One of the most trying anticipations with regard to death, in the minds of many, long before the event arrives, is, separation from those whom we love.  And yet, there is probably nothing in human experience more remarkable, than the singular resignation, and even cheerfulness, with which some, who have had every thing to make life desirable, have left all and followed Christ when he came to lead them through the valley.  The young wife and mother, in her dying hours, becomes the comforter of her husband; she turns and looks at the infant who is held up to receive her farewell, and the mother alone is calm, sheds no tear, gives the farewell kiss with composure.  “Thy rod” is supporting her; “thy staff” is keeping at bay the passions and fears of the natural heart.  So a widowed mother leaves a large family of young children, with a peace which passes all understanding.  And the father of a dependent family, which never could, in a greater measure, need a father’s presence, looks upon them from his dying bed, and says to them, with the serenity of the patriarch, “Behold, I die; but God shall be with you.”  Nothing is more true than this, that dying grace is for a dying hour; that is, we cannot, in health and strength, have the feelings which belong to the hour of parting; but as any and every scene and condition, into which God brings his children, has its peculiar frames of mind fitted to the necessity of each case, we need not make the useless effort to practise all the resignation, and experience all the comforts, which come only when they are actually needed.  We do not often hear the first part of the following passage quoted; but in such rocky and thorny paths as we are often made to pass through, how good it is to read:  “Thy shoes shall be iron and brass; and as thy days, so shall thy strength be.”  If God is our Shepherd, he will cause us to pass, one by one, through the valley which is before us, leaving some most dear to us on the hither side.  Suppose that when a shepherd is employed in removing his flock from one mountain to another, through a valley, one of the flock should mourn his separation from companions, or from its young.  The shepherd would say, “You cannot all pass together; leave your companions and the young to me; I will restore them to you on the other side.”  He might also remonstrate and say, “Am I not, as their shepherd, interested in protecting and removing them?  You can add nothing to my strength and wisdom; let me take you safety through the valley, and trust me to do the same for them.”

The ancient shepherd was specially careful of the lambs; he carried them in his arms, and sometimes folded them beneath his shepherd’s coat.  We can imagine the feelings of some of a flock when, leaving them at a short distance, but within sight, the shepherd would take a lamb, carry it down into the valley, and disappear with it for a little while.  With all their confidence in their shepherd, some of the flock would manifest uneasiness at the separation,