The bystanders watch each other's faces, and they think, "The day will
come when we in our turns shall be the field of the same strife, and
victorious Death will bear us away into the grave, his den, as the spider
carries away the fly." But the true life, the only life, the soul,
spreading her immortal wings, will speed her flight to another world,
with the exulting cry, "I have fought the good fight. I have finished my
course. I have kept the faith!" And Death, disappointed of its prey, will
look up at the emancipated being, unable to follow, and holding in its
clutches only a cold and decaying corpse, soon to be a handful of dust.
"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?" O best and
only consolation, the hope and belief in the final triumph of justice,
the certainty of immortal life through Jesus Christ the Saviour! Cruel
indeed is he who would rob man of the chief brightness and glory of life!
Towards midnight the Count of Nideck seemed almost gone; the agony of
death was at hand; the broken, weakened pulse indicated the sinking of
the vital powers; then, it might return to a more active state; but there
seemed no hope.
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