The Death of Statesmen.
(Funeral Sermon for the Right Hon. George Canning.)
iii. 1–3. For, behold, the Lord, the Lord of hosts, doth take away from Jerusalem and from Judah . . . the counsellor, . . . and the eloquent orator.
By the death of a great statesman at the head of a government, we are reminded.—I. Of the weight of government in a fallen world. It is a burden that has crushed many, and has brought them to an untimely grave. II. Of the weakness of the shoulders of mortal men. The government of a single country, especially in troublous times, has proved a burden too great for the courage and the endurance of the strongest of men. III. Of the uncertainty of all human affairs. Often does the statesman think of the uncertainty of arriving at the object of his ambition, but seldom of the uncertainty of his remaining there, except when he recollects how many are struggling to replace him. Little does he think of another foe, who lurks behind, and who in some unexpected moment will hush his eloquent tongue, and turn his fertile brain to dust. IV. Of our absolute dependence on the Supreme Governor. We are apt to think that it is on the profound counsellor and mighty orator that the nation’s welfare depends, and to think little of Him who made them what they are, to be employed as He pleases, laid aside when He pleases, and replaced if He pleases, by others as richly endowed. V. Of the necessity of personal preparation for death.[1]—J. Bennett, D.D., The British Pulpit, i. 297–304.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] So live, that, when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not like the quarry slave at night
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one that wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.—Bryant.