The Christian's Last Enemy by Charles Spurgeon 1 Corinthians chapter 15, verse 26. The last enemy to be destroyed is death. The greatest conquerors have only been death's slaughtermen, journeymen butchers working in death's shambles. War is nothing better than death holding carnival and devouring his prey a little more in haste than is his common practice. Death has done the work of an enemy to those of us who have as yet escaped his arrows. Those who have recently stood around a new-made grave and buried half their hearts can tell you what an enemy death is.

It takes the friend from our side and the child from our bosom. Neither does it care for our crying. He has fallen. Who was the pillar of the household? She has been snatched away. Who was the brightness of the hearth? The little one is torn out of its mother's bosom, though its loss almost breaks her heartstrings. The blooming youth is taken from his father's side, though the parents' fondest hopes are thereby crushed.

Death has no pity for the young and no mercy for the old. Death pays no regard to the good or to the beautiful or to the rich or the poor. Death's sigh cuts down sweet flowers and noxious weeds with equal readiness. He comes into our garden, tramples down our lilies and scatters our roses on the ground. Yes, and even the most modest flowers planted in the corner and hiding their beauty beneath the leaves that they may blush unseen. Death spies out even these and cares nothing for their fragrance. but withers them with his burning breath.

Death is your enemy indeed, fatherless child, left for the pitiless storm of a cruel world to beat upon you, with none to shelter you. Death is your enemy, widow, for the light of your life has gone, and the desire of your eyes has been removed with a stroke. Death is your enemy, husband. For your house is desolate and your little children cry for their mother of whom death has robbed you. The last enemy to be destroyed is death. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come to pass. Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O Death, is your sting?