Physical death marks the transition from earthly life to eternal existence, freeing the soul to be with Christ and bringing rest akin to peaceful sleep (John 11:11-14; 1 Thessalonians 4:13-14). Christian preaching often uses imagery of crossing rivers, sleeping in Jesus' arms, and shadows to depict death as a passage rather than an end, highlighting hope, resurrection, and the believer’s victory over fear through faith.
General Wolfe died happily praising God as victory was won around him.
In the battle of Quebec, Gen. Wolfe, being wounded, laid himself on the ground. Soon after, a shout was heard; and one of the officers near him exclaimed, "See! they run!" The dying hero asked, "Who run?"—"The enemy," replied the officer: "they give way everywhere." The general said, "Now God be praised: I shall die happy." He then turned on his side, and immediately expired.
Richard Baxter described dying as becoming 'entirely well' despite great pain.
Richard Baxter, when on his death-bed, suffering great pain, was asked how he did: and replied, "Almost well." At length the final hour arrived, and he became, in his own language, "entirely well."
A dying heathen agonized over uncertain afterlife, showing paganism's emptiness.
A Hindoo of thoughtful mind, but devoted to idolatry, lay on his death-bed. As he saw himself about to plunge into that boundless unknown, he cried out, "What will become of me?"—Oh! said a Brahmin who stood by, "you will inhabit another body."—"And where," said he, "shall I go then?"—"Into another."—"And where then?"—"Into another; and so on through thousands of millions." Darting across this whole period as though it were but an instant, he cried, "Where shall I go then?" Paganism could not answer; and he died, agonizing under the inquiry, "Where shall I go last of all?"
Death summons all to a higher court beyond earthly concerns and riches.
Rutherford, while on his death-bed, was cited to answer a charge in court. His reply was, that, as he had a summons to a court of higher jurisdiction, he would not be able to attend. The sheriff a short time since served a summons upon a worldly rich man to appear on a certain day as a witness in court. The poor man replied, that he had not so long to live. Before the time he should have appeared at the bar of an earthly court, he was called to the heavenly. The unfortunate man had pending in court a suit involving a large amount of money. This alone occupied his mind, and troubled his thoughts.
Death is certain and unavoidable, even if people avoid thinking about it.
"My ancestors," said a sailor, "were all seamen, and all of them died at sea: my father, my grandfather, and my great-grandfather, were all buried in the sea." Then said a citizen, "What great cause have you then, when you set out to sea, to remember your death! and to commit your soul to the hands of God!"—"Yea, but," said the mariner to the citizen, "where, I pray, did your father and your grandfather die?"—"Why," said he, "they died all of them in their beds."—"Truly, then," said the mariner, "what a care had you need to have every night, when you go to bed, to think of your bed as the grave, and the clothes that cover you as the earth that must one day be thrown upon you! for the very heathens themselves that implored as many deities as they conceived chimeras in their fancies, yet were never known to erect an altar to Death, because that was ever held uncertain and implacable." Spencer.
At death, God will strip us of all earthly blessings and hold us accountable.
It is with us in this world as with poor men, that, being invited to a rich man's board, have the use of his plate and silver whilst they are there; but, if any of them are so bold as to put up a piece of plate or a spoon, there is search made by the porter, ere they are let out, for what is missing. So it is with us in regard to temporal blessings. We have liberty to use them while here; but, when we go hence, there is One waiting that will be sure to strip us, and suffer nothing to pass with us. Spencer.
People often ignore death even as it claims entire generations around them.
There is a bird in Ireland, called the cock-of-the-wood, remarkable for his fine flesh and his folly. They fly in woods, in flocks; and, if one of them be shot, the rest remove not but to the next bough or tree at the farthest; and there stand staring at the shooter till the whole covey be destroyed. As foolish as this bird is, it is wise enough to be the emblem of the wisest man in point of mortality. Death sweeps away, one after another, a whole generation; and those that remain are unmoved by it.
— Spencer
Death is a Christian's jubilee, restoring the inheritance lost in this life.
Among the Jews, the jubilee was ever a very welcome year to the poor and oppressed, because then every one that had lost or sold his lands returned at the blowing of the trumpet, and took possession of his estate, and thus overcame all his disabilities. In this life, we are like the poor Jews, rifled, plundered, spoiled, and every way straitened; but death is the Christian's jubilee, restoring his lost inheritance.
Ancient cultures used reminders of death to encourage enjoying life wisely.
Death was to the Romans the end of sensation and pleasure; yet, instead of regarding the emblems of it with aversion, they rather sought in them a higher relish for present enjoyment. A skeleton was not unfrequently introduced among the guests at festive parties, with the exhortation, Vicenus dum licet esse bene, "Let us enjoy life while we may." It is related of the Egyptians, by Herodotus and others, that in order to prevent irregularities at their convivial meetings, and to give some check to excessive mirth, they were used to bring into the room after supper, when they began their wine, the image of a dead man carved in wood, or a coffin, probably containing the embalmed remains of some ancestor of the family. This spectacle was presented to each of the company by a person whose office it was to pronounce distinctly the following words: "Look upon this, and be merry; for such as this, when dead, shalt thou be."
A suffering child longed for Jesus to take him from pain to peace in death.
One day, a child of seven years was brought into St. Luke's Hospital, New York. His leg was broken, his backbone shivered, and his body mangled, by a fall from a building. He was a great sufferer. Amputation was performed. This, it was judged, must be repeated. When told of it, he prayed to Jesus to take him; and told the little girl lying in the next bed, "Susie, do you know that every night Jesus walks through our ward, and takes one or two of us little children away with him? and I have been telling him how much I want to go with him, and that I can't bear to think of all the pain I will have to-morrow if he don't take me. I am going to hold my hand up so, for fear I should be asleep when Jesus comes, so that, when he walks through our room to-night, he will see it. and know I am the one that wants so much to go with him. I have told him I would, and he will look for me." The children went to sleep; and early in the morning, when the nurse went to look at all the children, there she saw little Willie stiff and cold in death, with his hand just above the bed-clothes, held up by the other, as he had told Jesus he would find him.
Death strikes unexpectedly like an arrow; we must be ready at all times.
When Harold, King of Denmark, made war upon Harquinus, and was ready to join battle, a dart was seen flying in the air, hovering this way and that way, as though it sought upon whom to rest. When all stood wondering to know what would become of this strange prodigy, every man fearing for himself, at last the dart fell upon Harquinus' head, and slew him. Thus Death shoots his arrows amongst us; here he hits one that is rich, there another that is poor, now one that is elder, anon one that is younger, here an equal, there an inferior. None of us know how soon the arrow will fall upon our own heads. Let it be our care, then, that we be not surprised. Spencer.
Considering the end of life prompts reflection on mortality and eternity.
There was a motto on the walls of the Delphian Temple, ascribed to Chilo, one of the seven wise men of Greece, "Consider the End."
Death delivers both good news and bad, symbolizing final judgment for all.
Death is like a postman, who knocks alike at the door of rich and poor; and brings to this man wedding-cards, and to his neighbor a funeral envelope; to one the pleasant news that his richly-laden vessel has arrived in port, and to another tidings of disaster and bankruptcy.
A child expresses the need for a new heart before being ready to die.
A little boy in an infant-class, one day said to his teacher, "Our little baby's dead!" After speaking about it for a few minutes, the teacher asked the scholar, "Would you like to die?" He replied, "Not yet." The child, when asked what he meant by saying "Not yet," said, "Not till I get a new heart."
Even small sins deserve death, illustrating the severity of sin's penalty.
To steal an apple was, with Draco, a crime of as deep a die as to commit sacrilege; even "confirmed idleness" was punished with death. On Draco himself being once asked, why he punished such petty crimes with death, he made this severe answer, that the smallest of them did deserve that, and that there was not a greater punishment he could find out for greater crimes.
Death's power is great but conquered by Christ's resurrection.
The power of Death is infinite to the human conception, though limited to the divine. What power, save the power of God, is more than a match for it? Do you speak of the power of money? the power of Death is greater. The power of eloquence; the power of ambition; the power of physic; the power of love; the power of life; the power of armies, of Alexander, of Caesar, of Napoleon, of Wellington; the power of wisdom; the power of nations; the power of kings, emperors, legislators, warriors, heroes, orators?—the power of Death is greater than they all combined. They have all given way beneath his iron rule of might. Death is stronger than all the untold myriads of human beings, irrational animals, and animate existences, which have lived in the ages of the past. They have all fallen before the sweep of his irresistible arm; and he holds them down under his dominion of corruption. And with all the unprecedented forces which the present teeming population of the world is putting forth in ten thousand ways, Death shall prove himself more than conqueror over them; and they, too, shall be brought into his dark domain. And what Death has done in the past, and shall do in the present, he shall do in the future. But, great as is the power of Death, Death shall be destroyed by Him who is stronger, — Jesus Christ. Bate.
Dreams and music can foreshadow death and prompt preparation.
Fletcher the divine had a dream which shadowed out his impending dissolution; and, believing it to be the merciful warning of heaven, he sent for a sculptor, and ordered his tomb. "Begin your work forthwith," he said at parting: "there is no time to lose." And, unless the artist had obeyed the admonition, death would have proved the quicker workman of the two. Mozart wrote his Requiem under the conviction that the monument he was raising to his genius, would, by the power of association, prove a universal monument to his remains. When life was fleeting very fast, he called for the score, and, musing over it, said, "Did I not tell you truly, that it was for myself that I composed this death-chant?"
A Muslim's ritual preparation for death shows acceptance and readiness.
In setting out to travel, the Moslem is more anxious to provide himself with a shroud than any other change of linen. If he is ill by the wayside, the caravan, which waits for none, moves on, and his death is irresistible: the sufferer then performs the ablution with sand, clothes himself with his shroud, and exercises his remaining strength in scraping a grave with the heap of sand on the windy side; then, trusting to the desert-blast to cover him, he quietly lies down to die, with a parting prayer that his lonely grave may not be forgotten by Jerafil, the resurrection-angel, at the last day.
— Eliot Warburton
Wesley’s calm readiness for death reflects assurance and faithful living.
A lady once asked Mr. Wesley, "Supposing that you knew you were to die at twelve o'clock to-morrow night, how would you spend the intervening time?"—"How, madam?" he replied; "why, just as I intend to spend it now. I should preach this evening at Gloucester, and again at five to-morrow morning; after that, I should ride to Tewkesbury, preach in the afternoon, and meet the societies in the evening. I should then repair to friend Martin's house, who expects to entertain me; converse and pray with the family as usual; retire to my room at ten o'clock; commend myself to my heavenly Father; lie down to rest; and wake up in glory."
The long street of tombs near Rome reminds us of our mortality on life's pilgrimage.
If any one has visited Rome, he will remember—for none who have travelled thither can forget the scene—the long street of tombs which forms one of the approaches to the Eternal City. For miles on the road, these monuments, erected over the departed, stand on either side of the way, at brief but uncertain intervals, until the traveller reaches the gate. Exactly thus it is with us on our pilgrimage to that city which hath foundations, whose Builder and Maker is God: on every hand we are reminded of our mortality, until we, in our turn, fall by the wayside, and swell the number of the dead. Trench.
A scoffer dies suddenly, illustrating the danger of rejecting God and fearing death.
A Christian man once occupied a desk in the same countingroom on the wharf with a man much older than himself, and who was a coarse, profane atheist, quite disposed to make others like himself. One night, as they were about shuting up, this man took our informant by the jacket, and said flippantly, that he was surprised "such a clever fellow as he should believe in religion;" using some very blasphemous expression. To a request that he would abstain from such language, he repeated some of his profane slang; and to a remark, that, "if such notions might do to live by, they would not do to die by," he said, "I'll venture it!" —"I think you would have some fears if it should be said to you, 'Thou fool! this night thy soul shall be required of thee,'" said the friend. "I am ready," said the scoffer, pointing and looking upward. They parted. The profane man turned the corner of the street to go one way, and his friend went in the opposite direction. Within one minute after they separated, the former fell dead upon the sidewalk.
— S. S. World
Two wounded brothers' story illustrates death as a peaceful sleep before eternal reunion.
At the battle of Gaines' Mills, two brothers were wounded nearly at the same time. They were found by a friend, embraced in each other's arms, talking of home, mother, and their love of country. They prayed for each other, for absent friends, and especially for mother. Soon the younger died. The elder, blind from a wound in the face, knew it not, and continued to speak encouraging words to him. Hearing no reply, he said in a pleased way, "Poor little Rob's asleep." It was his last sleep; and in a few minutes more they joined company in that land where the sound of battle will never disturb.
A child's peaceful death is like falling asleep and waking in heaven, showing hope in death.
Two little brothers, Willie and Frank, got into bed, one night, without saying their prayers. Willie got up and prayed. Going to bed again, he said, "Brother, if I should die to-night, I would not be afraid: I don't think it's hard to die. Nurse says the angels have crowns of gold, and harps; and they play such beautiful music! Oh, how I wish papa and mamma and you would learn to pray!" The next morning, mother asked, "Where is Willie?"—"He is asleep yet: I spoke to him; but he did not wake," said Frank. After telling a strange dream, Frank said, "When I awoke, his eyes were only half closed: that made me think at first that he was awake, and his lips were parted. I whispered, 'Willie! Willie!' but it did not wake him. Then I laid my hand on him; but he was so cold! So, when I found he did not get warm all night, I put the bedclothes tight around him, and did not try to wake him again." The mother's heart understood it. She ran to Willie's bedroom, and found him cold and pale in death. He lay down to sleep, and woke in heaven.
Christians can face death without fear, knowing it has been defeated by Christ.
"It is as natural to die as to be born; and, to a little infant, perhaps the one is as painful as the other." This is the philosophic view of death. The Christian has nobler consolation. He can say, as did a minister recently when on his dying bed, "I have often laughed to see Death shake his dart at me. 'O grave! where is thy victory?'"
Death can come unexpectedly, opening the door to heaven for weary souls.
A boy who had been for years from his home in New York, wandering over the world, returned to seek his parents; but they had moved, and time had changed the whole city. He spent the day in seeking them up and down many streets: at last, wearied out, he applied at a house, and, leaning against the door in his exhaustion, it was pressed open. The noise drew the family from an apartment: his parents were the occupants, and fell upon his neck. So earth's wearied ones are seeking heaven: they lean against the door, it unexpectedly opens, and, lo! all beyond is heaven. Beecher.
Death can come suddenly, showing the need for readiness and salvation at all times.
Had you been called to select the person most likely to see old age in a certain New-England village, the choice would have fallen, probably, upon a young lady of sixteen, named Ruth. While others around her were preparing for death by seeking Christ, she said the sickly might do so; but she had no such need. Her buoyancy of spirit was remarkable. At school, after a romp at recess, she suddenly cried out, "Oh, my head!" In a moment, her spirit departed; while the sickly, whom she thought needed religion more than she did, survived.
Death is a temporary stay before the believer's eternal home in heaven.
When death came at last to Robert Leighton, the circumstances were very affecting, and strangely coincident with his express wishes. He used to say, if he were to desire a place where to die, it should be an inn. Such a temporary abode was to him symbolical of the world; dying there was an emblem of one hastening home. He had his wish. There is still in the narrow thoroughfare called Warwick Lane, returning out of Newgate Street, an old inn bearing the sign of the "Bell." The writer never passes it without thinking of Leighton; for there he died. J. Stoughton.
Death strikes unexpectedly like a thief but cannot claim those hidden in Christ.
This last enemy strikes the body unexpectedly, as a robber forces open the door of a house in order to reach the treasure that lies within. If the soul's life has been hid with Christ in God before that last assault, the spoiler will be disappointed of his prey. Arnot.
Some believe death's timing is fixed, leading to reckless living without fear.
The ancient Turks believed it was written on every man's forehead, at his birth, when he should die. Hence they exposed themselves recklessly to every danger in war or pestilence, and perished by thousands. If expostulated with, they pointed to their foreheads for justification.
Death is present in every season and place, reminding us of life's fragility.
Death reigns in all the portions of our time. The autumn, with its fruits, provides disorders for us, and the winter's cold turns them into sharp diseases; and the spring brings flowers to strew our hearse; and the summer gives green turf and brambles to bind upon our graves. Calentures and surfeit, cold and agues, are the four quarters of the year; and all minister to death: and you can go no whither but you tread upon a dead man's bones. Bishop Taylor.
Death is like a transfer from this life to another department for a new duty.
Two soldiers, remarking upon the death of a comrade, said, "There's another poor fellow got his discharge." — "Not that." — "Well, if not discharged, I'd like to know what he is?" — "Only transferred." — "Transferred where?" — "To the other department." — "What for?" — "For duty?" — "What duty?" — "Don't know: that depends on what he is fit for."
For Christians, death is like a joyful vacation homecoming, not a time for mourning.
No one cries when children, long absent from their parents, go home. Vacation morning is a jubilee. But death is the Christian's vacation morning. School is out. It is time to go home. It is surprising that one should wish life here, who may have life in heaven. And, when friends have gone out from us joyously, I think we should go with them to the grave, not singing mournful psalms, but scattering flowers. Christians are wont to walk in black, and sprinkle the ground with tears, at the very time when they should walk in white, and illumine the way by smiles and radiant hope. The disciples found angels at the grave of Him they loved; and we should always find them too, but that our eyes are too full of tears for seeing. Beecher.
A Christian should await death with hope and readiness, not fear or despair.
The Christian, at his death, should not be like the child, who is forced by the rod to quit his play, but like one who is wearied of it, and willing to go to bed. Neither ought he to be like the mariner, whose vessel is drifted by the violence of the tempest from the shore, tossed to and fro upon the ocean, and at last suffers wreck and destruction; but like one who is ready for the voyage, and, the moment the wind is favorable, cheerfully weighs anchor, and, full of hope and joy, launches forth into the deep.
— Gotthold
Even hardened sinners can cry out to God in their final moments for mercy.
Once, when Miss Roscoe was in his room, some of his infidel associates came to him, and in a loud, heartless manner, said, "Tom Paine, it is said you are turning Christian, but we hope you will die as you have lived;" and then went away. Turning to Miss Roscoe, Paine said, "You see what miserable comforters they are." Once he asked her if she had read any of his writings: she told him she had begun "The Age of Reason;" but it made her so miserable, that she flung it into the fire. "I wish all had done as you did," he said; "for, if the Devil ever had any agency in any work, he had it in my writing that book." When going to carry him any refreshment, she repeatedly heard him uttering the language, "O Lord! Lord God!" or, "Lord Jesus, have mercy on me!" It was observed that during his illness he wrote a great deal; but, as nothing was ever heard of these writings, it was presumed that his infidel associates had destroyed them, finding them not in keeping with his former views.
Life of Stephen Grillet.
Rejecting repentance leads to despair and terror at the reality of death and judgment.
"Begone!" he cried to a clergyman: "I want none of your cant," when he showed him the great need of repentance. "I am not going to die; and, if I were, I would die as I have lived." The physician came, to whom he said, "Oh! tell me I'm not dying: I will not die!"—"My poor friend, I cannot speak falsely to you: your soul will, ere long, be with your God."—"My God!" he said: "I have no God save the world: I have stifled conviction, I have fought against God, I have resisted my mother's pleadings; and now you tell me that I must die. Do you know," he added in an awful whisper, "all that means? If I die to-day, I shall go to hell! Take it back: tell me I'm not going to die. Father," he said, "'twas you who taught me this, you who led me on in this way; and now you say I'm to die. Stand back!" he shrieked: "I will not die!" And a torrent of invectives issued from his fever-parched lips, so terrible in their madness, that it seemed like a wail from the sea of woe. No wonder the poor mother was borne, fainting, from the room, and the father's brow was corrugated, while great drops of agony rested there. Ah, that infidel father! how must his heart have bled in that dreadful hour, when, in the midst of dire cursings, his gifted son fell back a corpse! R. T. W. Pierce.
Dying leads to glorious eternal life beyond earthly struggles and sin.
Men talk about dying as though it was going towards a desolate place. All the past in a man's life is down hill, and towards gloom; and all the future in a man's life is up hill, and towards glorious sunrisings. There is but one luminous point, and that is the home towards which we are tending, above all storms, above all sin and peril. Dying is a glorious crowning; living is yet toiling. If God be yours, all things are yours. Live while you must, yet yearn for the day of consummation, when the door shall be thrown open, and the bird may fly out of his netted cage, and be heard singing in higher spheres and diviner realms.
— Beecher
A believer faces death joyfully, assured of peace and heavenly glory.
A daughter of Mrs. Gov. Wright recently passed away amid Tabor splendor. As she approached death, she said, "I'm going up! I'm going up! You see I'm going up on the ineffable glory. What a glorious approach!" To her husband she said, "Oh! if you could only see what I see, you would know why I long to go." To her pastor, who was reading of the "valley of the shadow of death," she said, "There is no valley." The night preceding her death, she abode in the third heaven of rapture. Being informed that her feet were in the Jordan, she said, "Oh, I am so glad!" Her last words were, "Jesus is peace." Such is the outline of an obituary, written by her pastor, Rev. C. D. Foss.
A dying soldier expresses despair and rejection of Christ's presence.
A dying soldier was exhorted to throw himself into the arms of Jesus. "He is not here: he is not here!" was his reply. "Not here, not here!" were his last mournful words.
Unexpected death reveals lack of spiritual preparation despite worldly readiness.
An active businessman, seeing death unavoidable, said to his physician, "Doctor, I have made every provision for living; and now I must die, though utterly unprepared for it." A young married lady, who began life under happy auspices, had just completed the luxurious furnishing of a noble mansion, and secured every thing according to her mind. Even the needles were put in place in the work-room, and all things promised her many years of comfort; but Death came and took her away when she was just ready to live.
1700-1721. DYING TESTIMONIES, of Christmas. M. HENRY. — Sin is bitter. I bless God I have inward supports.
Vanity and neglecting spiritual truths lead to ruin at death and judgment.
A young lady of twenty, a child of rich parents, was trained by her mother to all the arts of fashionable life. The daughter was gay amid the flatteries of her admirers, and the mother's pride was satisfied. Soon sickness came, and the minister was called in. He talked of death, judgment, and eternity: and the young lady trembled. In her dying hour, she called for her fine clothes. They were brought; and, looking up to her mother, she said, "These have ruined me. You never told me I must die. You taught me that my errand into this world was to be gay and dressy, and to enjoy the vanities of life. What could you mean? You knew I must die, and go to judgment. You never told me to read the Bible, or go to church unless to make a display of some new finery. Mother, you have ruined me. Take them away, and keep them as a remembrance of your sin and my sad end." A few moments after, she died.
Reminders of mortality at feasts prompt reflection on life's brevity and death.
The Egyptians had a skeleton brought into their feast to remind them of their mortality. At Prester-John's table, a death's-head was the first thing set on; and Philip had not only a boy to warn him every morning, but a dead man's skull on his table every meal, to remind him of his mortality. At every meal, we ought to say to ourselves, "Alas! this feeding and feasting is but a little repairing and propping up of a poor ruinous house, that ere long will fall to the ground." Spencer.
All humans, rich or poor, ultimately return to the grave as equal dust.
Your worm is your only emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat us; and we fat ourselves for maggots. Your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service,—two dishes but to one table: that's the end. Shakspeare.
Death levels all distinctions between rich and poor, bringing everyone to the same end.
When Isaiah had said that "all flesh was grass," as though he would correct his speech, he adds, "and the glory of it is as the flower of the field." As if he should say, some men have more glory than others, and they are like flowers: the others are like grass,—no great difference. The flower shows fairer; but grass stands longer. One scythe cuts both down, like the fat sheep and the lean, that feed in two pastures, but are killed in one slaughter. So, though the great man lives in his palace, and the poor man dwells in his cottage, yet both shall meet at the grave, and vanish together.
— Henry Smith
The grave has room for all, reminding us of death's inevitability for every person.
But, alas! these graves are not yet full. In Reason's ear,—an ear ringing ever with strange and mystic sounds,—there is heard a voice from the thousand tombs, saying, "Yet there is room." The churchyard among the hills has a voice, and says, "There is room under the solitary birch which waves over me." The city cemetery has a voice, and says, "Crowded as I am, I can yet open a corner for thy dust: yet there is room." The field of battle says, "There is room: I have earth enough to cover all my slain." The depths of the ocean say, "Thousands have gone down within me; nay, one entire world has become the prey of my waters: still my caverns are not crowded, yet there is room." The heart of the earth has a voice, a hollow voice, and says, "I am empty: yet there is room." Do not all the graves thus compose one melancholy chorus, and say, "Yet there is room; room for thee, thou maiden adorned with virtue and loveliness; room for thee, thou aged man; room for thee, thou saint, as surely as there was room for thy Saviour; room for thee, thou sinner, as surely as thy kindred before thee have laid themselves and their iniquities down in the dust; room for all, for all must in us at last lie down." Gilfillan.
True rest for Christians is found beyond the grave, in the presence of the Lord.
To all our race the grave throws open dreary refuge. Thousands hide themselves in this sanctuary, loaded with most direful guilt, pursued with most excercated memory. And is there no rest to which the spirit of the Christian springs? Shall not be who died in the Lord be present with the Lord? We will not point to the grave, and welcome it as our rest and defence from trouble, and release from care: we will look to the heavens for the peace of our sabbath, for the security of our refuge, for the endearment of our home. Dr. R. W. Hamilton.
The grave is a place of quiet rest where earthly troubles and passions cease.
The grave—how still! how tranquil! Its inmates suffer no adversity, foment no strife, harbor no fear. They "know nothing." "Their thoughts perish." The rich and the poor meet together; the proud and the mean are laid beside each other; captives are as bold as conquerors; slaves are as attended as kings; neither is there advance nor repulse, disdain nor recrimination; the equality of mankind here adduces its proof, and the spirit of levelling here gluts its rage: without a distinction, an annoyance, a passion, they are all at rest. There is the one house appointed for all living; the bed on which all await their sure, their last, and, it may be, their only repose. Thither we may escape from the din and bustle of the world: its follies will not pursue us, its excitements will not agitate us, its votaries will not disturb us. There only can we be secured from the inroad of its cares, and be withdrawn from the jar of its discords. Thither we may escape from the passions which consume all earthly peace, the gnawing of envy, the canker of avarice, the sting of remorse, the tumult of vengeance, the pang of despair. The fever which parched our blood shall chill, the fierce throbbings of desire shall subside, and the uproar of contending lusts shall settle and hush into the quiet of our kindred earth. Thither we may escape from each skyey influence; the summer's drought and winter's cold will fall unheeded on our dwelling; spring will not mock by its budding, nor autumn sudden us by its decay. Thither we may escape from the keen inflictions of poverty: we shall all of us have the apparel, tenement, pillow, and service we want. Thither we may escape from the painful days and wearisome nights appointed to us: our eyes will not be held waking, nor will our sleep depart from us. Thither we may escape from slander and detraction: their rumor will not taint our peace, nor reach our abode. Thither we may escape from insensibility, unkindness, and ingratitude: there can be no colder hearts than those which there perish in our bosoms to beat and warm no more.
— Dr. R. W. Hamilton
A judge dies speaking to the jury, showing how habit can persist even in death.
Lord Campbell says that Lord Tenterden, the celebrated judge, expired with these words on his lips: "Gentlemen of the jury, you will now consider your verdict."
Hercules dies painfully from a poisoned garment meant to secure love, illustrating hidden dangers.
Dejanira, wife of Hercules, received from Nessus some of his own blood, which she was directed to use as a powerful charm in order to retain her husband's affections. Hercules was about to offer sacrifice to the gods for a recent victory, and sent home for a white garment to wear on the occasion. His wife thought it time to try the charm; so steeped the robe in the blood of Nessus. When the garment became warm on the body of Hercules, the poison penetrated all his members, causing extreme pain. He wrenched off the garment, which stuck to his flesh, and tore away with it whole pieces of his body. He hastened to his wife, who, beholding his agony, brought on by her device, went and hung herself. He, driven to madness, prepared his funeral-pyre upon Mt. Elia, and, laying down upon it, caused it to be lighted; thus by death destroying what his life could not withstand. The mighty Hercules, of whom Jove was proud, yielded to the power of an insignificant charm. Thus have many mighty fallen.
Death can come from idleness and lack of purpose, as it kills even the strongest.
"Pray of what did your brother die?" said the Marquis Spinola, one day, to Sir Horace Vere. He answered, "He died, sir, of having nothing to do."—"Alas!" said Spinola: "that is enough to kill any general of us all."
Life is a fragile hold between death and worldly pleasures that ultimately end in the grave.
A man, going out of his beaten and directed way to gather fruits, fell into a deep pit. In his fall, he caught hold on the arm of a tree growing in it. Thus he hung, midway betwixt the upper light from which he fell, and the lower darkness to which he was falling. He looked downward, and saw two worms gnawing at the root of this tree. He looked upward, and spied on a branch a hive of honey; he climbed up to it, and fed on it. But, in the mean time, the worms bit in sunder the root, and down fell man, tree, and all into the bottom of the dark pit. Man himself is this wretch, who, straying from the way of God's commandments, eating of the forbidden fruit, instantly fell. The pit over which he hangs is the grave; the tree whereby he holds is this mortal life; the two worms are day and night: the hive of honey is the pleasures and lusts of this world. Thereupon he greedily feeds, until the two consumers, day and night, in their vicissitudes, have eaten asunder the root of life. Then down drops earth to earth: there it must lodge in the silent grave, neither seeing nor seen, blended in the forgotten dust and undistinguished mould, till it be awakened by the archangel's trump in the great day of Christ.
— Old Writer
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