the act of dying, it is instantaneous-the soul departs from the body, and, according to the Scriptures, we fall asleep. It is recorded in the New Testament concerning the death of Stephen, that he was stoned-" calling upon, and saying, Lord Jesus, receive my soul—and he fell asleep." And when our Lord went to Bethany to raise Lazarus from the grave, He said unto His disciples, "Our friend Lazarus sleepeth; but I go that I may wake him out of sleep. Then said His disciples, Lord, if he sleep, he shall do well. Howbeit, Jesus spake of his death: but they thought that He had spoken of TAKING OF REST IN SLEEP. Then said Jesus unto them plainly, Lazarus is dead.” And St. Paul, when proving the certainty of Christ's resurrection, says, "He was seen of Cephas, then of the twelve. After that He was seen of above five hundred brethren at once; of whom the greater part remain unto this present, but some are FALLEN ASLEEP.' Why then should the fear of death or dying take such strong hold of us? It is surely because we do not sufficiently exercise our minds concerning the things that are upon record in the Holy Scriptures for our consolation. A proper attention to them would, no doubt, be all-sufficient to sustain us against further dread of resigning our breath to Him who gave it. And the calmness with which some depart out of this life, is a con firmation of the ease with which the soul and body separate. How frequently does it happen, that the dying person is speaking one moment, and unexpectedly to those who are present, falls asleep the next-to awake only, "in another and a better world?" Death, then, is not so terrible in itself, as to behold. To the survivors it is certainly one of the heaviest afflictions of this life. Of all the ills that flesh is heir to, there is surely none equal to that of losing those we love. Indeed it is almost too grievous to be borne. It rends the heart, and renders it insensible to remonstrance, and incapable of receiving consolation. It is a natural and a sacred grief; it should not be disturbed by casual obtruders; none but the privileged should presume to interrupt the sad mournings of affection. While the whole soul is absorbed in its sorrows, a reasonable indulgence should be allowed the mourner. Time alone can effect that calm submission, which friends, in the goodness of their heart, imperatively impose as a religious obligation on a surviving relative. It certainly requires all the energies of the mind-all the powers of reason and religion-to combat against an affliction that deprives us of every hope, and is calculated to damp every enjoyment of this life. But, neither reason nor religion require that the sensibilities of the heart are to be closed against the natural impressions they must make upon a susceptible mind. the act of dying, it is instantaneous-the soul departs from the body, and, according to the Scriptures, we fall asleep. It is recorded in the New Testament concerning the death of Stephen, that he was stoned-" calling upon, and saying, Lord Jesus, receive my soul—and he fell asleep." And when our Lord went to Bethany to raise Lazarus from the grave, He said unto His disciples, "Our friend Lazarus sleepeth; but I go that I may wake him out of sleep. Then said His disciples, Lord, if he sleep, he shall do well. Howbeit, Jesus spake of his death: but they thought that He had spoken of TAKING OF REST IN SLEEP. Then said Jesus unto them plainly, Lazarus is dead.' And St. Paul, when proving the certainty of Christ's resurrection, says, "He was seen of Cephas, then of the twelve. After that He was seen of above five hundred brethren at once; of whom the greater part remain unto this present, but some are FALLEN ASLEEP.' Why then should the fear of death or dying take such strong hold of us? It is surely because we do not sufficiently exercise our minds concerning the things that are upon record in the Holy Scriptures for our consolation. A proper attention to them would, no doubt, be all-sufficient to sustain us against further dread of resigning our breath to Him who gave it. And the calmness with which some depart out of this life, is a con firmation of the ease with which the soul and body separate. How frequently does it happen, that the dying person is speaking one moment, and unexpectedly to those who are present, falls asleep the next-to awake only, "in another and a better world?" Death, then, is not so terrible in itself, as to behold. To the survivors it is certainly one of the heaviest afflictions of this life. Of all the ills that flesh is heir to, there is surely none equal to that of losing those we love. Indeed it is almost too grievous to be borne. It rends the heart, and renders it insensible to remonstrance, and incapable of receiving consolation. It is a natural and a sacred grief; it should not be disturbed by casual obtruders; none but the privileged should presume to interrupt the sad mournings of affection. While the whole soul is absorbed in its sorrows, a reasonable indulgence should be allowed the mourner. Time alone can effect that calm submission, which friends, in the goodness of their heart, imperatively impose as a religious obligation on a surviving relative. It certainly requires all the energies of the mind-all the powers of reason and religion-to combat against an affliction that deprives us of every hope, and is calculated to damp every enjoyment of this life. But, neither reason nor religion require that the sensibilities of the heart are to be closed against the natural impressions they must make upon a susceptible mind. |