One would think that the longer a person lived, the more willing he would be to leave his present abode. But this is not always the case.

Sometimes, alas, we see very aged persons clinging to life more tightly than even the young. We see them close to the grave’s mouth, and yet loving the riches, the pleas­ures, and the trifles of this world with all their affections. Oh, this is a sad sight. It is sad to see a poor dying creature entering upon an awful eternity, with a heart glued to the world which he is leaving, and full of its con­cerns! When this is the case, God often in mercy sends us some affliction. He withers our gourds which have grown up around us, that He may lead us to seek a truer and a safer shelter. He sees that we are too fond of these clay cottages of ours, and He makes the walls crumble so that we will be content to leave them at His call.

Look at your growing infirmities, dear reader, as so many mercies. Let them serve to remind you that you will not be here always, and that “this is not your rest” (Micah 2:10). Let them make you long for that happier land, where there shall be no more old age, where sorrow and sighing shall be unknown, and where the inhabitant shall not say, “I am sick.” Oh, it is well for us that all is not health and strength and sunshine here; else we should be even more fond than we are of our present home. I do not ask you to take a gloomy view of this world, and to be full of anxiety to leave it. I do not wish you to look upon it as a dungeon, from which you are impatiently longing to escape. No; while we are here, we should be thankful. We should look upon it not as our lasting home, but as our appointed dwelling-place for a while. It is well if we are contented and happy here, and at the same time ever ready for our departure. Well is it indeed, if we can say with Paul, as this world closes in upon us, “I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have fought a good fight, I have fin­ished my course, I have kept the faith: Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness” (2 Tim. 4:6-8).

Sit as loose then as you can with regard to this world, and be always in a state of readiness to leave it. Arrange all your worldly concerns. The more cares you have upon your hands, the more will your dying thoughts be disturbed and your last work interrupted. Our deathbed moments are solemn ones; therefore, it is very desirable to have nothing to do then but to die.

Above all, let not the work of salvation be left undone. Every funeral you see or hear of, every pain and infirmity you feel seems to say to you, as Isaiah said to Hezekiah, “Set thy house in order” (Isa. 38:1). It is a poor thing to leave for last the soul’s great work. It is often too late to seek a Savior then. The body will then perhaps be too weak, and the mind too feeble, to begin to seek the Lord. Perhaps too the Savior, when we most need Him, will then be far off from us. Having rejected Him, He will turn His face away from us, and leave us to ourselves in that trying hour. Oh then, “seek ye the Lord, while he may be found; call upon him while he is near” (Isa. 55:6).

There are many old people, who, if you question them about the future, will say that they hope all will be well. But if you press your question a little more closely, you will find that perhaps they have no ground for their hope. They trust that God will be merciful to them; but they cannot say with the apostle, “I have obtained mercy.” They have never sought it in Christ, where alone it is to be found. They have never fled for refuge to the Savior. They love Him a little, but they have not given Him their heart. All is uncertain with them. This world is slipping from under them, and they have no sure footing on the heavenly shore.

It is a fearful thing to take the last and most important steps of our journey alone and in the dark, not knowing where we are going, whether to heaven or hell, not sure whether we have the friendship of God or not. Dear friend, it must not be so with you, or your deathbed will be a cheerless one.

Suppose any one was going to take a long journey; he ought to be ready for it. His traveling clothes should be prepared. Nothing should be left unsettled. Everything should be put in order. He ought to know all about the way that he is going to take. He ought to have no misgivings about his journey. His mind should be quite made up.

Should we be less ready for that great and important step which we are all going to take? Our happiness — our eternal safety depends on it. Oh, that we may be able to say, “I die daily”; “the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world” (Gal. 6:14); “To me to live is Christ; to die is gain” (Phil. 1:21). Live as a stranger and a pilgrim upon earth; look forward daily to your home, and be has­tening towards it. Live much with Christ now; and then, instead of dreading death, you will heartily welcome it when it comes. You will not look upon it as your foe but as your friend. It will be to you as the gateway through which you will pass to your joyful resurrection. You will feel no lingering attach­ment to the world you are leaving behind you, but you will have “a desire to depart, and to be with Christ, which is far better” (Phil. 1:23).