of life, and bans us into a state of apparent inaction.
The thought that death is rest does sometimes attract the weary or
harassed, or they fancy it does, but that is a morbid feeling, and
much more common in sentimental epitaphs than among the usual
thoughts of men. To most of us there is no joy, but a chill, in the
anticipation that all the forms of activity which have so occupied,
and often enriched, our lives here, are to be cut off at once. 'What
am I to do if I have no books?' says the student. 'What am I to do if
I have no mill?' says the spinner. 'What am I to do if I have no
nursery or kitchen?' say the women. What are you to do? There is only
one quieting answer to such questions. It tells us that what we are
doing here is learning our trade, and that we are to be moved into
another workshop there, to practise it. Nothing can bereave us of the
force we made our own, being here; and 'there is nobler work for us
to do' when the Master of all the servants stoops from His Throne and
says: 'Thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee
ruler over many things; have thou authority over ten cities.' Then
the faithfulness of the steward will be exchanged for the authority
of the ruler, and the toil of the servant for a share in the joy of
the Lord.

So another of the elements which make Death an enemy is turned into
an element which makes it a friend, and instead of the separation
from this earthly body, the organ of our activity and the medium of
our connection with the external universe being the condemnation of
the naked spirit to inaction, it is the emancipation of the spirit
into greater activity. For nothing drops away at death that does not
make a man the richer for its loss, and when the dross is purged from
the silver, there remains 'a vessel unto honour, fit for the Master's
use.' This mightier activity is the contribution to our blessedness,
which Death makes to them who use their activities here in Christ's
service.

Then, still further, another of the elements which is converted from
being a terror into a joy is that Death, the separator, becomes to
Christ's servants Death, the uniter. We all know how that function of
death is perhaps the one that makes us shrink from it the most, dread
it the most, and sometimes hate it the most. But it will be with us
as it was with those who were to be initiated into ancient religious
rites. Blindfolded, they were led by a hand that grasped theirs but