display a total carelessness respecting it, but this is often more affected than real'; they assume a kind of sportiveness and levity for the purpose of proving how devoid they are of fear, when in fact it is the result of its prevalence. So the school-boy passes the church yard,

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Whistling aloud to keep his courage up."

But when death actually presents itself before them, then their boasted courage fails, then fear comes upon them like an armed man, and their terror is proportioned to their former levity and carelessness. There are others who seem to live regardless of death, in consequence of a studious endeavour to keep the subject out of sight. It is their constant solicitude to banish it to a distance. They put far from them the evil day. They try to drown all reflections on their mortality amidst the anxieties of business, the vicissitudes of pleasure, and the excitement of company. But who can be always engaged? who can succeed entirely in keeping out of sight a dreaded and a hated object? how many events are occurring daily to obtrude upon our minds the frailty of our nature, and the assurance that we too must die; and the uneasiness of mind which is evinced when the subject is forced upon their revolting attention, shews how much they are haunted by the dread of death. Some there are, who, by infidelity, vain reasonings, and dissipation, succeed in preserving a kind of composure to the last; they carry a heedless spirit even to their dying bed; the insensibility which has marked their life, characterizes their death also; and by their mistaken and illjudging, or perhaps deceiving friends, they are represented as dying like lambs, when the only lamb-like characteristic they exhibit, is a strange senselessness and stupidity of mind. This final insensibility may be partly induced by disease, which weakens the capacity of thinking, and prevents them

from coming to a just conclusion concerning their past conduct, their present condition, or their future prospects. Nor is it unreasonable to believe, that this may be the result of a judicial dispensation of God. We know that he has given men up "to strong delusion that they should believe a lie.” In what case can such a dispensation be supposed with more propriety, than in that of gross, long-continued, and obstinate sin, perpetrated by a heart hardening itself in iniquity through life. The fear of death is naturally unavoidable, and must, therefore, of itself be innocent; it operates universally, on every part of the brute creation as well as on every individual of the human race, perpetually, under all circumstances, the most distressing as well as the most pleasing, and with a force peculiar to itself. But this instinctive repulsion in man is not merely the natural dread of suffering; it is produced also by a sense of guilt, and a painful apprehension of punishment. These constitute what the apostle Paul calls death's sting. It is felt most by him who is most aware of the sad truth and reality of his condition. If men succeed in blunting its point, it is through a delusion which makes their case the more hopeless; whilst the calm which is thus obtained is only temporary, and resembles that death-like stillness which sometimes precedes an earthquake. Never can death be encountered with tranquillity, and confidence, and hope, until its sting is extracted by the free and full forgiveness of all our sins. When we have just ground for concluding that our peace is made with God, when we possess a clear sense of pardoning and sanctifying mercy, enjoy the love of God shed abroad in our hearts, and can look to him as our protector and friend, then may we imitate the faith and hope of the Psalmist, "yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." O, how many of the Lord's people have left the world with peace and joy. O,

how much of heaven has breathed in their spirit and conversation. They have died full of holy confidence and rejoicing. Longing to depart, they have cried, "Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly." This is commonly the case with those who die in the Lord. It has been the case even with martyrs, with those who have had to encounter death in its most terrifying forms; men, women, and children, have embraced the stake, and welcomed the flames with joy and exultation. It has been the case not merely with the poor, the despised, the outcast, but with such as have had every thing agreeable in their condition, and attractive in their connexions. They have said to those whom they were leaving, "You are dear; many are the comforts I have realized in your society, and in your kind and affectionate attentions; you are loved as the kind gifts of a gracious Saviour; but I am going from the gifts to the giver, from the streams to the fountain. I leave you to find infinitely more in Christ." And so clear have been their prospects, so lively and animating their foretastes of future bliss, so abundant have been their consolations, and so firm their confidence, that filled with a joy unspeakable and full of glory, they have exclaimed with surprise,

"Tell me, my soul, can this be death."

Yea, this has often been the case with those who during their life time have been the subjects of distressing doubts and fears. When the trying hour has arrived, they have had grace according to their day; the darkness, which in the distance excited so much alarm, has been gradually dispersed as they have approached; the spot which they feared would prove the scene of their defeat, has become the scene of their triumph; and they have left the world exclaiming, "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? thanks be unto God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord

Jesus Christ." Still, it must be admitted, that death often becomes a source of temptation to those who are endeavouring to prepare for it. Though death may be rendered harmless, yet its appearance is always repulsive. It is still a declaration of God's displeasure against sin, and naturally excites anxiety and forebodings. The prospects on the other side of Jordan may be attracting and animating, and yet the sight of its deep and troubled waters may cause an inward shrinking. When David says, "I will fear no evil," he speaks of his anticipation as an attainment, and intimates that the fear which he was enabled to defy was much connected with the event itself. Let us look at the case, and see what are the remedies which the gospel supplies to those who place their trust in Christ Jesus.

Christ has taken from death its fearful curse. If divine grace had not interposed, death has a sting with which he would pierce every transgressor, and send him to a state of interminable misery. "The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law." Death derives its wounding power from sin, and sin from the law that forbids it, that discovers its nature, and denounces its punishment. That punishment consists not merely in the dissolution of the body, but also in the death of the soul, that is, the perpetual loss of all hope; an exclusion from the favour and presence of God; and a sense of his eternal wrath, which burns like a devouring fire. It was impossible that this curse should be removed unless some one could be found to expiate our offences, and, by becoming our surety, to bear away the penalty from us by sustaining it himself. This Christ undertook, and this he effected by his incarnation and sufferings. His incarnation rendered him capable of suffering, whilst his sufferings derived such an infinite value and dignity from his divinity, that his death was equivalent to the destruction of all our race; and, in lieu of our perdition, it was accepted as

"an offering and a sacrifice to God of a sweet smelling savour." Every moral purpose that could have been answered by the punishment of the sinner has been better subserved · by the death of the Saviour; "there is therefore now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh but after the spirit; for the law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made us free from the law of sin and death." Though death remain, yet to them it is no longer penal; they have no fear of the consequences, from which comes the deepest sting. "Christ hath redeemed them from the curse of the law, being made a curse for them." But it may be asked, if Christ has redeemed them, bearing their sin in his own body on the tree, and they are justified by his blood, and saved from wrath by him, why do they yet die? To which I answer, they die as they suffer affliction. Affliction is not a judicial visitation, but corrective and medicinal; and though, like all natural evil, derived originally from sin, yet, as God employs it, it is the effect and token of his love. so far as it is a curse, and thus the christian does not die; hence in the scriptures the death of the saints is called a sleep. Saint Paul argues, "if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also that sleep in Jesus will God bring with him." It is observable how the apostle varies the expression, Jesus died, and the saints sleep in him; for he sustained death in all its terrors, that it might be a calm sleep to his people. Sleep has nothing formidable in it; a weary man, after a day of toil, feels no reluctance to lie down on his bed; such is the representation given of a believer's death in the scriptures, and it is so essentially just, that it is said of Stephen, though he suffered a death of violence," he fell asleep." Yes, being reconciled to God through the blood of Christ, they have nothing to apprehend from death, but with sweet tranquillity may resign their souls into the hands

Christ has abolished death,