The bishop and the knight tumble into the box with the pawns, and the king and the queen fare no better. By Charles Spurgeon

All go to the same place, all come from dust, and to dust all return. Ecclesiastes 3.20

As chessmen are all thrown into the box together, so in the grave there is no distinction. Skulls wear no wreaths, and corpses carry no marks of honour. The bishop and the knight tumble into the box with the pawns, and the king and the queen fare no better. Death is a terrible leveller. It is a pity that some men carry their heads so high above their fellows all the day, for they will have to sleep at night in the same bed of clay with those whom they despise.

Poor weeds, rich grain, gay flowers, together stand. Alas, death mows down all with an impartial hand.

You sweep men away in the sleep of death. They are like the new grass of the morning, though in the morning it springs up new. By evening it is dry and withered. Psalm 90, verse 5 to 6.

Here is the history of the grass, sown, grown, blown, mown, gone. history of man is not much more. For dust you are, and to dust you will return. Genesis 3.19.

There they come, streams of them, hurrying impatiently, rushing down to death and hell. Yes, eagerly panting, hurrying, dashing against one another to descend to that awful gulf from which there is no return.

Time, how short! Death, how brief! Eternity, how long!