Here my best joys bear "mortal" on their brow. My fair flowers fade; my dainty cups are drained to dregs; my sweetest birds fall before Death's arrows; my most pleasant days are shadowed into nights; and the flood tides of my bliss subside into ebbs of sorrow. But there everything is immortal. The harp remains in tune, the crown unfading, the eye undimmed, the voice unfaltering, the heart unwavering; and the immortal being is wholly absorbed in infinite delight.
Charles Spurgeon, Morning and Evening - January 18th "Morning"