But this is not all. Care, prudence, circumspection, and confidence in GOD, are not only indispensably necessary to secure to us a safe and happy pilgrimage through life; but they are likewise the best, the only preparatives for an happy and comfortable death. As strangers and sojourners, we ought to live under a constant expectation of being called home to our native country. This expectation will be either pleasing or painful, according as we are more or less prepared for the awful summons. The summons we cannot dispense with: the time in which it may be pronounced, is altogether uncertain. Some of us, within a very few years, and some, perhaps, within a very few days, may behold the curtain drop, and shut out every scene of temporal nature from our view. With respect to us, "the heavens and the earth will then pass away with a mighty noise; the sun will be darkened, and the moon turned into blood; the stars will fall from heaven, and the powers of heaven will be shaken." Death, judgment, heaven, or hell, will then be realized to our disembodied spirits. "He that is holy will be holy still, and he that is filthy will be filthy still." The dissolution of this outward body will close the season of Divine Grace; the hopes or the fears, the happiness or the misery of man will be determined by his expiring breath; and his GOD will be manifested to him, either in the mild majesty of his Love, or in the consuming fire of his Wrath. What adds to the solemnity of this dread moment, is the frequent suddenness of its approach. The king of terrors often knocks at the door, when the master of the house is by no means prepared for the awful visit. Nay, he frequently passes by the habitations of age, infirmity, and distress, and thunders forth his tremendous summons in the ears of the young, the gay, and the robust. Neither superior fortune, nor superior station, can protract the fleeting date of life. The monarch tumbles from his throne; and, after the momentary honours of a pompous funeral, makes his bed in the dust, and lies there as poor and undistinguished as the late tenant of the homely cottage. Even piety and virtue cannot screen their votaries from death's unerring shaft; but he is sometimes permitted to snatch away the most amiable patterns of both, in order to awaken the attention, or chastise the carelessness, of their friends and neighbours. Happy would it be for mankind, if these frequent indiscriminate strokes did but produce a more general and serious attention to "the things that belong to their peace:" and happy for you, my dear brethren, if the solemn truths that have now been delivered, are permitted to have a due weight and influence on your lives and practice!