In a tract of mine, published by the American Tract Society, entitled, “Knocking at the Door”—­a tract which I most earnestly entreat you to get and read—­you will find an account of the death of a young lady, who had chosen the world and its vanities as her idols.  I was her physician.  After having attended her for about a month, I perceived, one morning, that her disease must soon prove fatal.  I told her that she could not live.  She then exclaimed, “Doctor, can I not live a month?” I informed her that she could not.  Again she exclaimed, “Can I not live two weeks?” She was told that she could not live two weeks.  And such a scene of horror followed as I never before witnessed, and may God be pleased to grant that I may never witness such another.  Until laid upon a dying bed, I fear that she had neglected to think about her soul’s concerns.  Now she requested to be taken from it, and placed upon her knees, that she might call upon God to have mercy upon her.  As her case excited much attention, some of the youth came to see her.  These she warned, in the most solemn manner, not to put off repentance, as she had done, to a dying hour.  Looking up at me, on one occasion, she exclaimed, “Doctor, cannot you save me?” Alas, what could I do for the poor sufferer.  Witness, now, how anxious she was to obtain the favor of that God whom she had hitherto neglected.  Yes, so anxious that she requested her friends not to allow her to sleep, that she might spend every remaining breath in calling upon God to have mercy upon her.  One very affecting circumstance occurred.  She requested her trunk either to be brought to her bedside, or to be opened.  From this a ring, which was set with red garnets, was taken out by herself, or by another, and handed to her.  She then called a young friend to her bedside, put the ring upon her finger, and said to her, “Don’t you put off repentance, as I have done, until a dying hour.”  That ring is now in my possession.  In less than forty-eight hours after I told her that she could not live, she passed into eternity.  Would that I could show you that mournful countenance, which continued long after the last spark of life had become extinct; yes, even up to the moment when the lid of her coffin for ever hid it from our view.  Never, never shall I forget it.  It was a sad monument of the wreck within.

Now, my dear children, you would not like to die as, I fear, this young lady died.  Well, then, if you would die differently, you must live differently.  You must live for Christ, if you would die in Christ.  And are you Christ’s, or are you yet gay and thoughtless—­as gay and as thoughtless as this young lady was, until laid upon her dying bed?  If you are so, and if you continue to remain in this sad condition, your season of sorrow too will certainly come, and it will come when you expect it not.  As the little insect which flies round and round your candle is dazzled with its brightness, and feels nothing