The Terror of Death

Oh! how solemn will be that hour when we must struggle with that enemy, Death! The death-rattle is in our throat — we can scarce articulate — we try to speak, the death-graze is on the eye: Death hath put his fingers on those windows of the body, and shut out the light for ever; the hands well-nigh refuse to lift themselves, and there we are, close on the borders of the grave! Ah! that moment, when the Spirit sees its destiny; that moment, of all moments the most solemn, when the soul looks through the bars of its cage, upon the world to come! No, I cannot tell you how the spirit feels, if it be an ungodly spirit, when it sees a fiery throne of judgment, and hears the thunders of Almighty wrath, while there is but a moment between it and Hell. I cannot picture to you what must be the fright which men will feel, when they realize what they often heard of! Ah! it is a fine thing for you to laugh at me to-night. When you go away, it will be a very fine thing to crack a joke concerning what the preacher said, to talk to one another and make merry with all this. But when you are lying on your death-bed, you will not laugh. Now, the curtain is drawn, you cannot see the things of the future, it is a very fine thing to be merry. When God has removed that curtain, and you learn the solemn reality, you will not find it in your hearts to trifle.

Spurgeon Nuggets~