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On the Vain Hope of a Death-bed Repentance.
not think to myself: what is the use of going to so much trouble? I will live as I please, and indulge my senses as I see others doing; when I feel that death is at hand I can confess my sins, and go to heaven. Ah, my dear brethren, do not trust to such a confession, holy Communion, or Extreme Unction, if they are not preceded by a Christian life, for otherwise these sacraments are not received at the proper time or with a sincere heart.
Shown from circumstances.
And how can a conversion in such circumstances be sincere and real? Let us consider those circumstances, as they generally occur. Imagine, O sinner! that we are both standing by the bedside of a dying man. The priest has been sent for and enters the room; he sprinkles the sick man with holy water, and tries to console him and encourage him; he gives him his priestly blessing that he may make a good confession, repeating the words prescribed by the Church: “May the Lord be in thy heart and on thy lips, that thou mayest duly confess thy sins.” Methinks I hear him accusing himself of crimes that he drank in like water in his past life, and thought nothing of, and of which he had hitherto made not the least scruple, although now they fill him with anguish, such as omissions of duty, neglect in fulfilling the obligations of his state, in bringing up his children, in looking after his servants and domestics; certain conversations, looks, amusements, jokes; injustice in dealings with others, in buying and selling, delay in paying his debts, while he spent his money in gambling and drinking, in costly dress, and other unnecessary things; certain feelings of bitterness, hatred, and anger against his neighbor; carelessly and ill-made confessions in his youth; profanation of the holy mysteries of our religion, and such like. But, asks the priest, have you not always maintained that those things were only scruples, and mere unfounded doubts and anxieties? True, when I committed those sins I looked on them as of little account; as long as I was in good health they seemed small matters to me; but now I am near death and in the light of the death-candle I see them far more clearly and as they are in themselves. But have you never made a general confession? No. Not even when you entered the state of life in which you now are? No. I notice that you accuse yourself doubtfully of some sins, and that with trembling voice you add a certain circumstance to a sin; have you never before acknowledged those? Never. And why? Through shame. And you have allowed yourself to be influenced for so