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DEATH!
"The greatest conquerors have only been death's slaughtermen, journeymen
butchers working in his shambles. War is nothing better than death holding
carnival, and devouring his prey a little more in haste than is his common
practice. Death has done the work of an enemy to those of us who have as yet
escaped his arrows. Those who have lately stood around a new-made grave and
buried half their hearts can tell you what an enemy death is. It takes the
friend from our side, and the child from our bosom- neither does it care for our
crying. He has fallen who was the pillar of the household; she has been snatched
away who was the brightness of the hearth. The little one is torn out of its
mother's bosom though its loss almost breaks her heartstrings; and the blooming
youth is taken from his father's side though the parent's fondest hopes are
thereby crushed. Death has no pity for the young and no mercy for the old; he
pays no regard to the good or to the beautiful; his scythe cuts down sweet
flowers and noxious weeds with equal readiness. He comes into our garden,
tramples down our lilies and scatters our roses on the ground; yes, and even the
most modest flowers planted in the corner- and hiding their beauty beneath the
leaves that they may blush unseen, death spies out even these, and cares nothing
for their fragrance, but withers them with his burning breath. He is your enemy
indeed, you fatherless child, left for the pitiless storm of a cruel world to
beat upon, with none to shelter you. He is your enemy, O widow, for the light of
your life is gone, and the desire of your eyes has been removed with a stroke.
He is your enemy, husband, for your house is desolate and your little children
cry for their mother of whom death has robbed you."
Spurgeon
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