This king of terrors, this deadly monster, all must meet. He is a messenger of the Almighty. He bears a warrant signed in the court of heaven. He has executed his commission already upon millions; and millions more shall fall before his invincible arm. Even now he is knocking at the door of thousands of our fellow-mortals, and God only knows, who next may be accosted by this awful visitant. In the midst of fancied security, and boasted health, this invisible foe may be this very moment whetting his scythe, and meditating a blow at the healthy and the strong; while the pampered miser, who says to his soul, _Soul take thine ease_, _thou hast much goods laid up in store_, _eat_, _drink_, _and be merry_, may be instantly the first to be surprised with the unexpected call, _Thou fool_, _this night shall thy soul be required of thee_. If death call, we must hear. If he summon, we must obey. If he enter our doors, we must give him the meeting. Who can stay his hand? Who can reverse or even retard the execution of his summons? Is he to be bribed by _wealth_? Is he to be repelled by _force_? Can _titles_ or _honors_ demand his partiality? Will he compliment the dignified, or the opulent? Can entreaties move him? Or, “Can _flatt’ry_ sooth the dull, cold ear of death?” No. He is as impartial, as he is relentless and inexorable. He pays no respect to age, sex, rank, or fortune. He visits equally the palace and the cottage. The king and peasant are alike indiscriminate objects of his summons. Crowns and sceptres are no more in his estimation, weigh no more in death’s balance, than rags or pebbles. The prince and the subject, the wise and the foolish, the healthy and invalid, the beautiful and deformed, _shall lie down alike in the grave_, _and the worms shall cover them_. Job, xxi. 26. _The small and the great are there_; Job, iii. 19; _in that land of darkness_, _as darkness itself_, _and of the shadow of death_, _without any order_, _where the light is as darkness_. Job, x. 22.