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Christian maiden, you have to erect a lofty building, a building which shall reach to heaven. I refer to the edifice of your own piety and perfection. And in regard to this building, as to every other, the first and most necessary thing is to see that it has a firm and solid foundation. For, unless such a foundation is laid, the builder’s toil will be only labor lost; sooner or later his work will fall to pieces and bury the occupant under its ruins. What, then, is the first and most necessary thing, the sure and firm foundation indispensable to the edifice of piety?
Holy Scripture informs us in the following words: “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom”; ie., of virtue and piety. Now, by what means is this firm foundation to be laid, how are you to be most strongly established in the fear of the Lord? By remembering your last end, according to the warning of the Holy Spirit: “In all thy works remember thy last end, and thou shalt never sin.”
A certain young girl who lived in one of the German towns had assuredly disregarded this admonition, as was proved only too plainly when she was stricken by a mortal disease. In her days of health she had cared only about dress, flirtation, and her own good looks. When death was drawing near, she caused all her prettiest gowns to be spread upon her bed, and after gazing on then with fond longing, though her eyes were already growing dim, she exclaimed in piercing, heart-rending accents: “Alas! how very sad it is! I am so young and so fair; I love life so dearly; and yet I must leave everything, yes, everything!” Having uttered these words, she sank back upon the pillows and breathed her last.
Do you, dear child, always remember your last end in order that you may not sin, but may always have a salutary fear of God, and may strive to be truly pious. Ponder well the four last things and especially—death.
Since death spares no one, you must be fully convinced that it will not spare you: you fear it because you are just as fully convinced that death is not the end of everything, but that a strict judgment and a never-ending existence will come after. Yet the most terrible thing connected with it is not its certainty, but its uncertainty. For sure and certain as it is that we must die, it is equally doubtful and uncertain when, where, and how we shall die. When shall you die? You are alive to-day, but you cannot be sure whether to you shall still be alive to-morrow, the day after, in a week, a month, or a year. As you read these lines you are full of health and strength, but who can guarantee you will not fall down dead this evening, to-night, or the very next moment. Once more I ask you: can any one assure you a moment of your life?
Some years ago a few peasants were drinking together in the inn of a village situated somewhere in Bavaria. They were chatting over their beer, when the conversation happened to turn upon the uncertainty of the hour of death. “It is quite true,” said one of their number, a stalwart peasant “that no one can tell when he shall die, but of this I am quite sure, that I shall not die to-day.” Shortly afterward he took his leave, saying that he must return home; he bade every one good-night, confident of meeting his friends again in the morning. He left the room; shortly afterward the party broke up. At the foot of a steep flight of stone steps which led to the house door, they picked up their comrade—dead. He had missed his footing in the dark, and falling down the steps, had broken his neck.
Who thinks less about death, who feels more certain of prolonged life, than a merry young girl on the dance-floor? Yet it has happened on more than one occasion that exertion and excitement caused young girls to drop down dead, owing to a stroke or heart-failure. I remember reading of just such a case which occurred in Switzerland. A girl who was only eighteen went home from a dance very late at night, and in the morning was found dead in her bed!
And there is no more certainty as to the place than as to the time of your death. Endless are the questions which might be asked on this head, but neither man nor angel could answer them. It must remain a matter of uncertainty whether you shall die in your bed, after much suffering, fortified with the last rites of holy Church; or whether death shall overtake you while you are asleep, when you are out walking, in your own room, at home or among strangers, at work or in conversation with others, by sea or on land, on foot or in a railroad car, and so on. For instance, a priest, who was taking the holy viaticum to a sick man whose life was despaired of, fell down dead as he was walking along, whereas the invalid, on the contrary, entirely recovered.
If you think seriously about this terrible uncertainty, you cannot possibly go on living in a careless spirit; you will feel constrained earnestly to strive after the attainment of solid piety.
A salutary fear must perforce take possession of you, when you remember that you cannot tell when or where you shall die. Most important, however, is the question: “How shall I die?” For upon the answer depends your eternal state; that is, whether you are to be happy or miserable forever and ever. It is of no consequence whether you shall die to-day or after a long series of years, while you are young or when you are old, suddenly or after a long illness, in your bed or in the public street; the one all-important point is whether you shall die in the grace of God, or in a state of mortal sin. You do not know, I do not know, and no one can tell you how you shall die. One thing only is certain: as long as a breath of life, or a spark of consciousness is left to you, you can, with the aid of divine grace, make a good end.
Let it not be displeasing to you, my dear child, that I have spoken so seriously to you about death. I have not done so with the intention of causing you to feel anxious and sad, but solely in the hope of inspiring you to strive more earnestly after the attainment of virtue and piety, in order that you may one day die well and in a happy frame of mind. Yes! for thus I saw one of my spiritual children die. She was twenty-one years of age, and had always been merry and cheerful, this disposition being the outgrowth of her true, unostentatious piety. She had been afflicted with consumption tor a long time and had suffered much. Feeling that her last hour was approaching, she asked to see the wreath soon to be placed upon her bier; when it was shown her she took pleasure in looking at it and admiring its beauty. Here was a living embodiment of the truth of the lines:
Fear God, my child, and nothing more
On earth you have to fear;
Solace and strength this fear imparts,
And peace when death draws near.