Ye have lost your friends some of you, come to the grave of your best friend—your brother, yea, one who “sticketh closer than a brother.” Come thou to the grave of thy dearest relative, O Christian, for Jesus is thy husband. “Thy maker is thy husband, the Lord of Hosts is his name.” Doth not affection draw you? Do not the sweet lips of love woo you? Is not the place sanctified where one so well beloved slept, although but for a moment? Surely ye need no eloquence. I have but the power, in simple, but earnest accents, to repeat the words. “Come, see the place where the Lord lay.”

Daily Help.