It is while he is living that he needs
them. He has burdens heavy to be borne; troubles gather thick over his
head; he is neglected and even misrepresented. You can help him with a
smile or a few kind words; but, no, you pass him by. Now he is brought to
the grave. As the cold clods fall upon his plain coffin, you say, "Well,
he was a good man, after all." Why did you not tell him that when he was
living? It would have buoyed up his spirit then; it would have made him
feel that life was not all in vain and that yet he might do a little good.
But now he hears not your words. They return to you or float out into
empty space a mere sound. The ear that was once eager for them and the
heart that was aching for them is now cold in death. Your kind, cheering
words are too late to give him encouragement; your flowers are too late to
be appreciated. Once they would have brightened his life, but now his life
is over. Once you could have chased away some clouds that were darkening
his life, but you did not, and that day has gone into eternity as a day of
darkness. You might have brightened it.
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