The Encyclopaedia of Death and Life in the Spirit-World

ISBN-10: 1458917096
ISBN-13: 9781458917096
Category: Death
Pages: 306
Language: English
Published: 2012-01
Publisher: General Books
Author: John Reynolds Francis

Description

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1906. Excerpt: ... IMPRESSIVE COMMUNICATIONS FROM THE SPIRIT SIDE OF LIFE. Poe, in whose soul was a bed of beautiful flowers, on which the muses seemed to repose and sing their angelic lays, claimed that Nevermore is the most mournful of all words. Byron, whose poetic utterances have never ceased to thrill the mind, attached the same pre-eminence to Farewell. Dr. Johnson, whose erudition still burns with undiminished radiance, entertained the idea that of all phrases, The Last was most touching. Another distinguished writer, whose mind echoes the sad strains of sorrowing souls, affirms that there is more real pathos in the word Gone, than in any other in the English language. But to humanity in the aggregate, the word Dead is the most mournful in its vanishing sound. Speaking of the dead, those who "Died Yesterday," an inspired writer says: "Every day is written this little sentence, 'Died Yesterday.' Every day a flower is plucked from some sunny home, a breach is made in some happy circle, a jewel is taken from some treasury of love, by the ruthless hand of the angel of death. Each day, from the summer-fields of life, some harvester disappears. Yes, every moment some cherished sentinel drops from the rugged ramparts of time into the surging waves of eternity. Even as we write the church-bell tolls the doleful funeral knell of one who died yesterday; its solemn tones chill the blood in our veins, and make the heart sad indeed. 'Died yesterday!' Who died? Perhaps it was a gentle, innocent babe, sinless as an angel, pure as the zephyr's gentle music, and whose laugh was as gushing as the summer-rills loitering in a rose-bower, whose life was but a perpetual litany, a Maytime, caowned with blooming, delicate flowers, which never fade. Or, mayhap, it was a youth, hopeful and pr...

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