Third Day
The earth is only a vast cemetery. Our ancestors are mixed up with its clay, whether they lie beneath the surface or have had their ashes scattered to the four winds. How soon were they forgotten! Of all the generations which have gone before us how few individuals are known! Of some history tells the noble deeds, of others the dark ones. The really wise and great men of every age are the virtuous, now the friends of God. Their names come down to us in benediction. History may record the names of the wicked, but their memory is held in execration. What matters it to all those who are dead whether men speak of them or not? The one thing of importance is how God has regarded their lives. We too will soon be forgotten. The birds that will sing near our graves will be listened to and admired by the visitor to the cemetery, but we will not receive even a passing thought. Even those for whom our hearts throbbed with anxiety, those for whose happiness we strove with so much labor, will scarcely think of us. We will have been gathered to the dead, our term of activity will have passed, our day will have ended, and with it all interest in us will also end. We will be one of the millions laid away in the cemetery. Has this thought no meaning for us? It ought to suggest the importance of giving more attention to that which God had in view in creating us. Not ambitious of what men may think of us, but ambitious of securing that which we alone can obtain for ourselves, happiness in the life to come. Then will our lonely and forgotten condition matter very little.
Prayer.
Release, O Lord, etc., etc.