If gratitude is due from children to their earthly parents, how much
more is the gratitude of the great family of man due to our Father in
heaven!--HOSEA BALLOU.
GRAVE.--There the wicked cease from troubling; and there the weary be
at rest. There the prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of
the oppressor. The small and great are there; and the servant is free
from his master.--JOB 3:17, 18, 19.
We go to the grave of a friend saying, "A man is dead;" but angels
throng about him, saying, "A man is born."--BEECHER.
Always the idea of unbroken quiet broods around the grave. It is a
port where the storms of life never beat, and the forms that have been
tossed on its chafing waves lie quiet forevermore. There the child
nestles as peacefully as ever it lay in its mother's arms, and the
workman's hands lie still by his side, and the thinker's brain is
pillowed in silent mystery, and the poor girl's broken heart is
steeped in a balm that extracts its secret woe, and is in the keeping
of a charity that covers all blame.--CHAPIN.
There is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. There is a
remembrance of the dead to which we turn even from the charms of the
living. Oh, the grave!--the grave! It buries every error, covers every
defect, extinguishes every resentment! From its peaceful bosom spring
none but fond regrets and tender recollections.--WASHINGTON IRVING.
What is the grave?
'Tis a cool, shady harbor, where the Christian
Wayworn and weary with life's rugged road,
Forgetting all life's sorrows, joys, and pains,
Lays his poor body down to rest--
Sleeps on--and wakes in heaven.
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