Some may shudder at the thought of the pain in death.  How often we hear remarks like this:  “This pain is almost like death,” or, “it’s like taking one’s life.”  Have you not stood beside the infant’s crib and watched it go peacefully to sleep?  Where was the pain?  Death to a Christian is only a going to sleep.  You have had far more pain in life than you will have in death.

There may be pain just prior to death, but none in death.  Death to a saint is as peaceful as going to sleep.

Have you not often been in some solitary place and given yourself into the arms of Muse?  You have fallen to thinking about heaven and the angels and the Savior and your crown.  You seemed as your soul was wafted upward on the wings of meditation, to lose consciousness of all on earth.  Such will it be in death.  Your soul will begin to see the glories of heaven; you will hear the sweet strains of music; you will begin to lose consciousness of earthly things and comprehend more of heaven.  Then soon you will draw your last breath on the shore of time and sound your first note of praise on the shore of eternity.  This is all there is in death.  It is precious to fond parents to see their little children, with folded hands, go peacefully to sleep.  So to our Father in heaven is the death of his saints precious.

In fancy I can see many of my young readers, after a well-spent life, gathered in ripe old age on the banks of old Time’s-river, waiting in bright hope to be summoned over to their rich possessions in the verdant fields of heaven.

There is nothing more of death than this to a Christian.  I pray that the life of many of you will end like this.  I believe it will be so.  Amen.

A strange, sweet vision fills my soul,
  A glimpse of glory and of God;
Am I not near life’s final goal? 
  My feet scarce touch this mortal sod.

The zephyrs blow divinely sweet,
  With fragrance fill the balmy air;
Are heav’n and earth about to meet? 
  Who can this vision bright declare?

I hear the notes of seraph song,
  The rustle of an angel’s wing;
Do signs like these to earth belong? 
  Do men and angels meet to sing?

Life’s journey seems about complete;
  I con it well, yet know not why. 
My heart with longings is replete,
  And yet I do not long to die.

A holy calm my bosom fills,
  And silence like the hush of morn;
Such joy through all my being thrills
  As swept men’s hearts when Christ was born.

Amid the crowds I look around
  To see who bear love’s fragrant flower;
I fain would walk on holy ground
  Made sacred by the Spirit’s power.

God has the keeping of my ways,
  His laws I rev’rence and obey;
My prayers seem almost turned to praise,
  And yet I can not cease to pray.

If this is death, I do not dread
  To lay me down in peace to die—­
To be with all the sainted dead,
  Far, far beyond the arching sky.