e wear a face of unconcern or gayety amid
the multitude. Society is thronged with masked faces. Unseen burdens of
woe are carried about in its busy haunts. The man of firm step in the
mart, and of vigorous arm in the workshop, has communions in his chamber
that make him weak as a child. Nothing is more deceitful than a happy
countenance. Haggard spirits laugh over the wine-cup, and the blooming
garland of pleasure crowns an aching head. For sorrow is secret and
solitary. Each "heart knoweth its own bitterness."

How precious, then, in the loneliness of sorrow, is that faith
which bids us look up and see how near is God, and feel what divine
companionship is ours, and know what infinite sympathy engirds us,--what
concern for our good is, even in this darkness, shaping out blessings
for us, and distilling from this secret agony everlasting peace for the
soul. How precious that faith in the clear vision of which we can say,
"I am not alone, for the Father is with me."

Finally, we must experience Death alone. As I said in the commencement,
the best, the most pious soul, may naturally shrink from this great
event. We may learn to anticipate it with resignation, to look upon it
with trust; but indifference respecting it is no proof of religion. It
would be, rather, a bad sign for one to approach it without emotion; for
however his faith may penetrate beyond, the religious spirit will, with
deep awe, lift that curtain of mystery which hangs before the untried
future. That is a fact which we must encounter alone. Friends may gather
around us; their ministrations may aid, their consolations soothe us.
They may be with us to the very last; they may cling to us as though
they would pluck us back to the shores of time; their voices may fall,
the last of earthly sounds, upon our ears; their kiss awaken the last
throb of consciousness; but they cannot go with us, they cannot die in
our stead; the last time must come,--they must loosen their hold
from us, and fade from our vision, and we become wrapt in the solemn
experience of death, alone! Alone must we tread the dark valley,--alone
embark for the unseen land. No, Christian! not alone. To your soul, thus
separated in blank amazement from all familiar things, still is that
vision of faith granted that so often lighted your earthly perplexities;
to you is it given, in this most solitary hour, to say, "I am not alone
for the Father is with me!"

I repeat, then, in closing, that the