and all the trees, that are in the field, and that are in 

 the borders round about;" and let them " be made 

 sure for a possession of a burying-place." 



It is the duty of the living thus to provide for the 

 dead. It is not a mere office of pious regard for oth- 

 ers ; but it comes home to our own bosoms, as those 

 who are soon to enter upon the common inheritance. 



If there are any feelings of our nature, not bound- 

 ed by earth, and yet stopping short of the skies, 

 which are more strong and more universal than all 

 others, they will be found in our solicitude as to the 

 time and place and manner of our death ; in the de- 

 sire to die in the arms of our friends ; to have the 

 last sad offices to our remains performed by their af- 

 fection ; to repose in the land of our nativity ; to be 

 gathered to the sepulchres of our fathers. It is al- 

 most impossible for us to feel, nay, even to feign, in- 

 difference on such a subject. 



Poetry has told us this truth in lines of transcend- 

 ant beauty and force, which find a response in every 

 breast ; — 



For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, 

 This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned. 



Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day. 

 Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? 



On some fond breast the parting soul relies ; 



Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 

 E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries ; 



E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 



It is in vain, that Philosophy has informed us, that 

 the whole earth is but a point in the eyes of its Cre- 

 ator, — nay, of his own creation ; that, wherever we 



