discordant, belliger
ent—on a land rent with civil feuds, and
drenched, it may be, 'in fraternal blood— ,
but beholding with their last feeble and
lingering glance, rather the gorgeous en
sign of a republic known and honored
throughout the earth—still full high ad
vanced—its arms and trophies streaming
in all their original lustre—not a single
star obscured—bearing as its motto every
where, spread all over in characters of liv
ing light—blazing on all its ample folds, as'
they float over the sea and over the land,
and on every wind under the liple heav
ens—that sentiment dear unto every A
merican heart— Liberty and Union—now
and forever—one and inseparable.'''
Ah me, what bath earthly life to offer
for a death like this! What are the poor
lustres that brighten for a short time the
abodes of official placemen—to the great
light that shall abide serene and forever on
his glorious grave! Verily, our heavenly
Father dealt tenderly with his migthty
man-child—for, it was—" His time to
die!"
V. But let us pass from all this again
to the plying our simple and personal mor
alities. Unto us all, well the fitting.
time, to die, is, when God's great pur
poses shall be the answered by our putting
off the mortal: and this only known to God
—we know it not, nor can know it. What
can happen to us at any time, may hap
pen to us now. Death may come to us in
manhood—it may come to us in childhood
- come to us in bright and happy
youth: and as we know nut what is the al.-
pointed time, the appropriate ;into should
be absolutely alwap._
Oh for wisdom on this point like child
ren of this world! You depart on a jour
ney. You say to your servant, ou such a
week I shall return. And how that ser
vant watches—to every hellring, and eve
ry roll of wheels. Your house is kept
ready—all your usual comforts prepared
—your servant expects you! So shall it
be with Death! Watch! for you know not
its hour. A constant expectancy is the
only proper state--
"Leaves have their time to fall,"
And dowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to set—But all,
Thou last all seasons for thine own, oh Death!
Dena's, time—“ The time to die"—is
—when? Now! And we should never be
found in places unsuited to his coming.
And, alas! toll me how Death would look
in atl his skeleton and ghastly terrors sit
ting in the dress circle of a theatre!--min
gling with the gay dressed dancers of a
ball-room!
Two professing Christians stood by the
door of a fashionable theatre, when one of
them proposed to go in and witness the ap.
pearanee of a celebrated actor. The oth ,
or refused. The friend urged; but his re
solute' refusal was in these reasonable
wordi: "Suppose I should go in there, be
called away to eternity, and doming up to
the gate of Heaven, it should be asked,
'whence COlllO you, my brother,' oh, I
should be ashamed to answer."
Go no where wore you would not dare to
die! That is the rule. It is well enough
to die in life's common business. In the
dark day of Connecticut, in 1780, the peo
ple all thought the day of judgment had
come. The House of Representative in
Hartford adjourned. The . Council propo
se& to adjourn also,- but Col. Davenport
objected. Said he—" Mr. Speaker, the
day of judgment is either coming or it is
not. If it be not, then there is no need of
our being alarmed. If it be coming, I for
one choose to be found doing my duty."
Ile was a wise old Purit — au: I Cad-as
lief die in a workshop or eountinroom,
or a social circle, as in a prayer-rooni or a
nulnit. lint then it must be a godly work,
,
(4}7i
shop—an honest counting-room—a social
circle not gathered in a dancing parlor.
The brother of the great statesman we
mourn full dead in a crowded court-room,
in the midst of an important trial which lie
stood up to advocate. And yet, written,
in the midst of a scone so exciting, they
found on the desk he had just quitted a
prayer, written in a spirit of humility, and
fervent piety, and devotion to his God, pel' 7
haps never excelled. And such a death
was as glorious as Moses' on the heights of
Pisgah, in the great presence of God.
Oh go uo where unprepared to die! Oh,
go no where, whore death would appal
you! This, this is the law of true wisdom.
God, send the lesson into every heart from
the voiceless tongue of one once so match
lessly eloquent—" There is a time to die!"
VI. "There is a time to die!" ".1
time," i. o. "one time," i. e. "only one
time." We can dio but orico, and we
ought to die well—nobly—gloriously. It
is the end of all life's great enterprises and
activities, and they ought to end majesti
cally. In all other matters mistakes may
be rectified—an unsuccessful experiment
may be repeated —a oral-adjusted enter
prise remedied; but hero mistakes are rc
mediless. The whole of time! the whole
of eternity! heaven! hell! the soul! all! all
staked upon one single chance of the ter
rific game! If we could die twice, mis
takes might be rectified. The unbeliever,
the sceptic, the scoffer, might test his
Iprinciples in a dying strife, and if they
failed him, come back and change them.—
But with only One time to die, we ought to
die well—nobly—gloriously. And who
dies well? Brethren, learn we here a les
son from the deathbed of the departed. I
am not here to eulogize the character of
the dead. To say thatO he had not great
faults, were to say that he was not hu-
I man. But to say that the blessed Bible
was the most familiar book of his scholar
ship, and that the breath of prayer was his
daily sacrifice—and that his last words
were of a trust in a crucified 4114 e emer—
to say this, if we could say no more, were
to fling a moral glory round this great
man's death, in the light of which the min
ced and paraded scepticism of the pigmy
and emasculated statesmanship he has left
behind, seems as a reptile in the golden
flush of the day-spring.
But be our opinion of his religious char
acter what it may, we would have you re
mark here a great fact--that of enquiries
about his dying moments, this has been on
all hands the most earnest—men making no
pretence to religion, enquiring first of all
if he died as a christian. Public journals,
filled daily with stale ribaldry upon reli
gion, parade it—in italics and capitals—cis
the most important point in the sad record:
--That his last words to his last breath was
spent in prayer for forgiveness through.
Christ Jesus, and in the utterance of an
assured reliance on the staff and rod of the
Groat Shepherd! And what learn you from
all this? Why, that, spite of the world's
neglect of religion—yea, spite of the world's
scorn of religion—there yet exists in every
man's heart a consciousness that true re
ligion can alone dispel the gloom of the
grave, and prepare the soul for its up
spring to immortality.
Sh, no man dies well, save overshadow
ed by the Divine wings and resting on the
great sacrifice of the Redeemer. Aud if
our great statesman died well, it was nut
because he reposed amid his beautiful
home, watched by trustful eyes and loving
hearts. It was not that he died in the full
possession of the powers of his mighty in
tellect, and the glory of his great, majes
tic patience. It was not that he died in
the loftiest height of his great fame, amid
the roused pulses in the heart of a great
nation beating as the heart of one man, in
prayer for his deliverance. No, sirs—no,
sirs. It was only because he walked
through the valley of deep shadows lean
ing on the Shepherd, "that rod--that stall"
--they comforting him. Oh, that God
wonld send it back eloquently from those
sealed lips—. 4 time—one time—only one
tine to dif!
VII. ‘ , ./1 time to die!" i. e..-2 time on
ly to die--to do nothing else but to die!--
A time not to make preparation for the
monster, but to meet him! When the
summons comes, there is no advantage for
preparation. Alas! if there be one mad
ness mightier than another, it is the pro
crastination to a dying hour of the soul's
life work. The gathering unto the sad
hours of a sick chamber, and the pressing
upon a poor, convulsed framework, and a
spirit weakened and tempest test, all the
momentous interests that take hold on
eternity. Alas, religion is not a spasm of
excited feeling: a tettriftwilying eye; a
prayer on a dying lip. No sirs, no sirs.
Religion is a journey!—who ever heiird of - a
man starting forth on u journey when death.
struck? Religion is a warfare!--wbo ever
road of a dying warrior bracing ou mail
over a winding sheet in a nation's champion
ship? Religion is a race course!---whu
ever heard c a dying man leaping from
his death chamber to compete with strong
men Air a gloiious chaplet? No, no,
believe “the
.time to die" is no time
VOL. 17, NO. 47.
for preparation. The impenitent death bed
is a good place for sorrow—it will convict,
it will arouse, it will alarm; it will fill the
oyes with tears, the lips with prayer, the
heart with terible agony; but terror is not
love; terror is not trust in God;. terror is
not sating faith in Christ! Oh, believe
me, believe me, ye will want an attained
religion in the dying hour. The chamber
will be • dark; ye will want the burning
I,lght 7 -the lip will be parched; ye will want
the living svater 7 the tempest in the sea
will be dashing the poor bark into ship
wreck; ye will want the Almighty Master
to walk the billows and to still the storms.
Oh, speak to us, our Father in heaven,
in the last utterance of the dying; tell us
how "That Rod, That Rod,"—"That Staff,
That Staff," are the only support of th•
death struck--" That is what they want—
that is what they want," ,.
_ _
Oh tell us, by all the wandering thoughts
and wild agonies of the dying strife; tell
us if, when death struck, man cab prepare
well for death; tell us if the last Sickness
be not ever and only "a time to die!"
"There is a lime to die." Oh that
God would give inn power to plead with
you all earnestly in behalf of a truth like.
this. If there be a time to "speak," we,
get ready for it; if there be a thee to
"build," we get ready for it; if there bo a
time even to "dance," alas, some of us get
ready for it. And why, oh why, in re
spect of the mightiest only of all these in
terests, should we be so iegardless?--Be
loved Christian disciples let me plead with
you. We, oven we, ;ire not ready to die
--God knows we are not. There are beau
tiful and blessed things in heaven--crowja,
that we are scarcely fitted to wear; throllp,
that we are scarcely Steed to ascend; so
cial circles, that we are scarcely fitted to
enter; hallelujahs, that we are scarcely fit•
ted to sing. Are we doing our duty to
ourselvers? 11 hat say our family altarti,-; .
our closets--our social prayer circles?--
What record is there written in the great
book of God? Oh, God bath placed us in
this world to win great spoil for eternity.
From the sands by the stream of time ye
can gather brighter treasure than they
dig from the golden streams of the south.
Oh foolish heart! To slumber thus when
the treasure is washed away end the dark
night cometh! Yes, and more. .tiro we
doing our dnty to others? Fathers ' moth
ers, Sunday school teachers, Christian"
men, in the midst of a dying world, is your
great work accomplished? Are ye ready
to part with all below and go home to glo
ry? Aud yet those beloved ones are dy
ing creatures. They may die suddenly--
they must die soon, Live with them then
as with the dying. Go get some great, ar
tist to paint those dear forms stretched
upon a death bed—those beloved features
convulsed in the death agony; and Lang
the picture in your home circle, and right
above your class in the Sunday school, and
lit shall be unto you as a preaching spirit
iu all the resistless eloquence of love and
death, crying earnestly and ever, "There is
v time to die"--"There is a time to cie!"
"There
hearer, i tt s m. a er t,
im
penitentO.ohu'rmlyitiart:
vmheo
where,
where
is)
your conscience--the wisdom and wariness
of your immortal mind—that ye will not
be roused to the consideration Of a truth'
so terrible. That dying hour will come.—
You have no time, you say, to become re
ligious: "have me excused," you say, "go
thy way for this time: oh do not !alit about
death. ' do not uncover the grave; let me
enjoy life while it hats; I cannot attend to
your call now." But, beloved, death will
be attended to--he will not have you ex
cused. The mighty and the noble die. Oh,
speak front the dust, thou departed, and
tell us if there be any power iu earthly
love, in earthly glory, in the tearful watch
ings of professional sagacity, in the tuigbEj
eryings of a whole land, pleading earnestly
to save thee--if there be any rower in them
all to turn back 'death from his awful path
way. Nay, sirs, death will not have you
excused—you cannot put him off—he comes
burouce---he never calls again. Yes, and
lie is coming; his hour is near; the fever
which heralds him may be already flashing
in the eye ; bounding in the bosoms. "7'he
time to die" is near. You will soon make
your last bargain, finish your last earthly
business; join in your last party of pleas
ure.'
you will part with every friend; you
will bid adieu to bibles, and Sabbaths, and
sanctuaries. Oh, it is coming—the last
sickness; the sad farewell of wife, and
child, and parent, and yo'ung cOmpabien.--
It is commg---the glazing eye, the WI&
spasm of agony, the grave, the judgiudit,
the long, long eternity---coming---coining!
Lay your hand upon your' heart---mark itnt
boundisg pulse well. Each one is but a
stroke on the great bell of your prison
house--a footfall; Sad and sure, of death,
the Feat monster.",
"P/ere is a time to die." And *Mild
to God this were all of it; but, alas, alas,
have ye not read, have ye not heard, bath
it not been told you, how a'aitiner's hope
, less death bed is a deatltinfilying Think
of it, oh think of it; dying agonies prolong
ed for ever! Body, an& spvit, and soul,
Concluded on foirth page.