From the Prince of Preachers

"Come, friend, I will talk to you personally again--young man, we shall soon grow old, or, perhaps, we shall die before that time, and we shall lie upon our bed--the last bed upon which we shall ever sleep--we shall wake from our last slumber to hear the doleful tidings that there is no hope; the physician will feel our pulse, and solemnly assure our relatives that it is all over!

And we shall lie in that still room, where all is hushed except the ticking of the clock, and the weeping of our wife and children; and we must die. O! how solemn will it be that hour when we must struggle with that enemy, Death! The death-rattle is in our throat--we can scarce articulate--we try to speak; the death-glaze is on the eye: Death has put his fingers on those windows of the body, and shut out the light for ever; the hands well-nigh refuse to lift themselves, and there we are, close on the borders of the grave! Ah! that moment, when the spirit sees its destiny; that moment, of all moments the most solemn, when the soul looks through the bars of its cage, upon the world to come!

No, I can not tell you how the spirit feels, if it be an ungodly spirit, when it sees a fiery throne of judgment, and hears the thunders of Almighty wrath, while there is but a moment between it and Hell. I can not picture to you what must be the fright which men will feel, when they realize what they often heard of!" Charles Spurgeon