That last hour ends for us all alike our earthly joys and relations.
The slow years slip away, and each bears with it hopes that have been
outlived, whether fulfilled or disappointed. One by one the lights
that we kindle in our hall flicker out, and death quenches the last of
them. But there is one light that burns on clear through the article
of death, like the lamp in the magician's tomb. 'The righteous hath
hope in his death.' We can each settle for ourselves whether we shall
carry that radiant angel with her white wings into the great darkness,
or shall sadly part with her before we part with life. To the earthly
soul that last earthly hour is a black wall beyond which it cannot
look. To the God-trusting soul the darkness is peopled with
bright-faced hopes.