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 heavy on  every  child  of  Eve,  from  the  time  he  comes from his  mother's  womb  until  he  returns  into  the womb of  mother  earth,  for  suffering  and  death  knock with impartial  hand  at  the  peasant's  cot  and  the  palaces of  kings. Consider the  numberless  diseases  of childhood,  the  spiritual  afflictions  of  maturity,  and  the miseries of  the  aged,  when,  like  drowning  men,  they feel the  last  plank  slipping  from  their  grasp,  and  see the great  ocean  of  eternity  slowly  but  surely  rising to engulf  them. Life begins  with  a  scream  and  ends with a  moan,  because  there  is  in  our  hearts  an  aching void that  nothing  short  of  God  can  ever  appease. True, we  are  sometimes  happy,  but  our  happiness is as  that  of  one  born  with  heart  disease,  who never having  tasted  the  sweetness  of  relief,  scarcely feels the  bitterness  of  his  pain. If we  could  see  ourselves as  we  are,  as  the  angels  see  us,  we  would  weep for selfish  pity,  and  the  unbegotten  babe  would  beg to be  left  in  its  nothingness  forever. Still it  is  all God's mercy. We prodigals  wander  afar  from  Him and with  the  scourge  of  tribulation  He  drives  us back. When miseries  multiply,  the  blessed  resolve: " I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  Father  "  is  easily  made. It is  only  when  he  has  become  as  wretched  and  forlorn as  the  blind  beggar  by  the  gates  of  Jericho  that the sinner  strains  to  hear  the  approaching  footsteps of his  Lord,  and  lifts  his  voice  in  that  blessed  prayer: " Jesus,  Son  of  David,  have  mercy  on  me." Not more true is  this  of  the  individual  Christian  than  of  the Christian Church,  for  whereas  she  thrives  best  under unremitting  persecution,  temporal  prosperity  has