Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/175

 time flies:  scarcely  do  a  few  moments  now  remain  to  him,  and  he must  precipitate  a  confession  for  which  the  greatest  leisure  would hardly suffice,  and  which  can  precede  but  an  instant  the  awful  judgment of  the  justice  of  God. Alas! we often  complain,  during  life, of a  treacherous  memory, — that  we  forget  every  thing, — that  the minister of  God  is  under  the  necessity  of  remedying  our  inattention, and of  assisting  us  to  know  and  to  judge  of  ourselves:  but  in  that last moment  the  expiring  sinner  shall  require  no  assistance  to  recall the remembrance  of  his  crimes:  the  justice  of  God,  which  had  delivered him  up  during  health  to  all  the  profundity  of  his  darkness, will then  enlighten  him  in  his  wrath.

Every thing  around  his  bed  of  death  awakens  the  remembrance of some  new  crime:  servants,  whom  he  has  scandalized  by  his  example;  children,  whom  he  has  neglected;  a  wife,  whom  he  has  rendered miserable  by  unlawful  attachments;  ministers  of  the  church, whom he  has  despised;  riches,  which  he  has  abused;  the  luxury which surrounds  him,  for  which  the  poor  and  his  creditors  have suffered; the  pride  and  magnificence  of  his  edifices,  which  have been reared  up  upon  the  inheritance  of  the  widow  and  the  orphan, or perhaps  by  the  public  calamity:  every  thing,  in  a  word,  the heavens and  the  earth,  says  Job,  shall  reveal  his  iniquity,  and  rise up against  him;  shall  recall  to  him  the  frightful  history  of  his  passions and  of  his  crimes.

Thus, the  recollection  of  the  past  forms  one  of  the  most  dreadful situations of  the  expiring  sinner;  because  in  it  he  finds  nothing  but labours lost;  pleasures  which  have  been  dissipated  the  moment almost of  their  existence;  and  crimes  which  shall  endure  for  ever.

But the  scenes  around  him  are  not  less  gloomy  to  this  unfortunate soul: his  surprises,  his  separations,  his  changes.

His surprises. — He had  always  flattered  himself  that  the  hour  of the  Lord  would  not  surprise  him. Whatever had  been  said  to  him on the  subject  from  the  pulpit  had  not  prevented  him  from  assuring himself that  his  conscience  should  be  properly  arranged  before  the arrival of  this  dreaded  moment. He has  reached  it,  however,  still loaded with  all  his  crimes,  without  preparation,  without  the  performance of  a  single  exertion  toward  appeasing  the  wrath  of  the Almighty: he  has  reached  it  while  he  least  thought  of  it,  and  he  is now  to  be  judged.

His surprises. — God strikes  him  in  the  zenith  of  his  passions, — in the  time  when  the  thoughts  of  death  were  more  distant  from  his mind, — when he  had  attained  to  places  he  had  long  ardently  struggled for,  and  when,  like  the  foolish  man  in  the  gospel,  he  had  exhorted his  soul  to  repose  itself,  and  to  enjoy  in  peace  the  fruit  of its  labours:  it  is  in  this  moment  that  the  justice  of  God  surprises him, and  he  sees  life,  with  every  imaginary  hope  of  happiness, blasted for  ever.

His surprises. — He is  on  the  brink  of  the  gulf,  and  the  Almighty willeth that  no  one  shall  dare  to  inform  him  of  his  situation. His relations flatter  him;  his  friends  leave  him  undeceived;  they  already lament him  in  secret  as  dead,  yet  they  continue  to  speak  of  his  re-