death. O death, thou deep-veiled virgin, how few have seen the charms in thy face! How few are the worshippers on whom thy dark eyes have smiled!
Ah, sweet is life, but sweeter still is death!
How few comprehend death! None among that light-hearted and light-minded band of Englishmen whose camp-fires gleam in the darkness of the valley, like the lurid eyes of some cruel monster, knows the solemn majesty of death, whom they would as laughingly receive themselves as force upon others.
The mystery of death is the greatest mystery of all.
The past-searching eyes of you Brahman,emerging from the Ganges' sacred waters, turn in mute appeal to the Gods of his fathers, at the sight of those ruined temples, raised by the pious hands of antiquity, and unbidden tears trickle down his cheeks as he mourns his country dead. Timid shortsighted man! Is India dead because she suckles children not her own? If thou couldst place thyself on the crest of that proud mountain-wave thou wouldst see across the tract of time the break of a dawn brighter and purer than these hills have yet beheld. Man! man is thy brother! Give to thy brother what he has not, and supply thy own deficiencies from what he offers thee. The right hand must aid the left, the East must unite with the West; the young must join hands with the old; and the beauty of harmony will smile on the face of the Earth. . . . .
Hark! what discordant scream disturbs the calm
