Page:TheParadiseOfTheChristianSoul.djvu/608

 And what,  O Lord,  shall  I say  of  thyself? Didst thou not seem  to  have  a dread  of death,  when,  in  the  garden, for the  anguish  of  thy  Heart, thy Sweat  became  like  drops of Blood  trickling  down  upon the ground? And when  thou saidst, My  soul  is  sorrowful even unto  death,  and  prayedst that this  chalice  might  be  removed from  thee?

Christ. That was  because I had taken  upon  myself  your infirmities, that  thou  mightst know how  much  I suffered for you,  and  how  truly  I carried your  sorrows. But it was  less  death  than  sin  that  I abhorred; the  destruction  of which,  by  my  death,  was  before my  eyes. But I allowed the fear  of  death  so  far  to  enter in,  that  thou  mightst  fear the less  to  die, as  one  to  whom, by the  merit  of  my  death, death is  become  the  end  of  sin, and the  entrance  into  life.

But now  consider  why many of  you  fear  death; for the causes  of  this  are  various; and yet,  if  thou  examine  them well, not  one  of  them  are reasonable or  adequate. Rather wilt thou  acknowledge that, although  this  world’s children are  perceptibly  actuated by  the  opposite  feeling, who  live  on  securely  in their  vices,  at  the  same  time that they  are  in  a horrible fear of  death  as  the  greatest of evils; yet  not  death,  in which  is  no  evil,  but  a bad life is  above  all  evils  to  be dreaded,  for  the  reason  that  it produces  the  evils  which  are eternal. For so  it  is,  that  the foolish people,  who  walk  in darkness,  fear  where  there  is no  fear,  and  where  there  is fear,  they  walk  securely; by which  I mean,  that  they  fear unreal dangers,  and  despise the true. For what  is  the death of  which  men  are  so afraid,  else  than  the  separation of  the  soul  from  the body? But the  death  of  which they are  not  afraid  is  the  separation of  the  soul  from God; a death which  is  so  much the more  to  be  feared,  as  it  is worse  for  the  soul  than  for the body  to  perish.

But say,  my  son,  what  is there  to  be  feared  and  to  be shrunk  from  in  death? Is not the  day  of  death  better than the  day  of  one’s  birth? Believe me,  or  rather  acknowledge from  thy  own  experience, that  man  born  of  a woman,  living  for  a short time, is  filled  with  many  miseries: who  comes  forth  like a flower and  is  destroyed,  and flees as  a shadow,  and  never continues in  the  same  state. As long  as  he  lives  he  walks in the  midst  of  snares,  in  the world, I mean,  the  whole  of which  is  seated  in  wicked-