DEATH.

THE DEATH-DAY BETTER THAN THE BIRTH-DAY.

REV. C. H. SPURGEON.

HE believer's death-day—the time of triumph and victory, is better than his birth-day. Birth is the beginning of a journey; death is the ending of the weary march to our Father's house above. Again, about the birthday hangs an uncertainty. Children are blessings, but we cannot tell what will become of them when they grow up and come under the influence of evil-they may be useful and honorable, or dissolute and degraded. everything is certain about the saint's death-day. When a child is born we know he is born to sorrow, but when a saint dies, we know he is done with sorrow and pain. Write, therefore, the death-date above the life-date on the headstone.

The believer's death-day is better than all his happy days. What are his happy days? The day of his coming of age-he is a man, and an estate may be coming to him. This is a day of great festivity--all around may be called to rejoice with him. But on the death-day of a believer, he comes of age and enters upon his heavenly estate. What a jubilee that will be. The day of his marriage Who does not rejoice, what cold heart does not beat with joy on that day? But on the death-day we shall move fully into the joy of our Lord, into that blessed marriage union which is established between Him and us, into that guest chamber where the feast will be spread, and we shall

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await the Marriage Supper of the Lamb. Day of gain. When some sudden windfall enlarges their capital, or multiplies the profit. But there is no gain like that of departure to the Father from a world of trouble to a land of triumph. A day of honor-when promoted in office, or receiving the applause of men. But what a day of honor to be carried by angels into Abraham's bosom-heirs of God, joint heirs with Christ. Days of health and happy days. But what health can equal the perfect wholeness of a spirit upon whom the Physician has displayed his utmost skill-clean, recovered, and where the inhabitants shall no more say, "I am sick." Happy days of social friendship, when hearts warm with hallowed intercourse with a friend, or in the midst of one's family. But no day of social enjoyment can equal the day of death. What troops of blessed ones shall meet us! What priceless friends over yonder! What family greetings there will be! Oh, the bliss of meeting with the Lord! Those who are truly related to us in the bonds of everlasting life shall be there. Natural kinship has ended, spiritual relationship lasts and survives.

It is better than his holy days. The day of conversion. Never to be forgotten when the heart began to beat with spiritual life, and the hand grasped the Lord, and the eyes saw His beauty. But what will it be to see Him face to face? The Sabbath day. Precious and dear are the Lord's days-sweet rests of love-blessed days. But death gives us an eternal Sabbath, "where congregations ne'er break up." Communion days. How sweet to sit at the Lord's table with His memorial in hand, and to think of what He has done, is doing, and has promised. What is that to communing with Him in Paradise. Bless the Lord for every one of the happy days-but heaven's days will be better. There we shall know each other better-more delight, in magnifying the name of Jesus. Our company shall be betterperfect company, and we shall then be at home

It is better than the whole of his days put together. All his days here are dying days. Death is the end of dying. Life is conflictdeath is victory. Life is full of sorrow, death ends that. Life is longing, death possessing.

THE EVENING OF DEATH.

REV. T. DE WITT TALMAGE.

I HAVE heard it said that we ought to live as though each moment were to be our last. I do not believe that theory. As far as preparation is concerned, we ought always to be ready; but we cannot always be thinking of death, for we have duties in life that demand our attention. When a man is selling goods, it is his business to think of the bargain he is making. When a man is pleading in the courts it is his duty to think of the interests of his clients. When a clerk is adding up accounts it is his duty to keep his mind upon the column of figures. He who fills up his life with thoughts of death is far from being the highest style of Christian. I knew a man who used ofteu to say at night, "I wish I might die before morning!" He is now an infidel.

But there are times when we can and ought to give ourselves to the contemplation of that solemn moment when to the soul time ends and eternity begins. We must go through that one pass. There is no roundabout way, no by path, no circuitous route. Die we must; and it will be to us a shameful occurrence or a time of admirable behavior. Our friends may stretch out their hands to keep us back, but no imploration on their part can hinder us. They might offer us large retainers, but death would not take the fee. The breath will fail and the eyes will close and the heart will stop. You may hang the couch with gorgeous tapestry, but what does death care for bed curtains? You may hang the room

with the finest works of art, but what does death care for pictures? You may fill the house with the wailings of widowhood and orphanage; does death mind weeping?

This ought not to be a depressing theme. Who wants to live here forever? The world has always treated me well, and every day I feel less and less like scolding and complaining. But yet I would not want to make this my eternal residence. I love to watch the clouds and to bathe my soul in the blue sea of heaven; but I expect, when the firmament is rolled away as a scroll to see a new heaven, grander, higher and more glorious. You ought to be willing to exchange your body that has headaches and sideaches and weaknesses innumerable, that limps with the stone-bruises or festers