Life And Death

 A Death Scene

NOT long since I was called to witness a scene so sad and mournful that,  as my mind  reverts to  it,  a feeling of deep sadness steals over  me.  It was the death of a fair young girl, cut down by the destroyer   in the full bloom of life.  It was sad to behold the anguish of the grief-stricken family.  They were without the comfort of the blessed hope, without the Saviour to strengthen them in their hour of sorrow.  That pale, lifeless form with her white hands folded on her pulse less breast, lay all unconscious of the bitter tears shed over her.  She loved life, and all through her painful sickness cherished the fond hope that she should recover.  She could not bear to think of death.  There was no light for her to penetrate the dark portals of the tomb.  But death would not stay for this:  he clasped her in his icy arms, and bore her away from all she fondly loved, to rest under the cold clods of the tomb. As I gazed on this scene of sorrow, I was led to contrast the lot of the wicked with the lot of the righteous.  0 how brightly beamed the lamp of life and light, amidst that moral darkness.  "The righteous hath hope in his death. "The grave is not a place of dread to the Christian, racked on a bed of pain.  He looks forward to it as a place of rest.  The bright hope of the resurrection eclipses the darkness and gloom that enshrouds it. Happy in Jesus  he  can  peacefully  resign  himself  to the sleep  of death, feeling that he will slumber but a little while ere the graves will yield up their precious trust, and death  will be swallowed  up in victory.  0 that all could feel and know the consolations of the Christian's hope.  It is a hope glorious with immortality, and full of comfort.  It robs death of its gloom and darkness, it dries the tear of the mourner, and scatters away the shadows from the des- pairing mind.  It points beyond this life of woe and suffering, to the blest mansions that our  kind  Saviour is  preparing for those who  love  him. 

 0 blessed thought.  

No sickness is there 

prostrating its victims on beds 

of pain and languishing.  

No death can enter there, 

scattering blight 

and misery in his track.

The weary there shall find repose 

A ransom from all earth's cares and woes. 

No more in a world of pain to roam, 

Safe with Jesus,

forever at home.

My dear young friends, may none of us who have 

started for  the  heavenly  kingdom  be  disappointed 

of an entrance there.  We know it will cost a mighty 

struggle, but let us remember that the  crown lies at 

the end of the race.  When the victory is gained, it 

will repay us for all our toil and suffering here.  Indeed, 

the trials we  here  endure  are  not-worthy  to 

be  compared with  the far more  exceeding  and  

eternal weight of  glory.

S.  A.  HASTINGS. 

Claremont,