'Tis a cool, shady harbor, where
Wayworn and weary with life's
Forgetting all life's sorrows,
joys, and pains,
Lays his poor body down to rest—
Sleeps on—and wakes in heaven.
the wicked cease from
troubling; and there the weary be at rest. There the prisoners rest
together; they hear not the voice of the oppressor. The small and great
are there; and the servant is free from his master.—Job
3:17, 18, 19.
A grave blockhead should always go about with a lively
one - they show one another off to the best advantage.
We go to the
grave of a friend saying, "A man is dead;" but angels
throng about him, saying, "A man is born."—Beecher.
idea of unbroken quiet broods around the grave. It is a
port where the storms of life never beat, and the forms that have been
tossed on its chafing waves lie quiet forevermore. There the child
nestles as peacefully as ever it lay in its mother's arms, and the
workman's hands lie still by his side, and the thinker's brain is
pillowed in silent mystery, and the poor girl's broken heart is steeped
in a balm that extracts its secret woe, and is in the keeping of a
charity that covers all blame.—Chapin.
But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland
night, shall lead thee to thy grave.—William Wordsworth
There is a
voice from the tomb sweeter than song. There is a
remembrance of the dead to which we turn even from the charms of the
living. Oh, the grave!—the grave! It buries every error, covers every
defect, extinguishes every resentment! From its peaceful bosom spring
none but fond regrets and tender recollections.—Washington
A life of leisure and a life of laziness are two things.
There will be sleeping enough in the grave.—Benjamin Franklin
Death borders upon our birth, and our cradle stands in
the grave.—Joseph Hall
He whose head is in heaven need not fear to put his feet
into the grave.— Matthew Henry
I am a soul. I know well that what I shall render up
to the grave is not myself. That which is myself will go elsewhere.
Earth, thou art not my abyss!—Victor Hugo
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the
grave with the song still in them.—Henry