Death: The Gate To Eternity
The joys to come will last forever.
Death is the golden key that opens
I am home in Heaven, dear ones;
Oh, so happy and so bright!
There is perfect joy and beauty
In this everlasting light.
All the pain and grief is over,
Every restless tossing passed;
I am now at peace forever,
Safely home in Heaven at last.
Did you wonder I so calmly
Trod the valley of the shade?
Oh! but Jesus' love illumined
Every dark and fearful glade.
And He came Himself to meet me
In that way so hard to tread;
And with Jesus' arm to lean on,
Could I have one doubt or dread?
Then you must not grieve so sorely,
For I love you dearly still:
Try to look beyond earth's shadows,
Pray to trust our Father's Will.
There is work still waiting for you,
So you must not idly stand;
Do it now while life remaineth~
You shall rest in Jesus' land.
When that work is all completed,
He will gently call you Home;
Oh, the rapture of that meeting,
Oh, the joy to see you come!
Man is like the foam of the sea,
that floats upon the surface of the water.
When the wind blows, it vanishes,
as if it had never been.
Thus are our lives blown away by Death.
The soul is an embryo in the body of
Man, and the day of death is the
Day of awakening, for it is the
Great era of labour and the rich
Hour of creation.
Each thing that exists remains forever,
and that very existence of existence
is proof of its eternity. But without that
realization, which is the knowledge of perfect
being, man would never know whether there was
existence or non-existence. If eternal existence
is altered, then it must become more beautiful;
and if it disappears, it must return with more
sublime image; and if it sleeps, it must dream of
a better awakening, for it is ever
greater upon its rebirth.
Only those return to Eternity
Our clock of life,
wound up in the womb,
begins to run down at the very
moment of birth.
Everyday, we die a little.
Often the test of courage is not to die, but to live.
The clock of life is wound but once, and no man has
the power to tell just when the hand will stop.
At late or early hour. Now is the only time you own.
Live, love, toil with a will. Place no faith in
tomorrow for the clock may then be still.
Death is like thunder in two particulars, we are alarmed
at the sound of it, and it is formidable only from that
which has prceded it.
Death, be not proud, though some have
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those, whom thou think'st thou
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst
thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy
Much pleasure, then from thee much
more, must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings,
and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms, can make us
sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke. Why
swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more; Death,
thou shalt die.
You cannot find in the New Testament any of those
hateful representations of dying which men have
invented, by which death is portrayed as a ghastly
skeleton with a scythe, or something equally revolting.
The figures by which death is represented in the
New Testament are very different. There are two
of them which I think to be exquisitely beautiful.
One is that of falling asleep in Jesus. When a
little child has played all day long, and becomes
tired out, and the twilight has sent it in weariness
to its mother's knee, where it thinks it has come
for more excitement, then, almost in the midst
of its frolicking, and not knowing what influence
is creeping over it, it falls back in the mother's
arms, and nestles close to the sweetest and softest
couch that ever cheek pressed, and, with lengthening
breath, sleeps; and she smiles and is glad, and sits
humming unheard joy over its head. So we fall asleep
in Jesus. We have played long enough at the games of
life, and at last we feel the approach of death. We are
tired out, and we lay our head back on the bosom of Christ
and quietly fall asleep.
How did you die?
Did you tackle that trouble that came
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an
Or a trouble is what you make it,
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt
But only how did you take it?
And though you be done to the death,
If you battled the best you could,
If you played your part in the world
Why, the critic will call you good.
Death comes with a crawl or comes
with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only how did you die?
Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul
may keep the path, but will not reach the goal;
while he who walks in love may wonder far,
yet God will bring him where the blessed are.
I dream't of heaven the other night,
THE LORD IS