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AT THE FUNERAL OF MR. WILLIAM LAKE;
WHO DIED IN A CONSUMPTION IN APRIL 1772.
1 COR. XV. 55.
O Death! where is thy sting?
VICTORY! Victory! Shout, my fellow-christians, my fellow-soldiers, who are engaged in the same warfare, and must one day encounter the same enemy. Shout, ye angels of light and love; you especially, whose office it is to attend the death-bed of the saints, to wipe off the dewy sweat from the faces of the struggling combatants, and convoy their disencumbered spirits to the realms of bliss. Let earth and heaven ring with the joyful acclamation. Victory! victory! the conqueror is conquered: this mighty champion, that hath so long defied the armies of the living God, and through fear of whom so many have been all their life-time subject to bondage, is vanquished-by a stripling vanquished. Ah, Death, where is all thy boasted prowess? All that were witnesses of the combat will publish thy defeat. Thou the king of terrors!-a vain title, an empty boast. If we had never seen any of thine achievements but this, we should laugh at the shaking of thy spear.
What could all thy terrors