in the still
watch of meditation; let me see, let me hear them no more, even in
fancy;"--not one of us would say this; and, therefore, it is
evident, that whatever painful circumstance memory or association may
recall,--even though it cause us to go out and weep bitterly,--there
is a sacred pleasure, a tender melancholy, that speaks to us in these
voices of the dead, which we are willing to cherish and repeat. It makes
our tears soft and sanctifying as they fall; it makes our hearts purer
and better,--makes them stronger for the conflict of life.

I remark, finally, that the dead speak to us in those religious
suggestions--those consolations, invitations, and hopes--which the
bereaved spirit indulges. Our meditations, concerning them naturally
draw us more closely to these spiritual realities which lie beyond the
grave, and beget in us those holier sentiments which we need. That such
is the tendency of these recollections experience assures us. They
open for us a new order of thought; they bring us in contact with the
loftiest but most neglected truths. Even the hardest heart feels this
influence. It is softened by the stroke of bereavement and, for the time
being, a chastening influence falls upon it, and it always thinks of
the dead with tenderness and awe. They speak to our affections with an
irresistible influence; they soothe our turbulent passions with their
mild and holy calmness; they rebuke us in their spiritual majesty for
our sensuality and our sin. They have departed, but they are not silent.
Though dead, they speak to us. Sweet and sanctifying is their communion
with us. They utter words of warning, too, and speak to us by the silent
eloquence of example. By this they bid us imitate all that was good in
their lives, all that is dear to remember. By this, too, they tell us
that we are passing swiftly from the earth, and hastening to join their
number. A little while ago, and they were as we are;--a little while
hence, and we shall be as they. Our work, like theirs, will be left
behind to speak for us. How important, then, that we consider what work
we do! They assure us that nothing is perpetual here. They bid us not
fasten our affections upon earth. In long procession they pass us by,
with solemn voices telling of their love and hatred, their interests
and cares, their work and device;--all abandoned now and passed away, as
little worth as the dust that blows across their graves. Upon all that
was theirs,