19 Sermon Illustrations on Death And Dying

Rev. Dr. Nott sank into a second childhood that was peculiarly tender. The last hours of his life were particularly impressive. He lay on his bed, blind, and apparently unconscious. His wife sat by his bed-ide, and sang to him, day by day, the songs of his childhood. He was hushed to repose by them, like an infant on its pillow. Watts's cradle-bye, "Hush, my dear! He still and slumber," always soothed him. Visions of home floated before him, and the name of his mother was frequently on his lips. The last time he conducted family devotions with his household, he closed his prayer with the well-known lines, "Now I lay me down to sleep," &c. Boston Journal.

As two persons journeying homeward — the one to receive honor for service done abroad, the other as a prisoner to be arraigned for treason against his sovereign — would not be alike merry upon the way, though he that was under arrest should sing, and make great show of courage and innocence; so with virtuous and wicked men in this world: the first think upon the day of death as the day of their deliverance, and their hearts leap for joy, considering the glorious heritage to which it ushers them; but the others fall into melancholy at thought of the doom to which death brings them.

Dr. Dwight's mother lived to be more than a hundred years of age. When she was a hundred and two, some people visited her on a certain day, and while they were with her, the bell was heard toll for a funeral. The old lady burst into tears, and said, 'When will the bell toll for me? It seems that the bell will never toll for me. I am afraid that I shall never die.'

When the king of Prussia became sensible of the near approach of dissolution, he desired to see his army defile before him for the last time. His bed was accordingly carried to a window, whence by reflection in a mirror he was enabled to take a last adieu of the troops.

Napoleon Bonaparte, under similar circumstances, ordered himself to be seated and arrayed in his military dress that he might meet the king of terrors as he had been accustomed to meet his mortar foes. What a lesson do such instances read to us of the influence of a ruling passion in absorbing the mind to the exclusion of all proper sense of the awful realities of eternity.

A society of infidels were in the practice of meeting together on Sabbath mornings, to ridicule religion, and to encourage each other in all manner of wickedness. At length they proceeded so far as to meet, by previous agreement, to burn their Bibles! They had lately initiated a young man into their awful mysteries, who had been brought up under great religious advantages, and seemed to promise well; but on that occasion, he proceeded the length of his companions, threw his Bible into the flames, and promised, with them, never to go into a place of religious worship again. He was soon afterwards taken ill. He was visited by a serious man, who found him in the agonies of a distressed mind. He spoke to him of his past ways. The poor creature said, "It all did well enough while in health, and while I could keep off the thoughts of death;" but when the Redeemer was mentioned to him, he hastily exclaimed, "What's the use of talking to me about mercy?" When urged to look to Christ, he said, "I tell you it's of no use now; 'tis too late, 'tis too late. Once I could pray, but now I can't." He frequently repeated, "I cannot pray; I will not pray." He shortly afterwards expired, uttering the most dreadful imprecations against some of his companions in iniquity who came to see him, and now and then saying, "My Bible! Oh, the Bible!"

### 71. Zeal in Circulating the Bible.

Mr. D., a gentleman, engaged in an extensive manufacturing business, in one of the midland counties of England, was called to London on business. After being engaged till a late hour on Saturday night, he said to a confidential person in his employment, who had come to town with him, "Well, we cannot settle our accounts to-night, but must do it early in the morning. On Sabbath therefore they were occupied in that work until 3 o'clock in the afternoon, when dinner was announced, Mr. D. said, "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die. Not," added he, "that I have any thought of dying for years to come." After taking his dinner and wine a post chaise was ordered, and Mr. D. sat out for the country. He arrived at home on Monday night. The next morning, when at breakfast with his family, a gentleman called and said, "Mr. D., have you heard of the death of Mr. —?" "No," said he, "is he dead? It is very different with me; for my part, I am so engaged in business, that I could not find time to die." Immediately after uttering this sentiment, he rose from the table and went into the kitchen; and while stooping in the act of drawing on his boot, he fell down on the floor and expired.

(j). SEVERAL EMINENT PERSONS.—The wretchedness of many eminent persons, in the prospect of death, has been very remarkable.

Henry Beaufort, a rich cardinal, in the days of Henry VI, perceiving that death was at hand, exclaimed, "Wherefore should I die, being so rich? If the whole realm would save my life, I am able either by policy to get it, or by wealth to buy it. Will not death be bribed? Will money do nothing?"

Louis XI strictly charged his servants, that when they saw him ill, they should never dare to name death in his hearing.

When Vitellius, a Roman emperor, and a notorious glutton, who at one supper had before him two thousand fishes and seven thousand birds, was in prospect of death, he made himself intoxicated, that he might not be sensible of its pains, or of the mighty change it produced.

131. Miserable Deaths of the Impenitent.

A gentleman in London, when on his death-bed, felt so strong an aversion to dying, and leaving behind him his wealth, that he hastily rose from his bed, went out, and walked in his yard, exclaiming that he would not die! But the unhappy man's strength being soon exhausted, his affrighted friends carried him back to his bed, where he soon expired. Alas! he was destitute of faith in Him who has promised eternal life to his disciples.

A young man, who had led a wicked life, stifling the voice of conscience, which often reproved him, was at length seized with a violent disorder, which brought him to the grave. During his sickness, he was miserable, as he had been careless and irreligious when in health. A pious neighbor spoke to him of the mercy of God, of the death of the Lord Jesus Christ to make atonement for sin, and of the precious promises which are made to the penitent; saying, "The gospel affords a balm for every wound which sin has made in the soul." "True," said the young man, "but that gospel, despised through my life, affords me no balm in my death. There is no mercy for me now." Soon afterwards he expired.

What a terrific picture does the following passage (from Lardner's Cyclopædia, History of France,) exhibit of the death-bed of a man devoted to the pomp and vanities of the world, and who is at ease in his possessions!

A fatal malady had seized on Cardinal Mazarin, whilst engaged in the conferences of the treaty, and worn by mental fatigue. He consulted Guenau the physician, who told him he had but two months to live. Some days after, Brienne perceived the Cardinal in his night-cap and dressing-gown tottering along his gallery, pointing to his pictures, and exclaiming, "Must I quit all these?" He saw Brienne, and seized him: "Look at that Correggio! this Venus of Titian! that incomparable Deluge of Caracci! Ah! my friend, I must quit all these. Farewell, dear pictures, that I love so dearly, and that cost me so much!" A few days before his death he caused himself to be dressed, shaved, rouged and painted. In this state he was carried in his chair to the promenade, where the envious courtiers paid him ironical compliments on his appearance. Cards were the amusement of his death-bed, his hands being held by others: and they were only interrupted by the papal nuncio, who came to give the cardinal that plenary indulgence to which the prelates of the Sacred College are officially entitled. Mazarin expired on the 9th of March, 1661.

# 122. Miscellaneous.

Cyrus, the Emperor of Persia, after he had long been attended by armies, and vast trains of courtiers, ordered this inscription to be engraven on his tomb, as an admonition to all men of the approach of death, and the desolation that follows it; namely, "O man! whatsoever thou art and whencesoever thou comest, I know that thou wilt come to the same condition in which I now am. I am Cyrus, who brought the empire to the Persians; do not envy me, I beseech thee, this little piece of ground which covereth my body."