To the Christian the shadow of death is the golden haze which heaven’s light makes when it meets the earth. But to the sinner these shall be shadows full of phantom shapes. Images of terror in the future shall dimly rise and beckon thee, ghastly deeds of the past shall stretch out their skinny hands to push thee forward.
Thou shalt not die unattended. Despair shall mock thee. Agony shall tender to thy parched lips her fiery cup. Remorse shall feel for thy heart, and rend it open. Good men shall breathe freer at thy death, and utter thanksgiving when thou art gone.
Men shall place thy grave-stone as a monument and testimony that a plague is stayed, no tears shall wet it, no mourner linger there. And, as borne by the blast thy guilty spirit whistles toward the gate of hell; the hideous shrieks of those whom thy hand hath destroyed shall pierce thee—hell’s first welcome.—BEECHER.
