13 Lost Friends!
Lost Friends!
"I am an alien and a stranger among you. Sell me some property for a burial site here so I can bury my dead." The Hittites replied to Abraham, "Sir, listen to us. You are a mighty prince among us. Bury your dead in the choicest of our tombs. None of us will refuse you his tomb for burying your dead." Genesis 23:4-6 "Do not forsake your friend and the friend of your father." Proverbs 27:10 "Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep." John 11:11 "A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity." Proverbs 17:17 "As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17
"You have taken my companions and loved ones from me; the darkness is my closest friend!" Psalms 88:18
Every one has friends, and every one can sympathize with the joys and pains so indissolubly connected with affection’s exercise. But, alas! if it is true that all of us have friends — then the fact is equally universal, that all of us have had friends who are now lost to us forever.
"There is no union here of hearts,
That finds not here an end."
How many bosoms in every corner of the globe are heaving every day with the ready response to this mournful sentiment! Is there one who has spent though but a few brief summers on the shore of time, upon whose mind the world, as it really is, is just beginning to dawn — who cannot already reckon upon someone or more friends whose countenance beamed upon his infant years — now dark in the dust of the grave?
Scarcely have we passed the portals of our greenest youth, when we are startled to miss some of those dear companions who began their pilgrimage along with us. They may not have been taken from our own immediate household, and so the blank is the less felt. But hardly has the wheel of time made another revolution, than, perhaps, the arrow is aimed closer — it strikes home to our very heart — a father or a mother — a brother or a sister; or if none of these, at least a favorite playmate. It may be that one of our own happy dwelling, is hurried away to the tomb — and a new strange weight falls on our soul; and our eyes are dim with incessant weeping.
Ah! reader, let me ask you, have you suffered the loss of any who were very dear to you — and do you not sympathize with these sentiments? Have you a father or a mother, a son or a daughter, a brother, a sister, or a friend, whom once you cherished upon earth — now shut out forever from your sight beneath the churchyard sod. Is there not a yearning of affection over that lost one in your heart now, which never possessed it while the bloom of life was around him?
But, perhaps, yours has been a bereavement of another sort. Parents and kindred are still all around you; but she, the gentle being who was the star of your youth, the bride affianced of your future career — has withered away from your path, like a flower cut down in the dewy light of the morning. Alas! the cloud of grief which envelops you is indeed a heavy one, and yours are tears whose fountain cannot be dried. Never again can the blossoms of a new love spring forth from the ashes of what is faded and gone. This is no idle dream; it is a truth attested by melancholy experience. The heart may have many friendships — but only one love. Oh! then, let none, in the thoughtlessness of light-hearted youth, or the cold worldly mindedness of maturer years — ever attempt to depreciate the power of affection’s first impression.
It has often been to me a subject of wondering meditation, that in so many instances, the dead should be so soon forgotten. Even the most loving and best beloved, with whom we have lived for years in close and endearing companionship — how soon their loss ceases to grieve us — how soon their memories pass almost quite away! This year they are beside us — speaking, smiling, weeping along with us in all the affected sympathy of congenial hearts. The next year, they are lifeless, dead, lost, buried forever out of our sight in the dismal cemetery. Did we love them? Yes, truly — and with our whole souls. Often when we have looked upon them in their health and bloom — have we thought how, deprived of their presence — existence would be a sunless blank. Keeping death and separation far out of view, have we not sickened at the bare idea of sorrow or disease overtaking them, even for one hour? Did we love them? Oh yes, and with a tenderness of which we were ourselves at times almost ashamed, and eager to hide it within the recesses of our own bosoms. We did love them deeply, fondly, faithfully — and yet we behold them no more. Their places by our tables and our hearths are empty — the grave has received its victims. But still we look, we talk, we hope, we fear, we grieve, and we rejoice, very nearly as of yore. We mourned them a while, their remembrance was green upon our souls, and we daily watered its silent garden with the showers of bitter sadness. But gradually, imperceptibly, the sacred impression abated, other objects arose to divert the current of our thoughts, and before we were aware of our strange loss of sentiment — the blessed, the beloved dead had passed away (shall I say) into oblivion. Unfathomable heart of man! Mysterious arrangement of Omniscience! That whom we love with most dearly in life — we should be able to consign to forgetfulness in death.
Let no one tell me that this is an exaggerated picture. Its truth is attested by the most ordinary observation. Though, doubtless, there are seasons when the thought of lost friends rushes in with intense and solemn power upon the soul in sad and solitary hours — when every image of present enjoyment is merged in the broodings of an all-absorbing memory. Yet still, in as far as regards the general tenor of our feelings — it is with living and tangible objects that we seek most to be associated. To mourn for a season is natural — but to mourn always with the same measure of wretchedness — has been wisely denied to the great mass of mankind. There are exceptions, undeniably, to this rule. There are beautiful spirits, to whom the affection of their friends is the very air they breathe; whose tender devotedness, the grave of its idols only consecrates to greater fidelity. These are to be honored and revered, for they are bright, particular stars in the dark hemisphere of more selfish natures. Still they are only the illustrious few, and while we admire their rare excellence — we can scarcely desire that their numbers be multiplied.
"Friend after friend departs —
Who has not lost a friend?" Not one! If we turn for a moment from human to Divine experience — we shall find even there additional evidence how transient are all mortal attachments. The Savior had those dear to Him, whom He lost, and whom He mourned. He loved Lazarus. Lazarus died, and "Jesus wept" at the sepulcher of His departed brother. Oh, then, let us not frustrate that grace which would make the loss of our dearest friends subservient to our unspeakable gain — so that at last, when the hour of our departure comes, this testimony may be borne to us by those who shall mourn for us: " Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord"
"Remember, O Lord God, my kindred and friends. Do not allow them to walk in their own sinful ways. Let them all be partakers of Your richest benefits. Oh, draw them all into Your family by the spirit of adoption, that at the great judgment-day we may be found at Your right hand."