Page:SermonsFromTheLatins.djvu/608

 of a  world,  was  worthy  of  a  God. Man is  called  a little  world,  and  his  death  agony,  the  darkness  which enshrouds his  reason  and  senses  and  the  commotion of the  humors  of  his  body,  are  a  tiny  picture  of  what shall take  place  in  heaven  and  earth  at  the  world's dissolution. The equilibrium  of  the  universe  demands that  earth  and  heavenly  bodies  keep  each  its place and  orbit,  but  when  the  sun  is  turned  to  darkness, and  the  moon  to  blood,  and  the  stars  have fallen, there  will  be  nothing  but  ruin  and  confusion  in heaven,  on  earth,  and  in  the  souls  of  men. Think of a  shipwreck  horror,  the  stricken  vessel  floundering through a  raging  sea,  shaken  and  strained  in  every joint, amid  darkness  impenetrable,  relieved,  no,  intensified, by  the  lightning's  glare,  and  quivering  with the thunder's  crash,  and  on  her  decks  a  wailing  company, waiting  for  death  to  come  to  them  from  the fire within  her  or  from  the  storm  without. An awful picture, but  still  nothing  compared  to  the  wreck  of a  world. I stood  on  Mount  Vesuvius  once  and  felt the earth  quake  beneath  my  feet  and  looked  into  the roaring, burning  crater,  but  what  was  that  to  a  shattered world  with  all  its  pent-up  fires  let  loose? What a weird  horror  thrills  us  during  an  eclipse! But that is nothing. What a  comfort  a  light  and  company 2&gt;re during  a  fierce  midnight  thunderstorm! Yet that is  nothing. The burning  of  a  city  is  nothing, nor the  Johnstown  disaster,  nor  the  destruction  of Galveston. Men can  witness  these  and  similar  catastrophes and  survive,  but  not  so  when  the  world falls, for,  says  the  Gospel,  "men  shall  then  wither