“But _people_ cannot be expected, ought not, to say what they do not feel. Their own first sensation of deliverance from impending death would break out in a ‘thank God,’ and therefore they say it is God’s mercy when another is saved. If they go farther, and refuse to consider it God’s mercy when a man is drowned, that is just the sin of the world--the want of faith. But the man who creeps out of the drowning, choking billows into the glory of the new heavens and the new earth--do you think his thanksgiving for the mercy of God which has delivered him is less than that of the man who creeps, exhausted and worn, out of the waves on to the dreary, surf-beaten shore? In nothing do we show less faith than the way in which we think and speak about death. ‘O Death, where is thy sting? O Grave, where is thy victory?’ says the apostle. ‘Here, here, here,’ cry the Christian people, ‘everywhere. It is an awful sting, a fearful victory. But God keeps it away from us many a time when we ask him--to let it pierce us to the heart, at last, to be sure; but that can’t be helped.’ I mean this is how they feel in their hearts who do not believe that God is as merciful when he sends death as when he sends life; who, Christian people as they are, yet look upon death as an evil thing which cannot be avoided, and would, if they might live always, be content to live always. Death or Life--each is God’s; for he is not the God of the dead, but of the living: there are no dead, for all live to him.” “But don’t you think we naturally shrink from death, Harry?” said my wife. “There can be no doubt about that, my dear.” “Then, if it be natural, God must have meant that it should be so.” “Doubtless, to begin with, but not to continue or end with. A child’s sole desire is for food--the very best possible to begin with. But how would it be if the child should reach, say, two years of age, and refuse to share this same food with his little brother? Or what comes of the man who never so far rises above the desire for food that _nothing_ could make him forget his dinner-hour? Just so the life of Christians should be strong enough to overcome the fear of death. We ought to love and believe him so much, that when he says we shall not die, we should at least believe that death must be something very different from what it looks to us to be--so different, that what we mean by the word does not apply to the reality at all; and so Jesus cannot use the word, because it would seem to us that he meant what we mean by it, which he, seeing it all round, cannot mean.” “That does seem quite reasonable,” said Ethelwyn. Turner had taken no part in the conversation. He, too, had just come in from a walk over the hills. He was now standing looking out at the sea. “She looks uneasy, does she not?” I said.