We stand on the borders of a wide gulf which is swallowing up all things human. Death appears to have no boundaries. We see in the midst of this universal wreck, nothing stable, nothing abiding, nothing immortal, upon which this poor, frail, dying man can fasten. Ask the hero, ask the statesman, ask the nobleman whose wisdom we have been accustomed to revere, and he will tell us from his deathbed, and his illumined spirit still whispers with well-known eloquence this solemn admonition: "Ye mortals hastening to your tomb, and once the companions of my own pilgrimage, take warning and avoid my errors; cultivate the virtues I have recommended; choose the Saviour I have chosen; live disinterestedly of temporal things. Live for Life, and not for that which gives momentary pleasures -- those things that slip from all dying fingers as quickly and assuredly as the beauty fades from the lilies of every valley. Live for immortality; and would you rescue anything from final dissolution and decay, lay it up to God."

One has the most gallant and trustworthy escort when he passes from this world through the portal we call death -- the Morning Star, the Dawn of thhe Ages, the Guiding Light -- Jesus Christ, the Captain of souls. He breaks the chains of carnal bondage, sets the imprisoned spirit free, closes the toilsome career of frustration, opens the door of immortal happiness, and returns the soul to its own, original, and glorious home, to go no more out forever.

In a moment's time, Jesus, the anchor of Life, the dispatcher of all pleasure, and the sum total of reality, swallows the agony of toil, bringing peace to the weary soul. Sleeping in Christ is the end of all travail and futile passions, the stepping-stone and door to everlasting desires, the gate of gladness, the port of paradise, the haven of heaven, the entrance to serenity, and the continued progression of all blissfulness. Jesus is the very bed of feathery down wherein the doleful souls of God's elect rest. In Him they rise from corruption and awake fresh and most hearty to everlasting life.

A man's dying day, as he looks to Christ, will be his day of increase, when he shall be freed from the prison in which he has long been detained and brought home to his Father's house. His dying day will be his resting day, when he shall rest from all care and trouble; his reaping day, when he shall reap the fruit he has sown with tears, in faith, hope, and love; his conquering day, when he shall triumph over every enemy; his transplanting day, from the earthy to the heavenly, from a toilsome wilderness to a heavenly paradise; his robing day, to put off the worn-out garments of flesh, and put on the new and glorious vesture of light; his marriage day; his coronation day; the day of his glory, continuing in his eternal, perfect bliss with Christ.

One of Martin Luther's children lay on her death bed; the great man of the Protestant reformation approached and said to her: "My little daughter, my beloved Margaret, you would willingly remain with your earthly parents, but if God calls you, you will go with your heavenly Father." "Yes, dear father, it is as God pleases." He then said: "My daughter, enter thou into thy resting place in peace." She turned her eyes toward him and said, with touching simplicity, "Yes father." How yielding the believing Luther parted with his dying child; and I believe the sentiment of his heart was very like the inscription on a child's tombstone in an English churchyard, as follows: "Who plucked that flower?" cried the gardener, as he walked through the garden. His fellow servant answered, "The Master." And the gardener held his peace.

Clifford, our love, was taken from us. His untiring hands are now pulseless and cold. His gentle motion and strong embrace are no more, and tears sweep over our cheeks. Death has spread its arms about him. It has woven a dark shroud, becoming the winding-sheet and the sole vesture of his earthen body. His laughter and kind voice are vivid memories in our minds, yet they fade like distant echoes of another time. Nevertheless -- he still lives! Praise God -- he lives!

When his Lord said to come home, he yielded to His call. He was released into His arms of love. Through the portals of death he passed into the abode of eternal Life.

While he was with us, his life was as a song -- such a sweet melody to our ears. But now he is gone and his music has ceased. His body of dust rests in its bed of earth from where it came. Oh, but praise God, he is more than dust! He is an everlasting son of God, clothed upon with a heavenly house that abides forever. Our Clifford ran a good race, bringing joy to many -- he finished his course -- and now he rests with gladness in thhe bosom of his God and Lord Jesus Christ.

We are saddened greatly by this great loss. The pain is deep, as his fragrance lingers with us. He was such a wonderful husband and companion in life. He was a compassionate and caring father, grandfather, pastor and faithful friend. Howbeit, we know he is well and free from the bondage of pain, and suffering, and the toil that is common to man. But we know also, we shall see him again! Nevertheless -- Clifford, our love, we miss you so very much.