=_The Fear of Death_= When a robber would scatter a flock of sheep and cause fear and consternation he throws a dead carcass in the midst of the flock. Sheep fear nothing as much as the sight of death. Is this not true of man also? About the last fear taken from the human heart is "the fear of death." "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death." Even though the believer knows that the sting of death has been removed, nevertheless there is usually an attendant fear connected with the passing out of this life. I have read that a famous scientist was in the habit of visiting a zoological garden in London. Among the many things that always interested him was a large snake--a boa constrictor. It was kept in a large glass case so that inspection of the reptile was perfectly safe from the outside. The scientist, we are told, was in the habit of knocking on the glass in order to awaken the snake. Instantly, when the knock was heard, the snake would raise its head and strike at the glass with its fangs. The scientist, instinctively shrank back, fearful of being struck, though he knew there was absolutely no danger. So sometimes is it with the believer's relationship to death. Even though he knows the sting is removed, nevertheless the experience of death is somewhat of a dread. The soul naturally recoils at the thought of death. No really thoughtful man will speak lightly of death. He may, as some men may, in the fullness of health and vigor, laugh at the idea of dying; but when he comes face to face with the real experience, there is, as any minister or physician will tell you, quite a different story to tell. It reminds me of an experience in our own family life. Behind a former residence of ours was a stretch of woods where, after school, our boys would go to play their outdoor games. It was the understanding in the home that when the whistle was blown or some other signal given the boys should come home for their meals. At times the boys would come home in response to the signal in a somewhat murmuring spirit. They have said something like this to their mother: "Mother, what did you call us home for anyway? Didn't you know that we were just in the midst of a great game and our side was about to win? We wish you wouldn't call us." I have felt as I have listened to them speaking thus to their mother that, just at that particular time and in the middle of the day, they could, apparently, get along very well without their mother. But I have noticed this also, that at night time, after their mother had prayed with them and the lights were turned out, there was another story to tell. It seems to me that I can still hear one of the boys calling out in the dark to his mother, "Mamma, are you there?" "Yes, son." "Mamma." "Yes." "Is your face turned towards me?" "Yes." "Mamma, will you hold my hand? It's dark, isn't it, Mamma? Good night, Mamma."