him as living, and then as dead; but we may also consider him while living as yet every moment dying, and in this view death is clearly seen to be the inseparable companion of life,—­the way of return, and so of continuance.  This pulsation, forever a vanishing and a resurgence, so incalculably swift as to escape observation, is proper to life as life, does not begin with what we call birth nor end with what we call death (considering birth and death as terms applicable to an individual existence); it is forever beginning and forever ending.  Thus to all manifest existence we apply the term Nature (natura), which means “forever being born”; and on its vanishing side it is moritura, or “forever dying.”  Resurrection is thus a natural and perpetual miracle.  The idea of life as transcending any individual embodiment is as germane to science as it is to faith.

Death, thus seen as essential, is lifted above its temporary and visible accidents.  It is no longer associated with corruption, but rather with the sweet and wholesome freshness of life, being the way of its renewal.  Sweeter than the honey which Samson found in the lion’s carcass is this everlasting sweetness of Death; and it is a mystery deeper than the strong man’s riddle.

So is Death pure and clean, as is the dew that comes with the cool night when the sun has set; clean and white as the snowflakes that betoken the absolution which Winter gives, shriving the earth of all her Summer wantonness and excess, when only the trees that yield balsam and aromatic fragrance remain green, breaking the box of precious ointment for burial.

In this view also is restored the kinship of Death with Sleep.

The state of the infant seems to be one of chronic mysticism, since during the greater part of its days its eyes are closed to the outer world.  Its larger familiarity is still with the invisible, and it seems as if the Mothers of Darkness were still withholding it as their nursling, accomplishing for it some mighty work in their proper realm, some such fiery baptism of infants as is frequently instanced in Greek mythology, tempering them for earthly trials.  The infant must needs sleep while this work is being done for it; it has been sleeping since the work began, from the foundation of the world, and the old habit still clings about it and is not easily laid aside....

That which we have been considering as the death that is in every moment is a reaction proper to life itself, waking or sleeping, whereby it is renewed, sharing at once Time and Eternity—­time as outward form, and eternity as its essential quality.  Sleep is a special relaxation, relieving a special strain.  As daily we build with effort and design an elaborate superstructure above the living foundation, so must this edifice nightly be laid in ruins.  Sleep is thus a disembarrassment, the unloading of a burden wherewith we have weighted ourselves.  Here again we are brought into a kind of repentance, and receive absolution.  Sleep is forgiveness.