. And there, reader, you are going. William Thosby, Footprints on
the Sands of Time, 1869. It is appointed unto man once
to die, but after death, the judgment. Hebrews 9.27. In Adam
all die. 1 Corinthians 9.15. Therefore just as sin entered
the world through one man, and death through sin, and in this
way death came to all men because all sinned. Romans 5.12 On this
side and on that, men see their friends drop off like leaves
in autumn. Memories of the dearly departed
crowd in upon us all, and often fill the haunted chambers of
the night. Who has not some friend or family
member among the past deceased millions? What is our life? It is even as a vapor which appears
for a little while and then vanishes away. Nothing can exempt us from
the common lot of humanity. What is the history of our race?
It is a lengthened bill of mortality, a vast aseldama, a field of blood,
on whose gates are written Lamentation, Mourning, and Woe. What are the
words that apply alike to all? It is the solemn sentence, Dust
you are, and unto dust shall you return. Everywhere we meet
were the grim and ghastly triumphs of death. In every language you
may hear his hoarse bass voice calling, Return, O children of
men. The pyramids of Egypt, while
they are a monument of human labor, are likewise a monument
of human mortality. The thickening gravestones in
our cemeteries preach to us their reminder, remember death. The brief allusions of the inspired
writers to the ravages of death are fitted to arrest the attention
of our readers. How frail is humanity! How short
is life! How full of trouble! We blossom
like a flower, and then wither, Like a passing shadow, we quickly
disappear. Job 14, 1 and 2. We finish our
years like a sigh. Seventy years are given to us.
Some even live to eighty. But even the best years are filled
with pain and trouble. Soon they disappear, and we fly
away. Psalm 90, 9 and 10. All men are like grass, and all
their glory is like the flowers of the field. The grass withers
and the flowers fall because the breath of the LORD blows
on them. Surely the people are grass. Isaiah 40, 6 and 7. These are but a few out of the
many of the ever-recurring cries of humanity respecting the ravages
of death. Into how many of our homes has
the King of Terrors and the Terror of Kings entered unbidden and
smitten down some of our nearest, dearest, and best of friends?
May we not ask, where is the husband who stood by you at the
altar and under the protection of whose arm you felt secure?
Where is the wife with whom you took sweet counsel and walked
to the house of God, to whose accents you surrender your soul
and to whose language of affection you desire to listen forever?
Where is the father who toiled for you with his brawny arms
and loved you with a manly heart? Where is the mother, who watched
over your infancy, Hushed you to sleep on her gentle bosom,
And tended your sick bed through many a fevered dream? Where are
the children, those angels of your home, Over whom you shed
your hottest tears? Are they not gone, some of them
at least, To the cold damp bed, the grave, Where there is no
pillow but the cold clay, No covering but the sod, no curtain
but the dark coffin lid, No companion but the worm. And there, reader,
you are going. But death is not your final resting
place. It is appointed for man to die
once, and after that comes judgment. Hebrews 9.27 As death leaves
you, so judgment shall find you. As the judgment finds you, so
shall eternity keep you. Prepare to meet your God, Amos
4.12. Like crowded forest trees we
stand, And some are mocked to fall, The axe will smite at God's
command, And soon will smite us all.