a purer existence. By a voice, which our  earthly ear might not hear, God called it, and it arose, and put off its cumbrous garments, that it might perfectly do his will. An invisible hand drew it within the casement of the ark. Why should we, who still ride the billows, and bide the storm, lament for the bark that bath found a secure shelter? a haven from whence it shall go forth no more? Why should we forget to give glory to God, for having taken to unchanging bliss, the friend whom we loved?
Death, to the suffering body, and the willing soul, is the herald of release. Its terrors, for surely it bath terrors, arise from other sources: from things left undone, that ought to have been done, and from things done, that ought not to have been done. Let us guard against these fearful evils, now in the time of health and hope, and live every day, as if it were to be our last on earth. When disappointments press on the spirit, and the world seems joyless, some have mistaken this despondence for resignation to death. But the repining, with which we look on the cloud, or the tempest, or the broken idol, is not the principle which will bear us triumphantly through the dark valley. It is possible to be weary of life, and yet unwilling to die. Faithful duty, and daily penitence, and prayerful trust, are the safest armour for those, who know not