We sicken, and die, and moulder away in the grave. By God in a spring, death and heaven, Dust you are, and unto dust shall you return. Genesis chapter 3 verse 19

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.