Where parting tears shall never flow;
And when I think thereon, almost
I long to go!"

"Thy dead shall live, O Lord; together with my dead body shall they arise.
Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust! for Thy dew is as the dew of herbs;
and the earth shall cast out her dead!"

Surely, to the sincere believer death would be an object of desire instead
of dread, were it not for those ties--those heartstrings--by which we are
attached to life. Nor, indeed, do I believe that it is natural to fear
death, however generally it may be thought so. From my own feelings I have
little right to judge; for, although habitually mindful that the hour
cometh, and even now may be, it has never appeared actually near enough to
make me duly apprehend its effect upon myself. But from what I have
observed, and what I have heard those persons say whose professions lead
them to the dying, I am induced to infer that the fear of death is not
common, and that where it exists it proceeds rather from a diseased and
enfeebled mind, than from any principle in our nature. Certain it is, that
among the poor the approach of dissolution is usually regarded with a quiet
and natural composure, which it is consolatory to contemplate, and which is
as far removed from the dead palsy of unbelief as it is from the delirious
raptures of fanaticism. Theirs is a true, unhesitating faith; and they are
willing to lay down the burden of a weary life, in the sure and certain
hope of a blessed immortality. Who, indeed, is there, that would not gladly
make the exchange, if he lived only for himself, and were to leave none who
stood in need of him--no eyes to weep at his departure, no hearts to ache
for his loss? The day of death, says the preacher, is better than the day
of one's birth; a sentence to which whoever has lived long, and may humbly
hope that he has not lived ill, must heartily assent.