Good night, good death.

Why did God make us to grow tired and sleep each day? Perhaps in part He formed in us a daily reminder that we must die, that we must finally lie down and pass from this passing earth. Our hands must surrender the burdens and momentary joys that so consume us while the light remains. For night comes, when no man can work.

Each day is a life, whose fate depends upon crossing the threshold of sleep in the friendship of Him Who raises and lowers the curtain of day. The sun sets, the eye closes, the hand opens in farewell to the sinking shore of a dying world. Ahead, for him who has kept the promise of that red and terrible morning, a King awaits: "Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Master's house."

This morning I awoke with the world to that red and terrible morning. But some awoke in a different land. Someday we shall follow ...if we shall follow.