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"At a child's grave"
 
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William Shunn
shunn
10 March 2008 @ 05:50 pm
"At a child's grave"  
Some words that are meaningful to me just now, from an address by "Great Agnostic" Robert J. Ingersoll at a child's grave in 1882:

Every cradle asks us "Whence?" and every coffin "Whither?" The poor barbarian, weeping above his dead, can answer these questions just as well as the robed priest of the most authentic creed. The tearful ignorance of the one, is as consoling as the learned and unmeaning words of the other. No man, standing where the horizon of a life has touched a grave, has any right to prophesy a future filled with pain and tears.

May be death gives all there is of worth to life. If those we press and strain within our arms could never die, perhaps that love would wither from the earth. May be this common fate treads out from the paths between our hearts the weeds of selfishness and hate. And I had rather live and love where death is king, than have eternal life where love is not. Another life is nought, unless we know and love again the ones who love us here.
 
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Rose Fox[info]rosefox on March 10th, 2008 10:14 pm (UTC)
That's beautiful. I'm so sorry for your loss, and glad you have some things that are bringing you a measure of comfort.
Mary[info]maryturzillo on March 11th, 2008 02:23 am (UTC)
Deepest sympathy
I'm so sorry to hear of your loss, Bill. If there is anything we can do, please let us know.
karen_w_newton[info]karen_w_newton on March 11th, 2008 05:19 pm (UTC)
It is a beautiful sentiment. I was sorry to read the post about your dad. Seems like 72 isn't even old anymore. Lots of folks that age are still working. I suppose there is something to be said for the kind of death where you get to say goodbye—not a lot, but something.
Some words that are meaningful to me just now, from an address by "Great Agnostic" Robert J. Ingersoll at a child's grave in 1882:

Every cradle asks us "Whence?" and every coffin "Whither?" The poor barbarian, weeping above his dead, can answer these questions just as well as the robed priest of the most authentic creed. The tearful ignorance of the one, is as consoling as the learned and unmeaning words of the other. No man, standing where the horizon of a life has touched a grave, has any right to prophesy a future filled with pain and tears.

May be death gives all there is of worth to life. If those we press and strain within our arms could never die, perhaps that love would wither from the earth. May be this common fate treads out from the paths between our hearts the weeds of selfishness and hate. And I had rather live and love where death is king, than have eternal life where love is not. Another life is nought, unless we know and love again the ones who love us here.
 
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