Malcolm by George MacDonald
page 107 of 753 (14%)
page 107 of 753 (14%)
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him think, the latter resumed.
"If he is risen--if the sun is up, Malcolm--then the morning and not the evening is the season for the place of tombs; the morning when the shadows are shortening and separating, not the evening when they are growing all into one. I used to love the churchyard best in the evening, when the past was more to me than the future; now I visit it almost every bright summer morning, and only occasionally at night." "But, sir, isna deith a dreidfu' thing?" said Malcolm. "That depends on whether a man regards it as his fate, or as the will of a perfect God. Its obscurity is its dread; but if God be light, then death itself must be full of splendour--a splendour probably too keen for our eyes to receive." "But there's the deein' itsel': isna that fearsome? It's that I wad be fleyed at." "I don't see why it should be. It's the want of a God that makes it dreadful, and you will be greatly to blame, Malcolm, if you haven't found your God by the time you have to die." They were startled by a gruff voice near them. The speaker was. hidden by a corner of the church. "Ay, she's weel happit (covered)," it said. "But a grave never luiks richt wantin' a stane, an' her auld cousin wad hear o' nane bein' laid ower her. I said it micht be set up at her heid, whaur |
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