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deliver man from the fear of death. This is thus stated by Paul: "For as much then as the children are partakers of flesh and blood, He also Himself likewise took part of the same; that through death He might destroy him that had the power of death, that is, the devil; and deliver them, who, through fear of death, were all their life-time subject to bondage." Heb. 2: 14–15. All men naturally fear death. It is an instinct of our nature. Some great men have held false views of life and death. Sir Wm. Temple says: "Life is like wine; he, who would drink it pure, must not drain it to the dregs." Byron frequently said: "I do not wish to live to become old." The expression of the ancient poet: "That to die young is a boon of heaven to its favorites," was repeatedly quoted by him with approbation. The certainty of a speedy release, he would call the only relief against evils which could not be borne, were they not of a very limited duration. This is an incorrect idea of life and its trials. It is right for a man to desire to live as long as he can, and the evening of life is not necessarily clouded. A man is not of necessity miserable because he is old. He may carry with him down into the vale of years a young heart, and his affections and sympathies may bloom with all the vernal loveliness of spring. God intended that man should fear death, and cherish life. For this purpose He has planted in every man's bosom a dread of death. It is as natural for man to fear death, as it is to desire food when hungry. There is no man who looks upon death with entire indifference. Every person has, by nature, a dread of dying. At distinguished but dissatisfied man said: "I think of death often, and I view it as a refuge. There is something calm and soothing to me in the

thought; and the only time that I feel repugnant to it, is on a fine day in solitude, in a beautiful country, when all nature seems to rejoice in light and life." This man was deluded. As often as man becomes sick of life, and as many as are the causes for disgust of life; yet he never contemplates its close with earnestness. In every man's heart there is a dread of death. Love of honor has led men to brave danger and rush into the very face of death; love of country has overcome the fear of death and caused man to lay down his life on the field of battle for its good; affection for a friend has triumphed over the fear of death and enabled man to die in his defense; the passion of melancholy has created in the soul an aversion to continued being; the sense of shame has conducted to fortitude and death; yet those who would disregard the grave, must turn their thoughts from the contemplation of its terrors.

"It is an impulse of our nature to strive to preserve our being; and the longing cannot be eradicated.--The mind may shun the contemplation of its horrors; it may fortify itself by refusing to observe the nearness, or the extent of the impending evil; but the instinct of life is stubborn; and he, who looks directly at its termination and professes indifference, is a hypocrite, or self-deceived. He that calls boldly upon death is sure to be dismayed on finding him near." The irreligious have sometimes died in apparent indifference, and have professed to regard death with contempt; but this is pure affectation, or the indulgence of a vulgar levity. A French moralist gives us the history of a valet, who danced merrily on the scaffold, where he was to be broken on the wheel. "A New England woman belonging to a family which es

teemed itself one of the first, was convicted of aiding her paramour to kill her husband. She was a complete sensualist, one to whom life was every thing, and the loss of it the total ship-wreck of every thing. On her way to the place of execution she was accompanied by a clergyman of no very great ability; and all along the road, with the gallows in plain sight, she amused herself in teasing the good man, whose wits were no match for her raillery. He had been buying a new chaise, quite an event in the humble life of a country pastor, and when he spoke of the next world, she would amuse herself in praising his purchase. If he deplored her fate and her prospects, she would grieve at his exposure to the inclement weather; and laughed and chatted, as if she had been driving to a wedding, and not to her own funeral." Why was it that this woman indulged in these foolish thoughts, and trifling jestings? Because death was not feared? No, because death was feared, and feared intensely. She sought to turn her thoughts from the awful subject of death, and to drown her fear of it, by indulging in this foolish jesting, just as the boy in passing a graveyard in the night, seeks to banish his fear by whistling and singing. There are several reasons why man fears death, and would avoid it.

1st. There is the dread of the dying pang, or pain.The soul and the body are intimately connected, and cannot be separated without violence. They were made to be immortal companions, but sin has brought man under the power of influences that ultimate in his death. The severing of the union between soul and body is always accompanied with pain, and this is often of the most intense character. It is, however probable that the dying appear to suffer more than what

they really do. In most instances their capacity for physical suffering, is destroyed before the separation of soul and body takes place. Man dreads the pain accompanying the approach of death, and turns from it with trembling fear. This fear is an impulse of our nature, and common to all men. One of Napoleon's favorite marshals was struck down by a cannon ball in a battle in the south of Germany, and he was so severely wounded that there was no possibility of his recovery. When the surgeon declared that he could do nothing for him, he clamorously demanded that Napoleon should be sent for as one who had power to bring nature herself into submission, and save his life. This foolish frenzy may appear like blasphemy; but it is the uncontrolled outbreak of the instinct of self-preservation, in a rough and uncultivated nature.

Christ enables the Christian to overcome this fear of death, and rise superior to it. He gives him strength to bear up under all his sufferings, however great they may be, and enables him to rejoice in the hope of a speedy deliverance from them. The poet expressed a great truth, confirmed by the experience of millions of Christians, when he said:

"Jesus can make a dying bed

Feel soft as downy pillows are,
While on His breast I lean my head,

And breathe my life out sweetly there."

2d. Men dread the loneliness and darkness of the grave. It is a gloomy place, and the idea of being shut out from the enjoyment of the light, beauty, and pleasures of this world, and confined in the darkness of the tomb is awful. There is something terrible in the thought. Christ delivers the Christian from this fear by giving him the assurance that the gra.e

is not his home; that it is only the body that goes to the grave; that the soul finds a home beyond the tomb more beautiful and lovely than this. This glorious hope disarms the grave of its darkness and terrors and enables the Christian to adopt the sublime language of Paul: "We know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." 2 Cor. 5: 1. Christ gives the Christian the assurance that He will not be left alone in the valley of death; that though his friends cannot accompany him in that journey, He will be with him. This thought makes the dark valley luminous with the glory of the Divine presence. It enabled David to exclaim: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me: thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." Psal. 23: 4.

It was a beautiful summer evening in 1859, that the Hon. Horace Mann was lying on his dying couch. "The last sun, for him, was declining in the west. The last hours were wearing away. The last sands were dropping from the dial. The dark flood was near at hand, and the ferry-man was coming. His snowy

sails are gleaming on the misty waves, and he will soon bear a bright spirit beyond the glowing billow." The dying man turned quietly over; "his lips move; that same sweet voice is heard faintly, and for the last time; and these are the words he speaks: 'Now I will bid you all good night.' Soon the shades of the dark flood passed over his brow; the last breath was drawn; and that great heart forever ceased its beating. The pale ferry-man, standing on the prow of his mystic boat, received the parting spirit, and bore it away

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