Monmouth weekly herald. [volume] (Freehold, N.J.) 1854-1860, 1858-11-06
Thel Last Enemy.

Death is the disturber of every mans
felicity, an ugly shadow that darkens
the brightest moon a frost that deies
swaddling clothes and the glow of sum-
mer. 1t is the great horror of every
fancy, the great agony of every heart. a
pltlless pursuing, tireles5 and unsatisied
hungerer, whose nav extends as it feeds,
and whose thirst grows with the rush of
the fountain that slakes it. A discord
shutting between all our harmonies /; a
cloud dark and baneful in the sky a
wind bitter and fierce over the waters /;
a thick Shiny mist in the air, and a sand
waste on the earth, wherever we turn.
No submission nor bride, no fattery nor
ovation, no prayer, no threatening, can
avert him. He knows no time, no cere-
mony, no fear, and no remorse. The
king and the beggar, the rich and poor,
the tyrant and the slave, have his favor
alike. Sleepers on velvet cushions, in
dungeons, and upon the rack, claim the
roll-call of death. He carries a lantern,
whose taper wick is fed by the light of
souls struggling through pale faces to-
ward eternity. He is in the air, in the
earth, in the sea, on the CLEAN of the
sword, and in the foam that sparkles the
brim of the wine cup The winged Mer-
curry Of all '-leprous distilments," poison,
murder, plague, and famine. The ex-
t~inction Of races is his inheritance, the
wall Of the world is music, its agony is
banquet. He has his pastime strangling
infants, idiots, dwarfs, and grown men,
but his holidays are held on battle6elds,
in massacres, and he delights in inquisi-
lions, headmen's blocks, and fandangoes
under the gallows.
Death is the genius of ~graveyards, the
god OF worms. He snatehes the king
from his crown, the victor from his
wreath, the judge from his ermine, and
the bishop from his mitre. The hearth
is made desolate by him, and the altar
reft of its worshippers. Lovers, parents
and children, and friends, are parted at
the nod. Even the poor miser, who has
pined and suffered a lifetime, he robs
from his gold. There is no expectancy
he will not cut off, no honor he leaves
undisputed, or seal unbroken. He envies
even the fool the carriage of his carcass.
Yet death has some good points. His
indlscriminacy is not without merit. He
takes the whip from the tyrant, and the
chain from the oppressed. He relieves
the beggar of his rags, the sufferer of his
pain, and the weeper of his grief. He
opens dungeon doors, breaks down prison
walls, and lets the captive go free. He
is the avenger of innocence, the protector
of weakness, and the rebuker of injustice.
He teaches the peasant the true value of
his fields, the merchant of his goods, the
money-lender of his gold. He rights the
wrong, wipes out distinctions of blood,
and proves the equality of men.
Death is a %leveler, without stint or
measure, and withal a righteous, impair
tial and unainching judge. He stands
by o.ward off dishonor, the lash, and all
worse inirmities and infections than him
self. While he is a tyrant, he is also a
drudge and a slave. We can force our
burdens uponshim, and he cannot escape.
He is bound to serve the beggar as well
as the prince. He cannot choose a mo.
ment's leisure, but round and round, with
wan cheeks, pursues his task, the pack
horse of mankind. He feels no ferocity,
for he has no will-commits no atrocity,
because he is a tool. His Office is mega
tive, his terms bounded, his end annihila-
tion. Death is no grim, gaunt fend.
He saves as many buds as he blights
flowers, and he does either from obedience
rather than instinct. Why should we
fear him more than other servants of
God.