CHAPTER VI.

FUTURE EXISTENCE.

In the last chapter I endeavored to give a general idea of the extent of creation. As you reflected upon the unnumbered myriads of majestic worlds, with which infinity is apparently filled, and contemplated the evidences that these worlds are crowded with inhabitants, you must have thought of your own future existence; of the view which will burst upon your eye when you pass the confines of time, and are ushered into the scenes of eternity.

There is nothing the mind can think of so overwhelming in its interest as the morning of the resurrection. You will then behold the world in flames; God on the judgment throne; heaven, in the distance, glittering upon the view; hell, in unveiled horrors, heaving up its volcanic billows; angels, in countless myriads, crowding the infinite expanse; demons, in haggard despair and wasting woe, trembling before their offended God; and mankind, in numbers almost numberless, guilty or pardoned, in two vast throngs; the one pallid with despair, the other

radiant with bliss. These are the awful scenes which the light of the resurrection morning will usher to your view.

Let us for a moment contemplate the painful supposition that you have lived and died without religion, and that you appear before that awful tribunal guilty and unforgiven. You look around you. You are in the left-hand throng of countless millions. Every face is distorted with fell revenge, and hate, and black despair. No smile is ever again to visit your cheek or gladden your eye. No sound of joy will ever again vibrate No form of beauty or aspect upon your ear. of happiness are you ever again to behold. There stand around you, trembling with you, pirates, and murderers, and debauchees; the inmates of all dens of pollution; drunkards, blasphemers, and all who have passions violent and malignant. The morally vile and loathsome of all countries and all ages are surrounding you in a throng, vast and hideously revolting.

Are these to be my companions? the lost soul will say. With these fiendish hearts and horrible forms - with these creatures of sin, hateful and hating am I to be associated forever? The wailings of this throng swell upon the ear like ten thousand thunders. Their revolting aspects of anguish, and despair, and maddened rage affright the eye. "From these wretches," the lost

soul says, "I can never escape. Alas! I am one of them myself. My despair is as black as theirs. My aspect is as wan and hideous. And is it possible that I might have escaped all this? that I have had years and years of probation expressly that I might prepare for this awful morning? I have had the Bible to guide me, and the Sabbath day to influence me, and ministers of the gospel urging me, with ceaseless importunity, to turn to the Lord. O, wretch that I am! With what infatuation have I lived! Why did I act so madly? And it is now all over with me. I am lost-condemned forever! O God of mercy! God of mercy! Who can bear it?"

Afar off in the distance, you see another throng, bright and glorious. Every countenance is radiant with sublimest happiness. Every sound, which comes from that throng, is as the soul of harmony. Every form, gliding there, is as the imbodying of grace and beauty. Every face bespeaks the moral loveliness, the blissful virtues, the amiable, benignant, noble feelings, the rapturous joy, which each and all possess. There are Abraham, and Noah, and Daniel, and Paul. There are all the pure in spirit, the lovely in character, the elevated in intellect, in joyful companionship, with infinity for their range, with the wonders of unnumbered worlds to ex

plore, with all the angels of heaven bound to them in fraternal affection.

You gaze upon this bright vision of blessedness, and your despair is deepened by its striking contrast with their bliss. How overwhelmingly will the thought rush into your mind," From that throng I am forever excluded. My hard heart, and unsubdued passions, and unreconciled will would but mar the joys of those thus spiritually happy. O, why did I not prepare to meet my God? I was foretold all this. I might have saved my soul. God waited long for me, and plead earnestly with me; but I disregarded his warnings, and slighted his love, and now I am lost lost and undone forever."

now over.

"O happy Christians," you say, "why did I not heed your prayers? All your sorrows are How gloriously you look! How full of joy! Heaven is your own; eternal happiness your portion. I hear your songs. I see your angel wings. O that I could join you in your flight! But here I am in outer darkness; in unutterable despair; in eternal banishment from heaven."

Perhaps you had, on earth, a pious father, whose prayers you heard for many years. As you are looking upon the blessed, with longing, yet despairing eyes, you see a form of splendor and a countenance of celestial beauty and hap

piness, with whose lineaments you seem to be familiar. You look again, with almost a delirious gaze. Yes, it is even so. There stands your father. How will the sight rend your heart with new anguish ! "Yes," you say, "there is my father, my holy, revered, beloved father. For many years I have heard his morning and his evening prayers. How earnestly has he prayed for me! How affectionately has he counselled me to prepare for the day of judgment! With what entreaties has he warned me of this scene! But his prayers, and tears, and counsels were all unavailing; and now I am lost, and there is my father, an angel in glory. O, this awful gulf between us! And shall I never more see him? shall I never more hear his voice, or share his love?

"And who is that by his side, so celestial in beauty, beaming with seraphic joy, soaring with him in those golden realms? It is my mother! She taught me to pray. She told me of God and heaven. How often has she kneeled by my bedside, and prayed for her lost, lost child! O that I could live my life over again! But time is gone; probation is ended. My mother's voice, and smile, and love will never again reach me. Depart, ye cursed! is the doom ringing in my ears. O that I had never been born!"

How will you feel, son of pious parents, in