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
