Published in 1882 | 80 pages | PDF reader required
EXTRACT
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 burying 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 sorrow,—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 consciousness of their loss softens every heart.
Bigotry (whose bony lingers strangle so many noble impulses) is forgotten for a time, and we 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 deed; and smiling through her tears, she points to some blight star of hope. …
