impossibility of always retaining their advantages, nay, the certainty of their termination, and the uncertainty of the moment when, cannot but often mingle bitterness with their enjoyment. Nor is it possible for them, by any measure of success, to put away wholly the obtrusive consideration of their mortality; so naturally does the thought of death associate itself with the highest gratifications of life. If then they are not able to regard death, excepting as an object of terror, it is not all their worldly advantages that can banish a sense of insecurity, or give them happiness. Indeed it is chiefly when an individual is surrounded with all the pleasures that he can desire, when his highest wishes are gratified, when he is most conscious of the greatness of his advantages, and when he most sensibly appreciates their value, that he finds this feeling of insecurity invading his heart, and ready to mar his joy.

I might appeal to you, my Christian brethren;

"Ye whom the sudden tear

"Surprises often, while you look around,

“And nothing strikes your eye but sights of bliss;"

I might appeal to you for proof of the assertion, that something more is necessary than earth can give. I might appeal to you, how naturally, in circumstances like these, the thoughts run forward from this uncertain and transient state, to that better inheritance which is incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away;

"To scenes where love and bliss immortal reign.”

And to prove further that with the very contemplation of all earthly blessings, is connected the idea of their departure or their loss, I might appeal also to every worldly and irreligious person who has ever been prospered to the full extent of his desires, and congratulated himself upon the success he had attained, whether the next feeling that succeeded was not one of apprehension, lest his happiness should by some means be invaded, or of sadness, that it shortly must come to an end. To him who has no hope beyond the grave, and whose joys are only for this mortal life, the uncertainty of their tenure must always, whenever he regards it, fill him with uneasiness; and every thing which has power to suggest the thought, how rapidly the moment is approaching, when he must be separated for ever from those things in which here he has sought his enjoyment, has power also to fill him with dismay, and to poison the current of his felicity.

But with the pious man, every instance of prosperity, every feeling of happiness, is referred to God as its author; and the greater the blessing of which he participates, and the more abundant his cause of gratitude, the firmer does his confidence become, and the firmer is his trust "in the "living God, who giveth us richly all things to "enjoy." This is the secret by which, amidst his greatest blessings, he is reconciled to the

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thought of death. It is this confidence in his heavenly Father, this assurance of his favour and protection, manifested and recognised in his present enjoyments, which makes him repose in the belief of God's goodness for all future events. In this view, death itself, so terrible to others, is divested of fear to him, for he reflects that the same Being who at this moment protects him, will ever be his God; that " he who is the resur"rection and the life, is Lord of the dead as well "as of the living." In him he puts his trust. him he hopes; and through him he is inspired with confidence, that even in death he may experience advantage, in the grave find victory. While then such is the tenure of all earthly good, that we must very soon be separated from it, he deserves not the character of happy who cannot carry forward his views to something which will survive that separation, to a happiness which will endure even beyond the dark valley of the shadow of death. It is the Christian alone who can. He thinks of his approach to the tomb without shuddering. He looks calmly, and with a collected spirit, upon the gloom which thickens before him. And while no ray is there to cheer or guide, he raises his eyes in filial trust to his heavenly Father, and says, "Thou shalt show me the path of "life. I will fear no evil." Soon I shall have passed this valley, and crossed the Jordan of death. And then, in thy presence, there is the

fulness of joy; and at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.

But though this is the privilege of the Christian, yet it is one which, like many of his earthly privileges, he does not always, nor with equal confidence, appreciate. Sometimes relying too much upon himself, and too forgetful of God, his strength, and his Redeemer, he thinks only of his own sinfulness, and of the punishment to which he is obnoxious. Sometimes, erring from the narrow path of duty, neglecting to watch, and forgetting to pray, he dares not look up to him who is able to save and to support him. And not unfrequently the very weakness of exhausted nature, the depression of sunken spirits, or the infirmity of disordered nerves, may cause his fear. Then, when he thinks of the dark valley of the shadow of death, he trembles, and asks himself, Who can pierce these dismal shades? Who can tell the secrets of the grave? Who has ever returned from its spectral abodes? And how then shall I dare to venture there? He forgets that though Jesus died, and was buried, he rose again; that he passed unhurt through the caverns of death; that he returned in triumph from its dangers and its darkness; and therefore, though we sleep in death, yet if we sleep in Jesus, our relation to him will be still the same. He who is the first-fruits of them that sleep, will guard our dust; "until, at his second coming in glorious majesty

"to judge the world, the earth and the sea shall

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give up their dead, and the corruptible bodies "of those who sleep in him shall be changed, "and made like unto his own glorious body." But there is sometimes another reason for our fear of death. We know, indeed, that we are not to be condemned to a dreary sleep of insensibility, nor to spend, in a torpid absence of feeling, the long period which must elapse before the resurrection of the body. On the contrary, we are instructed from the Scriptures in the belief of an intermediate state, the existence of which the Church declares in her daily creed, where the righteous shall await in joyful expectation the completion of their bliss, and the wicked and unbelieving look forward in dismay to the horrors of their final destiny. Yet we sometimes give way to fearful apprehensions respecting our passage to that place of departed spirits. We are apt to imagine to ourselves some dreary gulf, through which the soul is to pass, after it leaves the body, before it is received into the Paradise of God. Magnifying what is unknown, we people this valley with awful phantoms, and cover it with terrific gloom. We overspread it with darkness, and then shrink from it with alarm. My brethren, there is no authority for these imaginary terrors. If we have suffered them to have place, let us banish ideas so full of horror from our minds. The dark valley through which we are to pass, is