Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/184

 the world  which  flies  from  him;  all  created  beings  which  disappear; all that  phantom  of  vanity  which  vanishes;  this  change,  this novelty, is  the  source  still  of  a  thousand  consolations  to  him.

We have  just  seen,  that  the  despair  of  the  dying  sinner,  in  viewing what  passes  around  him,  is  occasioned  by  his  surprises,  his separations, his  changes;  these  are  precisely  the  sources  of  consolation to  the  faithful  soul  in  this  last  moment. Nothing surprises him; he  is  separated  from  nothing;  in  his  eyes  nothing  is  changed.

Nothing surprises  him. — The hour  of  the  Lord  surprises  him not: he  expected,  he  longed  for  it. The thought  of  this  last  moment accompanied  all  his  actions,  entered  into  all  his  projects, regulated all  his  desires,  and  animated  his  whole  conduct  through life. Every hour,  every  moment,  seemed  to  him  the  one  which  the upright Judge  had  appointed  for  that  dreadful  reckoning,  where righteousness itself  shall  be  judged. Thus had  he  lived,  incessantly preparing  his  soul  for  that  last  hour. Thus he  expires, tranquil, consoled,  without  surprise  or  dread,  in  the  peace  of  his Lord; death  never  approaching  nearer  to  him  than  he  had  always beheld it;  and  experiencing  no  difference  between  the  day  of  his death and  the  ordinary  ones  of  his  life.

Besides, what  occasions  the  surprise  and  the  despair  of  the  sinner on  the  bed  of  death,  is  to  see  that  the  world,  in  which  he  had ever placed  all  his  confidence,  is  nothing,  is  but  a  dream,  which vanishes and  is  annihilated.

But the  faithful  soul,  in  this  last  moment,  ah! he sees  the  world in the  same  light  he  had  always  viewed  it;  as  a  shadow  which flitteth away;  as  a  vapour  which  deceives  at  a  distance,  but,  when approached, has  neither  reality  nor  substance. He feels,  then,  the holy joy  of  having  estimated  the  world  according  to  its  merit;  of having  judged  with  propriety;  of  never  being  attached  to  what must one  day  slip  from  him  in  a  moment;  and  of  having  placed his confidence  in  God  alone,  who  remaineth  for  ever,  eternally  to reward  those  who  trust  in  him.

How sweet,  then,  to  a  faithful  soul,  to  say  to  himself,  I  have made the  happiest  choice;  how  fortunate  for  me  that  I  attached myself only  to  God,  since  he  alone  will  endure  to  me  for  ever! My choice was  regarded  as  a  folly;  the  world  laughed  it  to  scorn,  and found me  whimsical  and  singular  in  not  conforming  myself  to  its ways; but  now  this  last  moment  verifies  all. It is  death  that  decides on  which  side  are  the  wise  or  the  foolish,  and  which  of  the two has  judged  aright,  the  worldly  or  the  faithful.

Thus does  the  upright  soul,  on  the  bed  of  death,  view  the  world and all  its  glory. When the  ministers  of  the  church  come  to  converse with  him  of  God  and  the  nothingness  of  all  human  things, these holy  truths,  so  new  to  the  sinner  in  that  last  moment,  are subjects familiar  to  him,  objects  of  which  he  had  never  lost  sight. These consolatory  truths  are  then  his  sweetest  occupation;  he meditates  upon,  he  enjoys  them,  he  draws  them  from  the  bottom  of his  heart,  where  they  had  always  been  cherished,  to  place  them  full in his  view,  and  he  contemplates  them  with  joy. The minister  of