The life of the departed : $b A sermon occasioned by the death of the Rev. Joseph Crandal, of Salsbury, preached in the Baptist chapel, Germain Street, city of St. John — John Shaqi
The life of the departed : $b A sermon occasioned by the death of the Rev. Joseph Crandal, of Salsbury, preached in the Baptist chapel, Germain Street, city of St. JohnBill, I. E. (Ingraham E.)
Religion
The life of the departed : $b A sermon occasioned by the death of the Rev. Joseph Crandal, of Salsbury, preached in the Baptist chapel, Germain Street, city of St. John
Bill, I. E. (Ingraham E.)
Crandall, Joseph, 1771?-1858; Funeral sermons
same Bible, attended the same school, engaged in the same plays,
went to the same church, and the same blood coursed in our
veins. I was taken, and you were left; heaven is now my home—I
partake of its delicious food, and drink from its pure
fountains; I mingle in its glorified society, and join in its
sublime anthems. Are you, oh! are you prepared to meet me here?
If so, all is well; if not, hasten, hasten to make your peace
with God.” Is it simply a friend that speaks, or one who was
once our neighbor, or a member of the same community, or of the
same church? Still the voice is powerful, urging us to a
diligent improvement of all the means of grace, that we may be
prepared for a better inheritance.
But, my hearers, be reminded, that not only voices from
glory speak, but tongues scorched with the fire of hell speak.
The profane swearer, the guilty Sabbath breaker, the boasting
infidel, the painted hypocrite, the arch seducer, the reeling
drunkard, the polluted sensualist, the avaricious man and the
moralist, the worldling and the almost Christian. All speak to
us from their shroud of flame, and say to us in the language of
the rich man in the parable, “Come not to this place.” Ten
thousands times ten thousand voices are continually speaking in
thunder tones to the wicked, warning them to escape the fury of
eternal fires. Young man, I hear a voice coming up from that
dark world. Who speaks? Your associate in sin. He was once with
you in the theatre, at the card-table, in the ball-room, and
where the sparkling glass went round, and boisterous mirth was
heard. By his own folly he cut short his days, and where is he
now? In hell he lifts up his eyes, and in wailing accents cries
aloud to you not to add to his unutterable torments, by becoming
his companion in suffering, as well as his associate in guilt.
O friends! the dead speak to us. They speak to us from the
past; they speak to us from their graves; they speak to us from
heaven; they speak to us from hell. Let us see to it, one and
all, that we heed the solemn message.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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