The Christian's Triumph: INCLUDING HAPPY DEATH SCENES. Ehapter I. DEATH. 'Thou hast all seasons for thine own, Oh Death! Mrs. Hemans. HOWEVER men differ, whether in appearance, manners, circumstances, opinions or feelings, they have one idea in common; it is, that they must die. The shivering inhabitant of the north in the midst of his long winter, knows that the longer winter of death will come upon him. The dweller in the tropical clime in the blaze of the noon-day sun, feels sensible that in the course of events this sun will shine no more on him forever. The mariner on the ocean, the landsman on shore, the ruler and the ruled, the renowned and the obscure, the learned and the unlearned, the old and the young, in all stations, ages, and places, know from what they behold around them, that man is mortal-that 'he fleeth as a shadow, and continueth not. As for man his days are as grass; as a flower of the field so he flourisheth; the wind passeth over it and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more.' We live-in the full and free enjoyment of the present existence, surrounded with others who in common with us inherit mortal being. We feel that some superior power upholds---some supreme goodness provides for us. Yet we know that all we here enjoy is limited; that while we are in possession of the dearest earthly pleasures, death may come and end them; that in the midst of life we are in death; that the same great Power which gave and still grants us the present existence, will at some future period of time bring it to a close. As we naturally view death, it occasions sad and melancholy thoughts. It has been termed the king of terrors. It comes and takes from us the dear and the good; the parent, brother, sister, companion, offspring, friend, associate, neighbor, citizen,--and strong as the ties may be which bind us to them, they are snapped asunder. We turn, as the signal of the destroyer is heard-we look—and another, and another departs,-and the places that knew them shall know them no more forever. We mourn-we muse in sadness-we call-but they answer not again. In every such departure, we hear repeated the great lesson that the dead will not return to usthat we must go to them. It has been thus from the commencement of time to the present hour. Adam died. His offspring are also mortal. The fathers, where are they? And the prophets, do they live forever? Individuals, communities and nations have followed each other in the way of death. When Xerxes at the head of his army, wept to think how soon all that mighty host would be with the dead, he gave utterance to a sentiment which in every grade and department of life, often breaks forth from the human soul. The greatest, wisest, and best of the earth have thought and expressed much on the subject of death. They have seen its ravages, have realized its nearness to them, and have meditated and spoken in relation to their own dissolution either in fear and despair, in darkness and doubt, or in hope and joy.1 In what light are we to view it? Death is considered an enemy. It comes upon us with relentless hand and unpitying eye; breaking up our peace, scattering our hopes, deranging all our plans for the present or the future, and making shipwreck of all the deep affections of the heart. Its aspect is repulsive. Solomon had this view of it. 'No man hath power over the spirit to retain the spirit; neither hath he power in the day of death; and there is no discharge in that war.' Paul had this view of it when he called death an enemy; and it is frequently spoken of in this manner by writers in the Scriptures. And yet this is but one view of death. It is the first view; an expression of the most general and prevalent idea. As death invades our present peace and happiness, we think and speak of it with the impression of regret and sorrow; When thoughts of the last bitter hand Come like a blight over our spirits, And the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, Let us, however, take another view of it. Notwithstanding the ideas of the sacred writers already alluded to, there are other representations I The ancients contemplated death without terror, and met it with indifference. It was the only divinity to which they never sacrificed, convinced that no human being could turn aside its stroke. They raised altars to fever, to misfortune, to all the evils of life; for these might change! But though they did not court the presence of death in any shape, they acknowledged its tranquillity; and in the beautiful fables of their allegorical religion, death was the daughter of night, and the sister of sleep; and ever the friend of the unhappy! To the eternal sleep of death they dedicated their sepulchral monuments. Eternali Somno! If the full light of revelation had not yet broken on them, it can hardly be denied that they had some glimpses, and a dawn of the life to come, from the many allegorical inventions which describe the transmigrations of the soul. A butterfly on the extremity of an extinguished lamp held up by the messengers of the gods intensely gazing above, implied a dedication of that soul; love, with a melancholy air, his legs crossed, leaning on an inverted torch, the flame thus naturally extinguishes itself, elegantly denoted the cessation of human life; a rose sculptured on a of death in the Scriptures more agreeable and cheering. It is called the house appointed for all living-the place where the wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary are at rest.' In the Old Testament it is set forth under the similitude of sleep. When an individual died, it is written of him that he slept with his fathers. In the New Testament, similar terms are employed. The dead are said to sleep, or to be asleep. There is nothing repulsive, surely, in this idea of death. There is nothing unpleasant connected with that repose which we enjoy in sleep. We desire it; and when the hour comes that calls us from the busy, anxious rounds of life to rest on the bed of refreshment and ease, we greet it with pleasure. True wisdom will lead us to take a similar view of death; to look upon it as repose after a season of excessive labor. 'Life is a torrid day, Parched by the wind and sun; We have another very striking and pleasing similitude of death. It is that of home. Man goeth to his long home.' A more interesting comparison could not have been made. Home is the fondest of all names to the earthly pilgrim. Here he is safe, when clouds and tempests are abroad; here he rejoices and smiles when the world sighs or frowns; here he comes when all other sources of peace and comfort have failed him, and in the bosom of home finds relief and delight. If home hath nothing repulsive or abhorrent in it, the grave may not be feared. Death admits us to our home. We can draw no other than a pleasing inference from this truth. But there is another view of death which demands attention. Among all we realize of instinctive feel sarcophagus, or the emblems of epicurean life traced on it, in a scull wreathed by a chaplet of flowers, such as they wore at their convivial meetings, a flask of wine, a patera, and the small bones used as dice; all these symbols were indirect allusions to death, veiling its painful recollections.'-Curiosities of Literature. ing; all we hear in the suggestions, and comparisons, and naked facts of the wisdom of man, inspired or uninspired; there is one truth speaking to us from on high-one consideration deserving our frequent meditation and study. By taking heed thereto we shall the better understand our own nature and our affinity to that wise and gracious Creator, who hath made of one blood all nations of men that dwell on the face of the earth, and hath determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitation.' We are not constituted to live here forever. Our Maker did not intend that we should; else had he given us an immortal body. Here we know that this earthly house of our tabernacle' is subject to decay; that according to its very constitution, its energies must, within a certain period of time, be impaired, and ultimately cease. Why this? Did not the same Being who gave to all his other creatures life, and breath, and all things,' constitute man as he pleased? And is his pleasure opposed to his wisdom and goodness? If every other order of creation was pronounced very good, must man be excepted? If he is made to die, is not death to him a wise and gracious ordination of his heavenly Father? The simple in understanding can answer these questions. Since then the truth is plainly before us, that Providence has not intended man to exist on the earth only for a limited time; and as it is equally clear that this ordination is just and good, we should consider the subject of death in a rational and philosophical light. Were we to wish that our earthly existence might be prolonged to the age of two or three centuries, before half that time had expired, we should be weary of life, and desire to lie down and die. And even now, much as we love life, and fondly as we cling to it, miserable indeed should we be with the full assurance that we were to exist on the earth for thousands of years, subject to all the changes, trials, and sorrows that usually beset man |