Excerpt from Guide-Posts on Immortal Roads
From infancy to age, from the cradle to the grave, we trace our loved ones, and there we seem to leave them. There we take our last farewell of those dearer than our own lives, and the clods heaped on them seem bruising our trembling hearts and bury ing all our hopes.
Prayers, tears, and regrets are of no avail, for that which made life seem brightest is blotted out, and henceforth we walk under the cloud of a great sor row, a sorrow too pitiless to kill, but strong enough to make our lives endure.
Saints and sinners alike are left utterly miserable in the separation caused by death, and the conscious ness of their loss softens every heart.
Bigotry (whose bony fingers strangle so many noble impulses) is forgotten for a time, and we give each other all we have to give, our hearts' full store of sympathy.
Creeds skulk away and hide their guilty faces in the Church, while loving human nature puts her arms around the desolate, and comforts them with tender words and deeds; and, smiling through her tears, she points to some bright star of hope.
The white angel of death has created wonder and fear in all ages and countries, and heathen and Christian are equally helpless when it appears. All rational beings have some conviction regarding it, but neither civilization nor education can make any Opinion universal.
In this Christian country some think it a curse, a judgment, a token of God's wrath; and that He takes the lives of the innocent to punish the guilty.
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