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On Man's Origin and End.

On Man's Origin and End.

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Published by GLENN DALE PEASE
BY DOW JR.



Text. — ^Bud and harvest, bloom and vintage,
These, like man, are fruits of earth;
Stamped in clay, a heavenly mintage.
All from dust receive their birth.
BY DOW JR.



Text. — ^Bud and harvest, bloom and vintage,
These, like man, are fruits of earth;
Stamped in clay, a heavenly mintage.
All from dust receive their birth.

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Published by: GLENN DALE PEASE on Sep 17, 2013
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10/19/2014

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O MA'S ORIGI AD ED.BY DOW JR.Text. — ^Bud and harvest, bloom and vintage,These, like man, are fruits of earth;Stamped in clay, a heavenly mintage.All from dust receive their birth.My Hearers — vegetables, as we all know, are composed of no-thing but dust — the paltry dust upon which we tread ; and man,proud, lordly man, is made of the same despicable material. What,then, is he, with all his gildings and trimmings, but a vegetablepossessed of vitality and the powers of locomotion ? A cabbagederives its growth and nourishment directly from the earth — man,indirectly. Worms feed upon the one while it still lives and flour-ishes, and upon the other when dead and inhumed in the bowelsof the earth. In likening you to cabbages, my friends, I have re-ference only to the perishable portion. The soul, thought, andintellect have a home in heaven, independent of the dirt-coveredcottage which they here inhabit ; but the body dissolves and re-turns to its original dust.My friends — ^look where we will, we behold once animateddust. Parts and particles of our ancestors are in each tree aroundus — ^we see fractions of our former friends in the flowers of thefield — and even a portion of female beauty and loveliness is con-tained in the loathsome toadstool that springs from a dung heap !Oh man ! thou art but dust, and to that dust thou must return, ashas been said of old. The sacred urn that holds the ashes of ho-nor contains nothing but the reminiscence of what was, but is nomore. The plebeian is composed of just as good stuff as the pa-trician; and the coarse carcase of a peasant furnishes Death withas good a meal as that of a prince or potentate.My dear friends — reflect upon the condition in which you areplaced. Remember that you are but grain, sown by the hand of Omnipotency, soon to be cut down by the sickle of Time, and ga-
 
thered into the garner of the grave. Bestow not tgo much careupon that worthless conglomeration of sin and corruption calledthe body ; for it must perish, in spite of the patchings of faith andphysicians. The old clothes of mortality that you throw ofl*whenabout to swim the creek which divides time and eternity are asnseless to the world as a warming-pan to a West Indian ; the soulwould surely be ashamed to enter the courts of heaven with such1ti IHOmT PATBHT lUlMOirt.a wardrobe of wickedness. When I pass by tiiat holy spot whererest the ashes of the dead, and read upon the tomb-stones howdear and valoable is the dost upon which they are reared, I can-not but help thinking that a cart-load of hog manure would bringmore in market than all the refuse of wealth, nobility, and beautywhich could be scraped together between here and the latter endof sometime ago. A church-3rard is a riddle, or sieve, that sepa-rates the bran from the flour. The flour is that spiritual essencewhich is contained in the husk of humanity, and which is treasu^red up in heaven as being too valuable to be wasted; but the braais the body — ^worthless chaff*, of no account whatever when sepa*rated from the soul. The surface of this habitable globe is cover*ed with animal as well as vegetable mould. We dance upon thegraves of our forefathers, and sing songs of mirth and jollity atthe tombs of our kindred, without regard to the sacredness of thedust around us. All flesh is composed of vegetable mould ; and,though it derives its nourishment for a time from the ground, itmust eventually amalgamate with its parent soil, and afbrd foodfor vegetation. When the Omnipotent told ebuchadnezzar to goto grass, it was but a prophetic warning of the fate of all humanflesh ; for, certes, there is not a living form but ftiust sooner orlater dissolve, and distribute its substance among the vegetableproductions of the earth. The bright eye of beauty must soonlose its lustre in the midnight darkness of the sepulchre — ^the
 
crimson current of life must be frozen in the cold December of death — ^the mighty engine of the mind that moves the ever-revolv*ing wheels of thought must yet cease to operate, and the clay thatcomposes the frail vessel of mortality shall cruble to atoms. Ye'it will return to dust, and that dust will in time be monopolized 1the fairest of flowers, the vilest of weeds, and perhaps by tlvery smallest of small potatoes.My worthy friends — ^that paltry pile of dirt called the humjbody is left but for a little while to encumber the world ere itshovelled up by Time, and carted off* to manure the broad fielddeath ; but the spirit that animates it can no more be confinedthe dungeon of the grave than you can frighten an old-fashioearthquake with a pair of pistols and a bowic knife. Wbshakes off its carnal shackles, it absquatulates to some unkiisland in the vast ocean of eternity, where it manages to linp.-•HORT PATET SERMOS. 25ettt and ever, if- not longer, without either cash, food, or raiment.Toil, then, for the soul rather than for the body. The body is ve-getable, and is doomed to perish ; but the soul is ethereal and in-corruptible. Although, gas-like, it evaporates when life's glasslamp is dashed to pieces, it ascends like the dew of the morning,unseen to its native heaven ; but the body upon which you bestowso much pains — ^pamper with so much pride— and bedeck with somuch ornament, becomes but ashes when touched by the finger of Fate — and those are not worth their weight in saw-dust.Look well after the immortal part, my friends, and though vege-tables as you are, when you come to be transplanted to a more con-genial soil, you will sprout anew, and flourish like a weed againstthe sunny side of a fence, through all eternity. So mote it be !

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