not so much the end of the present life as the beginning of the future; not so much the removal from earth as the entrance upon heaven. To the man whose hopes are centred on this perishing world, and whose happiness is allied to its pleasures, and without which it would fail, the disruption of the ties which connect him with the present state of existence must be the destruction of all enjoyment, the discomfiture of all peace, the annihilation of all hope. If he commit himself and all he possess to one weak and frail bark, and that founder amid the tempests of life, he loses all, and must inevitably perish. For a wicked man to die is not only not gain, but everlasting loss; it is the eternal deprivation of the small amount of comfort which, while here, is to be found, and which, although momentary, mitigates the pain and ills of human nature. But when the naked soul meets its God, and its probationary career has terminated in vain, then all is lost for ever. How different the case of the good man! For him "to die is gain." Observe in what this gain consists— First. In the perfection of Christian graces. These through infirmity are often clouded-often feeble in their actings, here. But the spirit flings from it all that is imperfect when it puts off the garments of mortality; and, rising up before the throne of God, it assimilates to the perfect likeness of Christ. Sin-the deep and deadly stain of which disfigured it—will be entirely removed, and the happy soul will bloom in all the beauties of holiness. The robe of spotless purity, for which it sighed in vain below, will be worn for ever in the kingdom of God, and its dazzling whiteness will reflect continually the divine glory. There will be the gain of perfect holiness. Love, which, however fervent now, is often faint, will, after the Christian has entered upon his rest, burn with unquenchable ardour. The flame, so often low, will droop and flicker no more; the unwholesome damps of earth will not affect it, but in the pure region of holy light it will blaze with more and more intensity. Who has not bewailed his "love so faint, so cold," to God, when a view of the wonderful love of God to him has been afforded? But if in the eternal world the Christian shall find his love in some humble degree commensurate with the greatness and goodness of the object; if the spirit shall no longer mourn over its declensions from Christ, and decays and failures in zeal and affection, but shall burn for ever with the ardour of a seraph,—and if death alone can introduce us to that world, then to die is gain. Knowledge shall be perfect. There are heights and depths which man, in the present life, cannot scale or fathom a mist is around many subjects, which will roll away before the unscaled and undimmed eye of the emancipated spirit. The wide field of the divine perfections will lay open to the exploring minds of the redeemed in glory, and there developments of the character of God will be seen which will thrill the soul with unutterable delight. Oh! is it not gain to rise from this low world and the darkness of comparative ignorance to the glorious realms of perfect day, where with mighty, with even arch-angelic associates, we shall see unfolded the mysteries of providence, and eternally behold amazing displays of infinite grace? Secondly. This gain consists in perpetual intercourse with the society of heaven. The mind fails us in attempting fully to realize the heavenly world. Its hosts of bright intelligences, glowing with glorious beauty, and shining in holiness-its unnumbered millions of redeemed spirits, gathered from "every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation," all engaged in the worship of God, and all blending their harmonies in one triumphant chorus-their love to each other-their union and communion-their perfect purity-their unmingled happiness-when the Christian thinks of these, however far short his conceptions may be of the reality, surely he must long to soar away to that blessed world, and exclaim "When shall the day, dear Lord, appear, That I shall mount to dwell above, And view thy face, and sing, and love!" Paul had this world before him, and no doubt at times his heart throbbed with ecstatic feeling, as he thought of his speedy union with the general assembly and church of the firstborn, and of his intercourse with all the good and great, who from the hour that the first happy spirit ascended from earth had winged their way to glory; and of communion with those men of God, whose spirit, like his own, had burned with prophetic fire, and whose harps had rung to celestial themes. But great as must the gain confessedly be, to be united with saints and angels, the mind of the Apostle was directed principally to another object of regard. Heaven would be such to him chiefly because Christ was there; and this brings us to observe, Thirdly. This gain of death to the Christian consists in his being with Christ for ever. On earth, the object of the Christian's affections is unseen, and yet, although unseen, believed; but there he will be with him, and see him as he is. This thought always presented itself to the mind of the Apostle, when his departure from earth had been the theme of his meditation, or writing, or discourse. "Absent from the body," he says, "present with the Lord"-" I have a desire to depart, and be with Christ, which is far better.""We shall ever be with the Lord." There is no doubt this was the chief gain he anticipated by death. He would dwell in the presence of his adored Master, he would live in his smile, he would share in his love, he would leave him no more nor grieve him, he would be enabled to express more fully his ardent gratitude, and to pour out his soul in thanksgivings for redeeming love. Ages would roll away, and time passing the computation of man would elapse, but he would still be with the Lord. Oh, what is suffering! what is even death-that much dreaded evil!if this is to be our reward! Can death be an enemy, if this be the issue of meeting him? If an enemy, we can triumph over him; and, while he shakes his dart, point to the cross, and looking thence to the throne of our risen Lord, can cry, "O death, where is thy sting?" The Apostle was upborne in the prospect of his departure from the present world by the joyful assurance that both he and the people God had given him would be for ever with the Lord; and hence he utters the language of the text. How truly could it be said of our beloved departed father, that to die was gain. He has now realized the longing desires of his heart, and the scenes of heaven have burst upon his enraptured vision, and the greetings with long lost friends have taken place, and Jesus has given him the smile and the welcome of approval. He anticipated these in his dying hours, and patiently waited the time of his Lord. We did not expect so early a removal; but he had finished his Master's work, and he was called to his home. The sound of his voice had hardly died along these walls, when they flung back the echoes of lamentation for his departure, and heard the requiem that friendship sang over his grave. B And can it be? Has the living spirit fled? Has there not been some fearful dream? Doth not our father yet live? The mourner's sob replies; and the vacant place and these sable emblems of woe too plainly teach us that he has gone. Death wears the wreath of momentary triumph, and the grave exults in a short-lived victory. You have been deprived of a faithful, laborious, disinterested, and affectionate pastor, and the church at large of a useful and exemplary member; I, of a father, a wise counsellor, a zealous and ready coadjutor; and his bereaved widow and friends of a relative, the loss of whom can never be supplied. Of such a man, any account, however brief, must be acceptable. The Rev. John Campbell was born at Edinburgh, March 1766, and was the youngest of five children, three of whom outlived their parents. He was deprived of his father at a very early age, not being more than two years old when he died; and this painful event was succeeded by the loss of a kind and pious mother, when he was only six. Her instructions appear to have made a deep impression upon the heart of her orphan boy, and these were remembered with peculiar distinctness when the grave hid her from his sight. Left thus early without the natural guardians of his childhood, his case was peculiarly affecting; but He who had marked him out for future usefulness kindly provided for him and his brothers, and enabled him to realize the truth of the words, "When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up." A maternal uncle, a pious, excellent, and judicious man, received them under his roof. Of him our departed friend ever spoke with the highest veneration and esteem. He was a deacon in the Relief connexion, and by him the young people of his family were always taken to the house of God, |