Futurity.
As to what becomes of the soul after death, we may be very sure that not the apparent interval of an instant takes place between our loss of consciousness here, and our waking in the wide world of eternity. Even supposing that a hundred million of years were to elapse between the moment of our death, and the moment at which we are to rise to judgment, those long years would not seem to us more than the space of a minute. Time is an invention of our own, or at the utmost, is but marked by the consciousness of passing events; as soon as that consciousness is at an end to any one, time is annihilated also: whether judgment follows instantly upon death, or thousands of years intervene, we shall perceive no difference, and to us it will be immediate.
Death.
What art thou, Death? that we should fear
The shadow of a shade;
What’s in thy name that meets the ear
Of which to be afraid?
Thou art not care, thou art not pain,
But thou art rest and peace;