Death is the waiting-room where we robe ourselves for immortality.
Death is like thunder in two particulars; we are alarmed at the sound of it; and it is formidable only from that which preceded it.
If life has not made you by God's grace, through faith, holy—think you, will death, without faith do it? The cold waters of that narrow stream are no purifying bath in which you may wash and be clean. No! no! as you go down into them, you will come up from them.
The character wherewith we sink into the grave at death is the very character wherewith we shall reappear at the resurrection.
He that always waits upon God is ready whenever He calls. Neglect not to set your accounts even; he is a happy man who so lives as that death at all times may find him at leisure to die.
Death cannot come
To him untimely who is fit to die;
The less of this cold world, the more of heaven;
The briefer life, the earlier immortality.
A joyful messenger of peace, whose kind hand opens to the weary pilgrim the gates of immortality, and lets the oppressed go free, is death.
