Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/154



Was death  ever  accompanied  with  more  affecting  circumstances? It is  an  only  son,  sole  successor  to  the  name,  titles,  and  fortune  of his  ancestors,  whom  death  snatches  from  an  afflicted  mother  and widow; he  is  ravished  from  her  in  the  flower  of  age,  and  almost  at his  entry  into  life;  at  a  period  when,  happily  past  the  dangers  of infancy,  and  attained  to  that  first  degree  of  strength  and  reason, which commences  man,  he  seemed  least  exposed  to  the  shafts  of death,  and  at  last  allowed  maternal  tenderness  to  breathe  from  the fears which  accompany  the  uncertain  progress  of  education. The citizens run  in  crowds,  to  mingle  their  tears  with  those  of  the  disconsolate mother;  they  assiduously  seek  to  lessen  her  grief,  by  the  consolation of  those  vague  and  common-place  discourses  to  which  profound sorrow  little  attends;  with  her  they  surround  the  mournful bier, and  they  deck  the  obsequies  with  their  mourning  and  presence;  the  train  of  this  funeral  pomp  to  them  is  a  show;  but  is  it an  instruction? They are  struck  and  affected,  but  are  they  from  it less  attached  to  life? And will  hot  the  remembrance  of  this  death perish in  their  minds,  with  the  noise  and  decorations  of  the  funeral?

To similar  examples  we  every  day  bring  the  same  dispositions. The feelings  which  an  unexpected  death  awakens  in  our  hearts  are the feelings  of  a  day,  as  though  death  itself  ought  to  be  the  concern of a  day. We exhaust  ourselves  in  vain  reflections  on  the  inconstancy of human  things;  but,  the  object  which  struck  us  once  out  of  sight, the heart,  become  tranquil,  finds  itself  the  same. Our projects,  our cares, our  attachments  to  the  world,  are  not  less  lively  than  if  we  were labouring for  eternal  ages;  and,  at  our  departure  from  a  melancholy spectacle, where  we  have  sometimes  seen  birth,  youth,  titles,  and fame, wither  in  a  moment,  and  for  ever  buried  in  the  grave,  we  return to  the  world  more  occupied  with,  and  more  eager  than  ever  after all those  vain  objects  of  which  we  so  lately  had  seen  with  our  eyes, and almost  felt  with  our  hands,  the  insignificancy  and  meanness.

Let us  at  present  examine  the  reasons  of  so  deplorable  a  mistake. Whence comes  it  that  men  reflect  so  little  upon  death,  and  that the thoughts  of  it  make  such  transitory  impressions? It is  this: the uncertainty  of  death  amuses  us,  and  removes  from  our  mind its remembrance;  the  certainty  of  death  appals,  and  forces  us  to turn  our  eyes  from  the  gloomy  picture:  the  uncertainty  of  it  lulls and encourages  us;  whatever  is  awful  and  certain,  with  regard  to  it, makes us  dread  the  thoughts  of  it. Now, I  wish  at  present  to combat  the  dangerous  security  of  the  first,  and  the  improper  dread of the  other. Death is  uncertain;  you  are  therefore  imprudent