When the sinner dies it is not tasting of death in its true sense, for what does he lose-- He loses wife, and children, and friends- he loses all his dainty bits and his sweet draughts. Where now his viol and his lute-- Where now the merry dance and the joyful company-- For him no more the pleasant landscape nor the gliding stream. For him no more the light of the sun by day, nor the light of moon and stars by night. He has lost at one stroke every comfort and every hope. But then the loss, as far as death is concerned, is but a loss of earthly things, the loss of temporal and temporary comforts, and he might put up with that. It is wretched enough to lose these, but let your imagination follow me, faint as is my power to describe the everlasting and infinite loss of the man who is found impenitent at the last great judgment day. What loses he then-- The harps of heaven and the songs thereof- the joys of God's presence and the light thereof- the jasper sea and the gates of pearl. He has lost peace and immortality, and the crown of life- nay, he has lost all hope, and when a man has lost that, what remaineth to him-- His spirit sinks with a terrible depression, more frightful than maniac ever knew in his wildest moods of grief. His soul sinks never to recover itself into the depths of dark despair, where not a ray of hope can ever reach him. Lost to God- lost to heaven- lost to time.