Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/155

 not to  be  occupied  with  the  thoughts  of  it,  but  to  allow  it  to  surprise you. Death is  certain;  you  then  are  foolish  to  dread  the thoughts of  it,  and  it  ought  never  to  be  out  of  your  sight. Think upon death,  because  you  know  not  the  hour  it  will  arrive:  think upon death,  because  it  must  arrive. This is  the  subject  of  the present Discourse.

Part I. — The  first  step  which  man  makes  in  life,  is  likewise  the first toward  the  grave:  from  the  moment  his  eyes  open  to  the  light, the sentence  of  death  is  pronounced  against  him;  and,  as  though it were  a  crime  to  live,  it  is  sufficient  that  he  lives  to  make  him deserving of  death. That was  not  our  first  destiny. The Author of our  being  had  at  first  animated  our  clay  with  a  breath  of  immortality:  he  had  placed  in  us  a  seed  of  life,  which  the  revolution  of neither  years  nor  time  could  have  weakened  or  extinguished:  his work was  so  perfect,  that  it  might  have  defied  the  duration  of  ages, while nothing  external  could  have  dissolved  or  even  injured  its harmony. Sin alone  withered  this  divine  seed,  overturned  this blessed order,  and  armed  all  created  beings  against  man:  and  Adam became mortal  from  the  moment  he  became  a  sinner:  "  By  sin,"  , said the  apostle,  "  did  death  enter  into  the  world."

From our  birth,  therefore,  we  all  bear  it  within  us. It appears, that, in  our  mother's  womb,  we  have  sucked  in  a  slow  poison,  with which we  come  into  the  world;  which  makes  us  languish  on  the earth, some  a  longer,  others  a  more  limited  period,  but  which always terminates  in  death. We die  every  day;  every  moment deprives us  of  a  portion  of  life,  and  advances  us  a  step  toward  the grave: the  body  pines,  health  decays,  and  every  thing  which  surrounds assists  to  destroy  us;  food  corrupts,  medicines  weaken  us; the spiritual  fire,  which  internally  animates,  consumes  us;  and  our whole fife  is  only  a  long  and  painful  sickness. Now, in  this  situation, what  image  ought  to  be  so  familiar  to  man  as  death? A criminal condemned  to  die,  whichever  way  he  casts  his  eyes,  what can he  see  but  this  melancholy  object? And does  the  longer  or shorter  period  we  have  to  live,  make  a  sufficient  difference  to  entitle us to  think  ourselves  immortal  on  this  earth?

It is  true,  that  the  measure  of  our  lots  is  not  alike:  some  in peace,  see  their  days  grow  upon  them  to  the  most  advanced  age, and, inheritors  of  the  blessings  of  their  primeval  age,  expire  full  of years  in  the  midst  of  a  numerous  posterity:  others,  arrested  in  the middle of  their  course,  see,  like  king  Hezekiah,  the  gates  of  the grave open  for  them  while  yet  in  their  prime;  and,  like  him, "  seek in  vain  for  the  residue  of  their  years:"  there  are  some  who  only show themselves  as  it  were  on  the  earth,  who  finish  their  course with the  day,  and  who,  like  the  flowers  of  the  field,  leave  scarcely an interval  between  the  instant  which  views  them  in  their  bloom and that  which  sees  them  withered  and  cut  off. The fatal  moment marked for  each  is  a  secret  written  in  the  book  of  life,  which  the Lamb of  God  alone  has  a  right  to  open. We all  live,  then,  uncertain of  the  duration  of  our  life;  and  this  uncertainty,  of  itself  so  fit