Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/166

 against these  salutary  terrors;  lest  God  should  withdraw  from  you this mean  of  salvation,  and  harden  you  against  all  the  terrors  of religion. A favour,  not  only  despised  but  even  regarded  as  a  punishment, is  soon  followed  with  the  indignation,  or  at  least  the  indifference, of  the  benefactor. Should that  unfortunately  be  ever the case,  then  will  the  image  of  death  leave  you  all  your  tranquillity:  you  will  fly  to  an  entertainment  the  moment  you  have  quitted the solemnity  of  a  funeral;  with  the  same  eyes  will  you  behold  a hideous  carcass,  or  the  criminal  object  of  your  passion;  then  will you be  even  pleased  with  yourself  for  having  soared  above  all these vulgar  fears,  and  even  applaud  yourself  for  a  change  so  terrible toward  your  salvation. Profit, then,  toward  the  regulation  of your  manners,  by  that  sensibility,  while  it  is  yet  left  to  you  by God. Let your  mind  dwell  on  all  the  objects  proper  to  recall  that image, while  yet  it  has  influence  to  disturb  the  false  peace  of  your passions. Visit the  tomb  of  your  ancestors,  in  the  presence  of their  ashes,  to  meditate  on  the  vanity  of  all  earthly  things. Go and ask,  what  now,  in  these  dark  habitations  of  death,  remains  to them  of  all  their  pleasures,  dignities,  and  splendour? Open yourself these  gloomy  dwellings,  and,  reflecting  on  what  they  had  formerly been  in  the  eyes  of  men,  see  what  they  now  are;  spectres, whose presence  you  with  difficulty  can  support;  loathsome  masses of worms  and  putrefaction:  such  are  they  in  the  eyes  of  men;  but what are  they  in  the  sight  of  God? Descend, in  idea,  into  these dwellings of  horror  and  infection,  and  choose  beforehand  your own place;  figure  yourself,  in  that  last  hour,  extended  on  the  bed of anguish,  struggling  with  death,  your  limbs  benumbed  and already seized  with  a  mortal  coldness,  your  tongue  already bound in  the  chains  of  death;  your  eyes  fixed,  covered  with  a cloud  of  confusion,  and  before  which  all  things  begin  to  disappear: your relations  and  friends  around  you,  offering  up  ineffectual wishes for  your  recovery,  and  augmenting  your  fears  and  regrets, by the  tenderness  of  their  sighs  and  the  abundance  of  their  tears: reflect upon  that  sight,  so  instructive,  so  interesting;  you  then,  in the  dismal  struggles  of  that  last  combat,  proving  that  you  are  still in life  only  by  the  convulsions  which  announce  your  death;  the whole life  annihilated  to  you;  despoiled  for  ever  of  all  your  dignities and  titles;  accompanied  solely  by  your  works,  and  ready  to appear  in  the  presence  of  God. This is  not  a  prediction;  it  is  the history of  all  those  who  die  every  day  to  your  knowledge,  and  it  is the  anticipation  of  your  own. Think upon  that  terrible  moment; the day,  perhaps,  is  not  far  removed,  yet,  however  distant  it  may be, you  will  at  last  reach  it,  and  the  interval  will  seem  to  you  only an instant;  and  the  only  consolation  you  then  can  have,  shall  be, to have  made  the  study  of,  and  preparation  for  death,  the  employment of  your  life.

Lastly. As my  final  argument: — trace  to  their  source  these  excessive terrors,  which  render  the  image  and  thoughts  of  death  so terrible,  and  you  will  undoubtedly  find  them  originating  from  the disorders  of   a   criminal   conscience:   it  is  not  death  which  you