Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/161

 to the  things  of  the  earth,  by  a  sight  which  places  before  his  eyes their insignificancy,  and  announces  to  him  the  same  destiny  soon. The death  of  our  companions  is  not  a  more  useful  lesson  to  us: such a  person  leaves  vacant  an  office  which  we  hasten  to  obtain; another promotes  us  a  step  in  the  service;  claims  expire  with  this one, which  might  have  greatly  embarrassed  us;  that  one  now  leaves us the  undisputed  favourite  of  our  sovereign;  another  brings  us  a step  nearer  to  a  certain  dignity,  and  opens  the  road  to  a  rank  which his death  alone  could  render  attainable  5  and,  on  these  occasions,  our spirits are  invigorated;  we  adopt  new  measures,  and  form  new  projects;  and,  far  from  our  eyes  being  opened,  by  the  examples  of those  whom  we  see  disappear,  there  issue,  even  from  their  ashes, fatal sparks,  which  inflame  all  our  desires  and  attachments  to  the world; and  death,  that  gloomy  picture  of  our  misery,  reanimates more passions  among  men  than  even  all  the  illusions  of  life. What, then, can  detach  us  from  this  wretched  world,  since  death  itself seems only  to  knit  more  strongly  the  bonds,  and  strengthen  us  in the  errors  which  bind  us  to  it.

Here, my  brethren,  I  require  nothing  from  you  but  reason. What are the  natural  consequences  which  good  sense  alone  ought  to  draw from the  uncertainty  of  death?

First. The hour  of  death  is  uncertain:  every  year,  every  day, every moment,  may  be  the  last  of  our  life. It is  absurd,  then,  by attaching  ourselves  to  what  must  pass  away  in  an  instant,  to  sacrifice the  only  riches  which  are  eternal;  every  thing  you  do  for  the earth ought  therefore  to  appear  as  lost,  since  you  have  no  interest there; you  can  depend  on  nothing  there,  and  can  carry  nothing from it,  but  what  you  shall  have  done  for  heaven. The kingdoms of the  earth,  and  all  their  glory,  ought  not  then  for  a  moment  to balance  the  interests  of  your  eternal  welfare,  since  the  greatest  fortune cannot  assure  you  of  a  day  more  than  the  most  humble;  and, since the  only  consequence  which  can  accrue  from  it  is  a  more  deep and bitter  sorrow  on  the  bed  of  death,  when  you  shall  be  obliged for ever  to  part  from  them,  every  care,  every  movement,  every desire, ought  therefore  to  centre  in  establishing  for  yourselves  a permanent  and  unchangeable  fortune,  an  eternal  happiness,  which fadeth not  away.

Secondly. The hour  of  your  death  is  uncertain:  you  ought,  then, to expect  it  every  day;  never  to  permit  yourselves  an  action,  in which  you  would  wish  not  to  be  surprised;  to  consider  all  your proceedings as  those  of  a  dying  man,  who  every  moment  expects his soul  to  be  recalled;  to  act,  in  every  thing,  as  though  you  were that instant  to  render  account  of  your  conduct;  and,  since  you  cannot answer  for  the  time  which  is  to  come,  in  such  a  manner  to  regulate the  present  that  you  may  have  no  occasion  for  the  future  to repair  its  errors.

Lastly. The hour  of  your  death  is  uncertain:  delay  not  then, your repentance. Time presses;  hasten,  then,  your  conversion  to the  Lord;  you  cannot  assure  yourselves  of  a  day,  and  you  defer  it to  a  distant  and  uncertain  period  to  come. Were you  unfortunately