According to this exposition, the death threatened as the penalty of transgression embraces all the evils we suffer in this life and in eternity; among which the dissolution of the body is not one of the worst. Indeed, some writers will not admit that this was included at all in the penalty. Such, of course, find no difficulty in the geological statement that literal death preceded man's existence. But from the declaration in 1 Cor. xv. 22, _As in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive_, it seems difficult to avoid the conclusion, that the death of the body was brought in upon the race by Adam's transgression. According to Taylor's view, however, we might reasonably suppose that what constituted the death threatened to Adam was not the going out of the world, but the manner of going, and that, had he continued holy, a change of worlds might have taken place, but it would not have been death. Now, there are some facts, both in experience and revelation, that give to these views an air of probability. One is, the mild character of death in many cases, when attended by only a few of the circumstances above enumerated, as constituting its essence. I believe that experience sustains the conclusion already drawn as to the inferior animals, when not aggravated by human cruelty. Pain is about the only circumstance that gives it the character of severity; and this is usually short, and not anticipated. Nor can it be doubted, as a general fact, that, as we descend along the scale of animals, we find the sensibility to suffering diminish. But in the human family we find examples still more to the point. In all those cases in which there is little or no disease, and a man in venerable old age feels the powers of life gradually give way, and the functions are feebly performed, until the heart at length ceases to beat, and the lungs to heave, death is merely the quiet and unconscious termination of the scene, so far as the physical nature is concerned. The brain partakes of the gradual decay, and thus the man is scarcely conscious of the failure of his powers, because his sensibilities are so blunted; and therefore, apart from sin, his mind feels little of the anguish of dissolution, and he quietly resigns himself into the arms of death,-- "As sweetly as a child, Whom neither thought disturbs, nor care encumbers, Tired with long play, at close of summer's day, Lies down and slumbers." If now, in addition to this physical preparation for his departure, the man possesses a deep consciousness of forgiven sin, and a firm hope of future and eternal joy, this change, which we call death, becomes only a joyful translation from earth to heaven; and though the man passes from our view,-- "He sets, As sets the morning star, which goes not down Behind the darkened west, nor hides obscured Among the tempests of the sky, but melts away Into the light of heaven."