147 Sermon Illustrations on Death

Before the battle of Hatcher's Run, a Christian soldier said to his comrade, "You are detailed to go to the front, while I am to remain with the baggage. Let us change places. I'll go front: you remain in camp."—"What for?" said the comrade. "Because I am prepared to die, I think; but you are not." The exchange was made. The thought of the self-sacrifice of his friend, and his readiness for the exposures of life or the realities of death, led the unsaved soldier to repentance and a like preparation for life.

O Man! of all fools, a fool with a gray head is the worst fool anywhere. With one foot in the grave, and another foot on a sandy foundation, bow shall I depict you, but by saying to you, as God said to the rich man, "Thou fool! a few more nights and thy soul shall be required of thee;" and then where art thou? Spurgeon.

A noble ship was bearing in to port. It was the evening hour, and too late to enter without a pilot. There were two passages into the harbor; one a dangerous narrow channel, the other a wide and safer one. The captain determined to pilot himself by the narrow passage. A storm was coming up; and the passengers, with fear and consternation, begged him to take the wider channel. He laughed at their cowardice, and swore he would do as he pleased. As the night advanced, the gale increased. Soon arose a cry, "Breakers ahead, breakers ahead!" The captain flew to the wheel; the sails were struck; the wind had the mastery; and the captain found a will that could defy his own. The vessel made a fearful plunge, struck the foreship deep into the sand, to be shattered by the wild waves' pleasure. Few survived the terrors of that fearful night; but among the dead thrown up by the rising tide was the body of the wilful and presumptuous captain.

"What shall I come to, father," said a young man, "if I go on prospering in this way?" — "To the grave," the father replied.

A German had his side torn by a shell in the battle of the Wilderness, and lay down, sheltered by his blanket from the scorching sun, to die. A burning thirst caused his greatest suffering. A delegate put a canteen to his lips to relieve him. His disappointment and agony were intense when he found that he could not swallow. Every effort was in vain; and death came swiftly on. This case is analogous to the fate of one whose soul-thirst has been neglected till relief is impossible.

Just before Melanethon died, he expressed a wish to hear some choice passages of Scripture read; and, this desire having been met, he was asked by his son-in-law, Sabinus, whether he would have any thing else: to which he replied in those emphatic words, "Aliud nihil, nisi cælum!" "nothing else but heaven." And, shortly after this, he gently breathed his last.

A number of young men were once engaged in acting the tragedy of "Bertram, or the Castle of St. Aldobrand," at Nashville. Mr. J. J. McLaughlin, formerly of Hopkinsville, Ky., was engaged to act the part of Bertram, whose part it was during the progress of the play to feign to stab himself. For this purpose he had provided himself with a Spanish knife. "As the tragedy wore to its devoutment his excitement increased, and the gloomy spirit of the play was upon him with a power that made a strong impression of reality upon the hearers, and made them shudder as he pronounced the following, accompanied by the plunge of the dagger that brought him to his death:—

'Bertram hath but one fatal foe on earth, And he is here.' [Stubs himself.]

It was at this moment that he plunged the weapon to his heart. It was doubtless the result of the excited feelings of the actor, who had too absorbingly entered into the dreadful spirit of his hero. We charitably suppose that he had no premeditated design of ending his life with the play; but his complete identification of feeling with the part he acted, led him to suicide as a natural consequence.

"The hallucination, if such we may call it, did not end with the plunge of the dagger. His feelings bore him along yet further. There was still, after some exclamations of surprise from the tragic monks, a dying sentence for him to repeat. He went through it with a startling effect:—

[With a burst of exultation.]

'I died no felon's death— A warrior's weapon freed a warrior's soul.'

# AFFE

# 7. Affection, Conjugal.

A young lady in A ——, N. Y., was attacked with the small-pox. She was gay and thoughtless, and had been much admired for her comeliness and

# 35. BEGGARS

Rev. Mr. Baker, a Free-will Baptist evangelist, was visiting from house to house, in a certain neighborhood, in New England; and met on his walk three young men with axes on their shoulders. He stopped and conversed with them. Two appeared somewhat serious: the third, a gay, frank young man, replied, "You see, sir, that splendid white house on that farm yonder?" "Yes." "Well, sir, that estate has been willed to me by my uncle; and we are now going to do chopping in the woodland that belongs to it. There are some incumbrances on the estate which I must settle, before the farm can be fully mine; and as soon as I have cleared it of these incumbrances I mean to become a Christian." "Ah! young man," said the minister, "beware; you may never see that day; while you are gaining the world, you may lose your soul." "I'll run the risk," said he, and they parted. The three young men went into the woods; and this daring procrastinator, and another, engaged in felling a tree. A dry, heavy limb, hung loosely in the top; and as the tree was jarred by the successive strokes of the axe, it quit its hold, and as it fell crashing through the branches to the earth, it struck the head of the young heir, in its way, and stretched him on the ground a lifeless corpse. Thus were his hopes cut off; and hazarding the delay of months he lost his soul in an hour. His fellow-laborer was converted; for conviction struck his mind when he saw the young heir quivering in death! "I felt then such a horror at the danger of delaying religion, when I thought what he had just said, and saw his end, that I determined to neglect my soul no longer." His example was followed by others; and a great revival ensued.

An avowed infidel, whose language and conduct had been most profane, and who had boldly argued for man's right to kill himself when he found it expedient, swallowed a quantity of opium which put an end to his life. Among his papers was found one, on which was written, "I have this moment swallowed a vial of tincture of opium, consequently my life will be but short. Whether there will be a heaven or a hell, I leave parsons to divine." The part of the manuscript which followed was blotted, and concluded thus: "My hand trembles, my eyes grow dim, I can see to write no more; but he that would be happy should be religious."

The Editor of the Chenango Telegraph, in giving an account of the execution of George Denison, who suffered at Norwich, New-York, says, that while standing upon the fatal drop, and during the exhortation of the clergyman, the prisoner asked in a whisper, for the tobacco box of the deputy sheriff, from which he coolly took a quid, deposited it in his mouth, and returned the box. In ten minutes, he was launched into eternity! On the morning of the day that Hamilton, who shot Major Birdsall, was to be executed, the clergy passed two hours in solemn exercises with him. After they left the cell, Hamilton gave some directions about his gallows wardrobe. As the keeper was leaving to execute his commission, he asked Hamilton if he wanted any thing else. He replied, "You may get me a paper of tobacco." After a moment's reflection, he added, "Stop, perhaps I have enough,"—and, rising on his elbow, drew a part of a paper from under the pillow of his pallet, and measuring in his mind the quantity of tobacco by the few hours he had to live, calmly remarked, "This will last me."

Pitt died at a solitary house on Wimbledon Common. Not far off, by the roadside, stood a small country inn, where the various parties interested in the great statesman's life were accustomed to apply for information, and leave their horses and carriages. On the morning of the 23d of January, 1806, an individual having called at the inn, and not being able to obtain a satisfactory reply to his inquiries, proceeded to the house of Pitt. He knocked, but no servant appeared—he opened the door and entered—he found no one in attendance—he proceeded from room to room, and at length entered the sick chamber, where, on a bed, in silence and in perfect solitude, he found to his unspeakable surprise, the dead body of that great statesman who had so lately wielded the power of England, and influenced, if he did not control, the destinies of the world. We doubt whether any much more awful example of the lot of mortality has ever been witnessed.

At Durham, 1346, there fell 15,000; at Haldonhill and Agincourt, 20,000 each; at Bautzen and Lepanto, 25,000 each; at Austerlitz, Jena and Lutzen, 30,000 each; at Eylau, 60,000; at Waterloo and Quatre Bras. one engagement, 70,000; at Borodino, 80,000; at Fontenoy, 100,000; at Yarmouth, 150,000; at Chalons, no less than 300,000 of Attila's army alone! The Moors in Spain, about the year 800, lost in one battle 70,000; in another, four centuries later, 180,000, besides 50,000 prisoners, and in a third, even 200,000. Still greater was the carnage in ancient times. At Cannæ, 70,000 fell. The Romans alone, in an engagement with the Cimbri and Teutones, lost 80,000. The Carthaginians attacked Hymera in Sicily with an army of 300,000 men, and a fleet of 2000 ships, and 3000 transports; but not a ship nor a transport escaped destruction, and of the troops, only a few in a small boat reached Carthage with the melancholy tidings. Marius slew, in one battle, 140,000 Gauls, and in another, 290,000. In the battle of Issus, between Alexander and Darius, 110,000 were slain, in that of Arbela, 300,000. Julius and Cæsar once annihilated an army of 363,000 Helvetians; in a battle with the Usipetes, he slew 400,000; and on another occasion, he massacred more than 430,000 Germans, who "had crossed the Rhine, with their herds, and flocks, and little ones, in quest of new settlements."

### 432. Sieges.

Clement Brown, when dying, pointed with his finger, and said: “I see one, two, three, four angels waiting their commission. I see them as plainly as I see you, Hester. How I wish you could see them. They are robed in white. Angels beckon me and Jesus bids me come.” Sarah Clare, shortly before her death, said: “I have been at the door of Heaven. It was open for me. I beheld the Almighty on His throne.” Isaac Collins, when about to pass out, said: “Heaven is near. There stands my Saviour.”

An aged man who had served the world, the flesh and the Devil, during a long life, came down to the chilly waves of death. A Christian by his bedside strove to point him to Jesus, but the dying man exclaimed, in substance: “No, I have neglected a kind and merciful God all my life, served the Devil faithfully, and now I will not insult God by throwing the wasted end of my sinful life in His face.”

An old Scotch woman, after having the gospel of God’s grace faithfully presented to her, put down her pipe, and then seemed to weigh the matter slowly in her mind for a while. Then with face hard and unmoved, said: “No, Ihave lived without Christ seventy years and I can live without Him the rest of my days.” Not long after this she was found dead in bed, her arms thrown above her head as though there had been a struggle with some terrible foe.

—A man entered a dark, winding cave, carrying with him a lamp, and a ball of twine. That he might find his way out of the cave, in case his light went out, he fastened one end of the twine outside, and unwound it as he walked into the cave. In this manner, he had gone a long distance into those dark recesses. At length, he entered a large apartment, and for a moment set down his lamp and ball, to break off a stalactite of peculiar beauty. Suddenly his lamp went out. He immediately endeavored to find his ball; but all his efforts were vain. His lifeless body was found long afterward in the dark cavern.

There was a nobleman who kept a fool or clown, to whom he one day gave a staff, with a charge to keep it till he should meet with one who was a greater fool than himself. Not many years after, the nobleman fell sick, even unto death. The fool came to see him. His sick lord said to him, “I must shortly leave you.” “And whither art thou going?” said the fool. “Into another world,” replied his lordship. “And when will you come again?—within a month?” “No.” “Within a year?” “No.” “When, then?” “Never.” “Never!” said the fool. “And what provision hast thou made for thy entertainment there, whither thou goest?” “None at all.” “Here, take my staff; for, with all my folly, I am not guilty of any such folly as this.”

In a dark alley in the great city of New York, a small, ragged boy might be seen. He appeared to be about twelve years old, and had a careworn expression on his countenance. The cold air seemed to have no pity as it pierced through his ragged clothes, and made the flesh beneath blue and almost frozen. [Illustration: "I am dying now, because I feel so queer; and I can hardly see you. I can kinder see the angels holding out their hands for me to come to that beautiful place they call heaven."] This poor boy had once a happy home. His parents died a year before, and left him without money or friends. He was compelled to face the cold, cruel world with but a few cents in his pocket. He tried to earn his living by selling newspapers and other such things. This day everything seemed to go against him, and in despair he threw himself down in the dark alley, with his papers by his side. A few boys gathered around the poor lad, and asked in a kind way (for a street Arab): "Say, Johnny, why don't you go to the lodges?" (The lodge was a place where almost all the boys stayed at night, costing but a few cents.) But the poor little lad could only murmur that he could not stir, and called the boys about him, saying: "I am dying now, because I feel so queer: and I can hardly see you. Gather around me closer boys. I cannot talk so loud. I can kinder see the angels holding out their hands for me to come to that beautiful place called heaven. Goodbye, boys. I am to meet father and mother." And, with these last words on his lips, the poor lad died. Next morning the passers-by saw a sight that would soften the most hardened heart. There, lying on the cold stone, with his head against the hard wall, and his eyes staring upward, was the poor little frozen newsboy. He was taken to the chapel near by, and was interred by kind hands. And those who performed this act will never forget the poor forsaken lad. -- Golden Dawn

The best moment of a Christian's life is his last one, because it is the one which is nearest heaven; and then it is that he begins to strike the keynote of the song which he shall sing to all eternity. O! what a song that will be!

Gen. M. C. Meigs, U.S.A., discusses the burial of the dead as follows in _Building_:

I see that the question of disposing of the dead in towers of masonry, or by cementation, is being discust. It is not new. Asiatic conquerors have built the living, after capture of their cities, into towers of masonry, using their bodies as blocks, and generally the adobe mortars of the desert plains for cementing them together. One of them built a pyramid or tower containing thousands of heads.

The city of New York inters in its Potter’s Field about four thousand bodies annually. Europe rents a grave site for a term of years--a short term--and then disinters the bones and packs them in a catacomb or a vault. Would not New York save money and treat its dead with greater respect if it embedded each body in a mass of Hudson River cement and sand (Beton Coignet)? I find that one-half a cubic yard of Beton Coignet will completely enclose the body of a man of six feet stature, weighing two hundred pounds. The average human being would require even less than thirteen cubic feet. At ruling prices such a sarcophagus would cost only two or three dollars. The name and date, a perpetual record and memorial of the dead, could be inscribed with letter-punches or stamps on the head or foot of the block or sarcophagus. Ranged alongside each other in contact, and in two rows, _i.e._, two blocks deep, these would build on any suitable plan a fourteen-foot wall, massive enough and strong enough to be carried to the height of one hundred and fifty feet.

Thus would be erected, at the rate of nearly two thousand cubic yards per year, a great temple of silence, a grand and everlasting monument to those who pass away. The designs for such a monument seem worthy of the study of our best architects. It might be a pyramid, a cone, a tower, or a temple, or a long gallery like those of the Italian city of Bologna, the most beautiful cemetery in the world.

Many years ago the London _Architect_ published the proposal of an architect to erect by slow degrees and in successive courses a solid pyramid in which, in cells, the dead of London would be enclosed. But this made no provision for memorial inscriptions or visible records. The fourteen-foot wall does this.--_Building._

When the great man comes to the hour of his death, we expect him to be natural, avoiding all sentiments that are forced or incongruous. That is the striking thing about the last words of Sir Walter Raleigh; they were the inevitable and necessary words. Looking down upon his enemies and his friends, Raleigh exclaimed about the executioner’s axe, “It is a sharp medicine, but it is a sure cure of all diseases.” When the sheriff asked if the niche in the block would fit his neck, Raleigh answered, “It matters not how the head lies, if only the heart be right.”

— N. D. HILLIS

Richard Watson Gilder is the author of this:

Call me not dead when I, indeed, have gone Into the company of the ever-living High and most glorious poets! Let thanksgiving Rather be made. Say, “He at last hath won” Rest and release, converse supreme and wise, Music and song and light of immortal faces; To-day, perhaps, wandering in starry places, He hath met Keats, and known him by his eyes. To-morrow (who can say) Shakespeare may pass-- And our lost friend just catch one syllable Of that three-centuried wit that kept so well-- Or Milton, or Dante, looking on the grass Thinking of Beatrice, and listening still To chanted hymns that sound from the heavenly hill.

Byron’s remains rest in an old leaden coffin, side by side with those of his mother, and close by lies his daughter, Ada, Countess of Lovelace, who died in 1852. When the vault was opened to permit of the interment of Lady Lovelace many persons visited the church in order to catch a glimpse of the coffin. Upon one occasion a little girl was prevailed upon to descend by the stone staircase into the vault and she returned carrying a narrow strip of faded velvet in her hand, torn from the poet’s coffin. Among the group around the mouth of the graves was a tall, dark foreigner, who eagerly questioned the child as to her possession, and finally, in exchange for a piece of gold, received the strip of cloth. That man was Kossuth.--_Frank Leslie’s._