(Gardiner Spring, "Death and Heaven")
"Dust you are, and unto dust shall you return."
Death strikes with unsparing and indiscriminate hand.
However fair, and beautiful, and vigorous, nothing
can shield it from decay. The head that is crowned
with honor must lie low. The eye that beams with
sensibility and intelligence must become dim. The
tongue shall become mute that moves with powerful
and melting persuasion. The warm and throbbing
heart shall become still and cold as marble.
Wherever we cast our eyes, we see all that is most
permanent hastening to decay. Disease springs up
in every climate; death multiplies his victims under
every sky, and reigns over every age of time.
We sicken, and die, and moulder away in the grave.
With all his capacity for great and noble achievement,
man has never been able to rescue a single victim
from the 'King of Terrors'.
Death's arrows are sharp.
His hand is unerring and ruthless.
The giant stalks unseen, and throughout all the vast
arena of his conflicts, none can resist, or evade his ravages.
We may weep.
We may tremble.
But we cannot escape his fury.