290 FRIENDS’

REVIEW.

 

and which are more uncertain than the
variable wind! Yet what anxiety and uneasi-
ness when we meet with disappointment in the

ursuit of them, or when stripped of those we
had in possession! What folly can be compared
to this! what stupidity equal it! so anxious to
provide for an hour in laboring to procure
things that we can, in no wise, give to ourselves,
—and so wholly unconcerned in securing to
ourselyes the happiness of eternity! ever-
during, never-ending eternity! And what
is this life that we are so fond cf ? a shadow !—
a bubble, which a breeze will soon destroy.
What so uncertain,—so little to be depended
upon, as life? Wherefore do we centre our
hopes and desires upon it, and prize it above all
things? Why centre all our cares upon that
which may end with the present moment? and
think it not worth our concern to provide for
that permanent duration, which never ends,
when nothing is more certain than our final
change ?

And why are we 30 terrified at the thoughts
of death? What is it that we are so afraid of ?
Wherein doth its terror consist? Doth it not
argue great weakness to form such ideas of a
stranger we have never seen, and of whom we
have no personal knowledge? Nor have any that
ever seen him, given us this information. They
are images of our own fancy,—bug-bears of our
own creating. Perhaps, when we come to see
for ourselves, we may think him the most
agreeable messenger,—our best friend,—a re-
deemer from prison, and a deliverer from cap-
tivity. This we are sure of, that it is a door
which opens for our release, and through which
we must step out of this prison, from under this
load of human life; and if it be not a pleasin
release, it is our own fault. The scene beyon
the curtain can only terrify those who are con-
scious they have not acted as they ought on
this stage of being.

Happiness! ‘O happiness, our being’s end
and aim;” wherein centres all our hopes, all
our wishes and pursuits! But, alas! the fatal
mistake of our choice; we bound it by this
world, and entail it upon ourselves through end-
less duration. Mistake, indeed! to think that
souls created for the joys of heaven should be
satisfied with the delights of earth; be con-
tented in prison, easy in captivity, or happy
in banishment from their destined home. But
soitis. Misery, which above all things we wish
to avoid, we seek, like infatuated creatures, with
greatest ardor; and while its chains are chaf-
ing our limbs, please ourselves with the fancied

session of happiness. So fond are we of this
life,—so attached to this world,—that the joys
of heaven have no allurements in them. Though
we know we must die, we will not think of
death. Notwithstanding all things sound the
awful alarm, we scarce believe ourselves mortal.
The long-lived oak and the lofty pine, the dura-

 

ble cedar and the beautiful elm, are daily drop-
ping into dust,—and the animated beings which
nature is constantly handing into life, industri-
ous Zime is melting down, and sending as into
the mint again. Thus we see things gravita
ting to their end ;—nature is a continu n
of revolution: every thing is upon the wing of
change. How then can we expect permanent
happiness on earth? or is there anything here
below worth our anxiety, our esteem, our at-
tachment? Wherefore, then, do we refuse to
look toward eternity, our fixed and durable
home? . usa
Although, in our considerations, we may dis-
card the thoughts of death, yet we know it must
visit us ere long, and open to us a new scene.
How dare we then omit providing for so awful
a guest? Will he neglect to come, because we
are not prepared? No: he will surely come;
and our omission will make him doubly terrible.
Oh! the horror and gnashing of teeth, when
conscience joins the potent foe, and in our hear-
ing informs how constantly he has been whis-
pering in our ears that the king of terrors was at
hand, and reminding us of the necessity of
making preparations for his reception; and how
we had slighted his kindness, and mocked at
his admonitions. en, oh! then, we shall see,
with the Preacher, all below the sun to be
vanity and vexation of spirit, and that there is
no profit in anything but what produces self-
approving thoughts. Then shall we see that
the smiles of conscience, on a retrospect of our
past lives, would be of more value than legions
of worlds. Then shall we see what stupid and

   

   

‘infatuated creatures we have been, without the

least shadow of excuse; and how terrible will
conscien¢e appear, when we remember how often
we have refused him audience, and turned him
over till to-morrow; but now to-morrow is no more.
What we might have easily prevented, now
admits of no remedy or cure. Time, that maga-
zine of events, which we so lavishly squandered
away, is to us exhausted. We are forced ona
journey, without a penny in our purse; norisit

ssible to borrow. Sue

Oh! the necessity, the awful necessity and
importance, of providing for this tremendous
scene! How shall we account for the conduct
of mortals who know this, and are as sure as
they have a place and being, that this awful
scene or period will overtake them: yet, shock-
ing to reflect on, are running on headlong, like
the horse to the battle,—snuffing up the wind, and.
erying ha! ha! in pursuit of their lusts and
momentary gratifications ? Momentary, indeed!
for the sting, the envenomed sting, which these.
leave, soon annihilates all their sweets. This,
their constant experience loudly declares; yet
such is the stupidity of mortals that they con-
tinue repeating the experiment, with ardent
expectations of extracting sweets from wormwood
and gall: and while they are spending their