Litchfield enquirer. [volume] (Litchfield, Conn.) 1829-current, 1851-06-05
From the Independent.
MY MOTHER's GRAVE.

It is on lone hill, and is marked but by
a simple slab of marble. and few delicate
lilies Of the vale. No weeping willow low
ly bends over that lonely mound, but the
wind seems to murmur mournful requi-
EN- as it signs through the branches of the
aged oak, and the glorious sun there sends
its first bright rays to kiss away the trem>
bling tenr- drops Night has shed over that
peaceful grave. 1t is many long years since
my mother was hid in that lowly bed, yet
wildly is that cherished form traced in me-
mory's picture, and when think Of her the
intervening years seem like long dark
dream, and again see, and cling to the one
whom loved better than life. Often do /
dwell on the Inst few days of her existence
when each moment bore the pure spirit
farther from the shores OF time. was but
| little child and scarce knew the meaning
of that dread word-death--and though
watched her wasting form, and found her
| each day paler and weaker, still thought
she would soon recover and join my sports
as she had ever done before. Deaths an
gel came and was called to her dying bed.
Ever deserve your Heavenly Fathers blessing,
were the last words my poor mother spoke
as she gave the farewell kiss and pressed
mo to her fainting throbbing heart, for l
was the youngest andit was hard to part
I with one she had loved so well. The gold
en- bowl was broken, the silver cord loOsed,
and when again looked upon that much
4 loved form, the ruthless hand of the destroy
er had been there and left his icy seal upon
each cherished feature. O, the indescrib-
able anguish of that hour when the lone
grave receives the forms Of those we love:
When we look forth upon the bright glad
| earth and our sad hearts seem Knocked by
/ the gay golden sunshine. Months passed
away, and The soft breezes of summer sigh
ed oyer that lonely grave. Dear was her
memory to me at the lone hour of midnight
if awakened from my childish SAUNDERS.
seemed to hear her voice in each whisper
Of the rustling vine, and the silver stars in
their unapproachable glory seemed like her
angel eyes bealning in love upon nae. Years
pass away, new ties are formed, but the Or
phan's heart never can forget. A cold glance
or u word unkind will quickly recall those
vanished years, aud the tear will start un
hidden in the gayest scenes, at the thought
of that lonely grave. There have knelt
sorro. ing, filed with unutterable woe, for
none may share the sorrowful secreces of
the motherless heart, yet it is beautiful
thought that my mother is an angel in hea-
4 ven, that her pure eyes are ever upon me,
and were it possible to reach the highest
pinnacle Of earthly renown, what need of
praise would be half 80 sweet as the tho t
| that ] had done that which she would be
pleased to behold. My dearest mother,
many are the errors Of thy hayward child
far have wandered from thy holy teach
ings, weak and wavering is this sinful heart,
yet oh! may my life be like thine-thy God
my God-and when death shall leave his
mandate at my door, may my spirit be re
ceived into the bosom Of thy Father, to join
the everlasting praises around the throne of
Christ. c. g. i.
Brooklyn, N. Y.