108

THOUGHTS AT THE GRAVE

THOUGHTS AT THE GRAVE OF BELOVED

ONES.

MRS. JULIA NORTON.

AGAIN has Autumn scattered over these precious mounds of earth her faded, leafy mantle. Lightly it rests upon their unobtrusive elevations, beneath which sleep some of earth's richest treasures.

And are these perishing mementoes all that remain of their deeply-cherished worth? No. The halo of glory with which their virtues have encircled their memory shall never fade away. Our heavenly Guide Book teaches us that "the memory of the just is blessed."

Then be still, my aching heart, and thankfully follow life's beaten path until we are permitted to meet again

- to meet where their beautiful spirits are bathing in immortal love and immortal knowledge. They have passed through the "chances and changes" of this mortal life, and plumed their wings for an everlasting flight, where they can calmly review life's stormy sea, and contemplate their future blessedness in their eternal home. They sought the path that leads up to the city of God, and thus entered into joy and felicityinto an eternity vast and shoreless. They have entered the swelling stream of bliss, which is mysterious

and fathomless. Far beyond the troubled waters of time their ever-increasing capacity for enjoyment will perpetually rise, and fill to the brim their cup of felicity.

Imagination here droops her wearied pinions, yet still continues to wander in search of those beloved spirits which have soared to the invisible world, unwilling to break the chain that binds it to those so dearly loved, so fondly cherished. And although the wounded heart has passed through the hour when it bled at every ruptured tie,- when cares and heavy woes pressed long upon its very existence, until nought was left but meek submission, the belief that it again will meet and recognize, in a higher and holier state of existence, those so dearly loved upon the earth, buoys up the heart, and bids it look forward to its initiation into the celestial world, where the longincarcerated soul shall be free, and independent of the feeble inlets of knowledge by the senses. When the veil of mortality shall be riven, the stormy Jordan passed, and the world of abiding realities entered, then the world of deceptive and fleeting shadows will have forever passed away.

Sweet is it to hold converse with the pious dead. A holy influence emanates from their blissful home, and fills the soul with a feeling of sacred and solemn awe. The spirit whispers peace, and fills the waiting caverns of the soul with the bright hope of again. meeting those whom we believe to be in the abodes of redeemed and happy spirits. In vivid expectancy it awaits the morning of the resurrection, and the

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THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.

happy reunion of kindred souls, where no tear of grief bedews the cheek, no agonizing farewell rends the heart; where a purer and holier love will fill the bosom than earth has ever known; where dwell our kindred with the wise and good of untold ages; where the " open ear of the soul" will obtain knowledge from patriarchs and angels; where our immortal spirits shall go free, and, wafted by angel wings, survey the boundless ocean of eternity.

THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.

MRS. HEMANS.

THEY grew in beauty, side by side,
They filled one home with glee ;
Their graves are severed, far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea.

The same fond mother bent at night
O'er each fair, sleeping brow;
She had each folded flower in sight-
Where are those dreamers now?

One, 'midst the forest of the west,
By a dark stream is laid;
The Indian knows his place of rest,
Far in the cedar shade.

The sea, the blue, lone sea hath one
He lies where pearls lie deep;
He was the loved of all, yet none
O'er his low bed may weep.

One sleeps where southern vines are dressed,
Above the noble slain :

He wrapped his colors round his breast
On a blood-red field of Spain.

And one- - o'er her the myrtle showers
Its leaves, by soft winds fanned;
She faded 'midst Italian flowers-
The last of that bright band.

And parted thus they rest, who played
Beneath the same green tree,
Whose voices mingled as they prayed
Around one parent knee.

They that with smiles lit up the hall,
And cheered with song the hearth-

Alas for love, if thou wert all,

And nought beyond, O earth!