When mighty Pharaoh sat on the throne, the whole world bowed before him. He held in his hands the power of life and death over his subjects. Rich and poor paid him homage. But he grew older. And he died. People no longer honored him. People no longer feared him.

Never again will the mighty Pharaoh lead an army in victory. He will never command again. Of his vast kingdom, only the crumbling columns remain and the choking dust. Pharaoh is a mummy. While his facial features are identifiable, he can neither speak nor move. He is dead.

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust!

A man entered a theater just as the play was reaching its climax. The sound from the stage increased in volume and then came the unmistakable report of a revolver. The bullet sped into the body of the man and he fell to the floor. He was carried quickly to a nearby home where those closely associated with him maintained a long vigil. Every medical skill was used in his behalf. But he died. Abraham Lincoln had become a figure of the ages.

The mind that created, the lips that spoke the immortal words, “Fourscore and seven years ago our forefathers …” will never speak again.

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust!

Ships had been bombarding the little island in the Pacific. Planes dropped their payloads of destruction and it was zero hour. Men scrambled down the nets onto the LCVPs and LCMs. Wave after wave of the larger landing craft filled with tanks, and supplies headed for the beach. The enemy fought back. Shells exploded. Boats were upended. Steel decks twisted grotesquely. Supplies crashed crazily into the water. Bodies were broken. Men died. They fell on the wet sand in the shallow surf. There was the monotonous slap, slap, slap of the waves.

These men will never fight again. ...

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