Wings, rushing unceasingly onward

Broj poruka : 5 Datum upisa : 11.03.2011

Wings, rushing unceasingly onward

to bear tiffany pendants this heaving orb and all its precious freight of indestructible souls to the regions of endless beatitude, and of imperishable triumph,to whirl it swiftly into the depths of that allencircling Eternity. We speak of the Majesty of Death,what is it but the Majesty of the Soulthat we know is then freed and delivered from the dark influences of Mortality that we know is thus awfully stepping on the
veiled threshold of the Great Beyond ? We weep over the sepulchre! yet what is the grave but the great horizonline of all this visible Humanity, touching the Heaven, and the Heaven of Heavens ? and, with prophetic insight, ye can yet see from behind it arise in inextinguishable glory the Sun of the quickening morn of Immortality, that shall light our rejoicing March from Everlasting to Everlasting !In the crowded citychurchyards far other thoughts intrude. What can you think of there, save the skull, the charnel, andthe worm ? The hard, cold, loathsome, dark realities of corruption seem forced on you. Death itself becomes blacker, sterner; less solemn, but more fearful; less impressive, but tiffany necklaces more despotic. Certainly, the bestowal of our dead in flowerenamelled and treeovershadowed burialgrounds is more consolatory to our feelings; but better than all was the plan of the ancients consuming by purifying fire, and collecting the ashes in an um. There corruption and the worm came not.
Thou grovelling horror I thou most abject form ! Despised, yet dreaded, scorn'd, tiffany cuff link yet sovereign worm; Thou silent, spiry, creeping, ghostly thing! To thee the swift world bendeth on the wing:
Part of this was originally published by tiffany bracelets me, anonymously, in The Keepsake.For thee that world was madeto thee it goes, While thou remain'st in thy secure repose. Kings go to thee, and quail; and there lay down The imperial sceptre and the jewell'd crown : Thou reignest queen, and all submit to thee There seems no limit to thy sovereignty.No eagle can escape thee; from the sunIt drops into thy maw: its triumphs done,Its soarings check'd, its hurrying raptures past,The preybird is thy tiffany rings helpless prey at last:The conqueror's wreaths thou'rt cunning to untwine,All hosts, all armaments, must yet be thineThe victors and the vanquish'd, all must yield:Yes ! thou remain'st true mistress of the field