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 face, and  turned  thee  to  the  service  of  His  archenemy— the  devil. And now — now  thou  art  the slave of  sin,  whereas  before  thou  wert  free  with  the freedom of  the  children  of  God. Nay, thou  art  worse than a  slave — thou  art  dead. For sin  when  completed begetteth  death. Oh! how unreasonable  we are! When the  body  of  a  beloved  dies  we  wail  and lament, but  when  the  soul  dies  in  sin  we  shed  never a tear. Yet what  so  dreadful  as  spiritual  death! Natural death  is  sad,  murder  deplorable,  but  suicide worst of  all,  and  the  soul  that  sins  commits  spiritual suicide. One day  a  man  jumped  from  an  immense height, and  landed  almost  at  my  feet. Bend with  me over  his  shattered  body,  and  see  there  a  faint  picture of a  soul  in  mortal  sin. A bruised  and  hideous  mass; an expression  on  the  face  to  make  the  stoutest  heart quail. However comely  that  body  may  have  been once it  has  lost  all  its  beauty  now. And his  soul? Oh it  was  once  innocent,  adorned  perhaps  with  many beautiful virtues,  the  cause  maybe  of  bringing  innumerable souls  to  God  and  worthy  of  a  high  place among the  saints,  but  now  there  is  no  beauty  in  it — all is  lost. See the  passing  school-children  fly  in terror  from  that  body;  so  fly  the  angels  from  his soul. See the  dogs  fighting  for  his  blood  on  the pavement; so  the  demons  squabble  over  his  poor  lost spirit. Had he  repented,  his  past  merits  would  indeed have revived,  but  not  now,  for  his  sin  lasts  and  will last forever. Behold that  body,  cold  and  stiff,  the eyes staring  but  seeing  not,  the  mouth  gaping  wide, the voiceless  tongue  lolling  out,  and  the  hands  and