The Middlebury galaxy. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1848-1850, 1850-01-08
mentioned to Sarah the death of her old

ucntioned TO Sarah the death Of her old
friend, Joseph s..
The fair girl was reclining in her large
armchair, looking out through the closed
windows at the snow on the ground, and the
nure moonlight which silvered it. There
was no startling emotion visible as her moth
or mentioned the fact which TO her was the
most solemn, yet the most joyous news the
world could give; for, now, how much near
er was their meetingl | saw smile flash
across her face, as the joyful news reached
her ear. ! saw her lip move as if she invit-
ed. even then, his spiritual embrace. ! saw
her forehead raised to feel the caress which
knew she felt She was then silent for ma
nv minutes, and then spoke in feeble, yet
very musical accents; and |, boyishly, wept
aloud. Then she smiled, and looked, with
finger upraised, and SAID, Wait little
longer, dear w. and then after mo-
ment. she said, " Mother, is the snow very
deep?"
- Not very, dear. Why do you ask Z"
Because, if it were deep, l thought it
would be difficult for old MIR. Smith TO find
our lot in the graveyard. Are all the head
stones covered, mother p
"What is the matter, Sarah What II
thew are covered?"
IMother, dear, it is useless to conceal 1t
from ourselves, or from one another. 1op
know, and ! quite as well, that | am dying
have not wished to live, only for one thing;
did long for life, and | dreaded to meet
death all alone but now shall not. W
will tell YOU what / mean, when | am gone :
yes. qone, dear mother. i shall not he here
any longer. This chair will stand here,
and not be any where near it. You will
be here. and father; and you will ride and
walk about, and visit, and goin and out, and
sleep and wake again, and SO on, day alter
day-and | shall have no par; any longer IN
YOUR cares and JOYS. Dear mother and
as she uttered the last two words, she put
her arms around her mothers neck and kiss
cd her fondly, and sank back into her char
again. sat at her feet, watching her match
less features A smile was fitting across
them-now there, now gone yet, each time
it appeared, it fingered longer than before.
until it became fixed, and so holy, so very
Eolv, that grew bewildered as | gazed, and
a strange tremor passed through my body.
The breath of peace was tanning her glo-
rious brow Her head was bowed little for
ward, and a tress, escaping from its bonds,
fell by the side of her pure white temple,
ar d close to her just opened lips. 1t hung
there motionless. No breath disturbed Its
repose She sleeped as an angel might Sleep
having accomplished The mission of her God.
Oftentimes, since then, | have heard a
voice from heaven. as melodious as that
which The prophet of old heard, declaring
the blessing of the righteous dead. To night,
have been hearing it it is faint, indeed,
but clear, and 0, how thrilling and its sound,
like her voice chanting Grave old spain
And thou shalt walk in pnre white light.
" ith kings and priests abroad
And thou shalt summer in bliss,
Upon the hills of Godl
know not under what palm free of Chal-
dea, or by the shadow of what rock in Hin
doostan, or under what ruin in time-ballowed
Egypt, the ella, which once was my friend,
of mine own Kindred, awaits the resurrec-
ton. l have knelt, in the silvery moonshlne
of the highlands, by the grave of that other
friend Of early, holy years
But my thoughts linger not long, either
at the one grave or at the other. | think
only of the pending veil. and the embrace
which awaited her when she became an an
gel.