SERMON XV.

JOB xviii, 14.

And it shall bring him to the king of terrours.

DEATH is the king of terrours. To all classes of men, death is a melancholy theme; yet in this theme, all have a deep concern. Certain subjects are more appropriately addressed to particular classes of persons, but death addresses itself to all. The fell tyrant enters the lofty mansion, and the humble cottage; the cell of the hermit, the seminary of science, the temple of religion, and the castle of the murderous warriour. With the same stern visage, he arrests the sickle of the husbandman, the hammer of the artizan, and dashes crowns and sceptres in the dust.

At the approach of death, tottering age trembles with new weakness; proud ambition is appalled in its splendid career; youthful gaiety forgets her transports; the votaries of riot loathe the festal board; the splendour of wealth loses its charm. We have seen no other world; we have formed no other connexions;

we have enjoyed no other felicities; here our desires centre; our affections are strong; and life is dear to the soul. Reasons for this love of life, this dread and horrour of falling into the grave; of going we know not where, of being we know not what, are numerous. I proceed to state some of them.

I. The pleasant circumstances of life sometimes render death terrible.

Though some men seem to be born to trouble; yet this is not the condition of all. Most men have many pleasant days; many have, on the whole, prosperous and happy lives. The vine of mortality, although it bear sour grapes, has some pleasant branches, some delicious clusters. With only a moderate share of general success, life is valuable.

In cheerful youth, parents, brethren, and companions, are dear to the heart. The possessions and comforts of life are embraced with intense ardour and delight. They have not manifested their emptiness and uncertainty. In the freshness of enjoyment, the mind magnifies these objects, and throws around them a drapery of gaudy colours, promising rich felicity.

In advanced life, the prospect is extended; friends are more numerous; reputation and property increase; wife, and children, and children's children, enliven every scene, and give a charm to the domestic circle; attachments are multiplied; the cords which bind us to life, become stronger and stronger; habits are confirmed; enjoyments are more substantial and satisfactory, the world more valuable, life more precious, death a greater evil. Whatever endears life, renders the grave more dismal.

When a man is prosperous and contented; when his employment furnishes, not only the necessaries, but the comforts, and some of the luxuries of life; when his dwelling is convenient, his land fertile, his table loaded, and his cup is full; when his creditors know not the way to his house, and the physician is a stranger; when his friends resort to him, and his apartments echo the voice of kindness, is not his life precious? His good name, like the perfume of precious ointment, extends around him. When he appears in public, every honest eye views him with respect, every tongue, on which dwells the law of kindness, speaks his praise; he labours, he reads, he travels, or executes business, as most promotes his comfort, his profit, or his usefulness. What is more, he executes his purposes, he accomplishes his labours. Happy is such a father; happy are his children; happy the wife, devoted to his welfare; happy are his friends; but, oh, how terrible the hour of his dissolution! He is torn from friends, torn from possessions, from all the delights of life. What sorrow, what anguish, can be compared with this?

II. Death is the king of terrours, in destroying all the plans and future hopes of this world.

The schemes and hopes of men are numerous; they are, generally, full of life, and vigour, and zeal. Their projects are various, their toils persevering. With more than a painter's skill, they clothe future scenes in the colours of delight, and admiration. Death ruins all.

In the grave, is no work, nor device, nor knowledge. It is the dull mansion of forgetfulness and slumber.

To the enterprising parent, how dismal the prospect. He is labouring to render his family happy and prosperous. For this he watches, and plants, and builds, - and trades, and adds field to field. But while he is laying the foundation of their hopes, while the work is his toil by day, his dream by night, his strength fails, his expectations perish; he leaves his family in a stormy world, without a patron, without a guide.

In the death of the husband, or the wife, the worldly hopes of both are blasted. Their day of joy is followed by a night of distress. Their children and their secular affairs occupied their thoughts, and too far banished God, and eternal things, from their remembrance. The olive plants, about their tables, were more pleasant to them, than the rose of Sharon, than the blossoms of Paradise. But instead of social bliss, and increasing domestic pleasures, one sinks in the cold waters of death, the other is shipwrecked on a desolate coast, to weep and grieve alone.

In the sprightliness of youth, we form towering schemes of worldly felicity. We expect to exercise sound discretion, to form the wisest plans, and perseverance to execute them with success. We expect faithful friends, a pure reputation, unmixed pleasure, and abundant wealth. At such a flattering period, how terrible to be torn from life, from felicities, which in imagination are so certainly to be acquired, so easily enjoyed. Such a youth, so strong is the illusion, hardly believes that he is in danger; still less that his danger is imminent; that his complaints are fatal. He is surprised at the admonitions of his friends, he neglects their advice, he ban