The southern press., 1851-03-29
The Graves Sf those we Love.


The grave is the ordeal Of true affection. 1t
is there the divine passion Of the soul manliests
its superiority to the instructive impulse Of mere
animal attachment. The latter must be con-
tinuaIly refreshed and kept alive by the presence
of its object, but the love that is seated in the
soul can live on long remembrance. The mere
incinations of sense, anguishing and declining
with the charm which excites them, turn with
shuddering and disgust from the dismal pre-
cncts of the tomb; but it is thence that truly
spiritual affection rises purified from every SEN
sual desire and returns, like holy flame, to H.
lumine and sanctity the heart OF the survivor.
The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow
from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other
wound we seek to heal-every other affection
we forget but this wound we consider it duty
to keep open---the Affections we cherish aud
brood over in solitude. Where is the mother
who would willingly forget the infant that per-
ished like blossom from her arms, though
every recollection is a pang! Where is the
daughter who would willingly forget the most
tender of parents, though to remember be but to
lament! Who, even in the hour of agony,
would forget the friend over which he mourns I!
Who, when the tomb is closing upon the re-
mains of her he most loved, when he feels his
heart, as it were, crushed in the closing OF its
portal, would accept of consolation that must be
brought by forgetfuness
No the love which survives the tomb is one
of the nobest attributes of the soul. If IL has
woes, it likewise has its delights, and when the
overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the
| gentle tear of recollection; when the sudden
anguish and the convulsve agony is over, the
present ruins of all that we most loved, is soft
eued away into pensive meditations on all that
it was in the days of its loyliness-who would
root out such sorrow from the heart! Though
it may sometimes throw passing cloud over
the bright hour of gaity or spread deeper sad
ness over the hour of gloom, yet who would ex-
change it even for the song Of pleasure or the
burst of revelry! No; there is a voice from
the tomb sweeter than song. There is re-
membrance of .the dead, to which we turn even
| from the charms Of the living. Oh, the grave
the grave! 1t bures every error--covers
every defect-extnguishes every resentment.
From its peaceful bosom springs none but fond
regret and tender recollection. Who can look
down upon the grave Of an enemy, and not feel
a compunctive throb, that he had even warred
with the poor handful of earth that lies mould
ering before him.
But the grave of those we loved--what a
place of meditation! There it is that we call
up in long review the whole history Of virtue
and gentleness, and the thousand endowments
avished upon us almost unheeded in the daily
intercourse of intimacy there it is that the ten
derness OF the parting scene, the bed OF death !!
with all its stied griefs, its noiseess attendance,
its mute, watchful assiduities, the last testmo.
malls of expiring love the feeble, huttering,
thrilling-oh. how thriling-pressure of the
hand the last fond look of the gazing eye, turn
ing upon us even from the threshold of exist
ence the faint faltering accents struggling in
death to give one more assurance of affection.
Ay, 60 to the grave of buried love and medi
tate! There settle the account with thy'con-
science for every past benefit unrcquted, every
past endearment unregarded, of that departed
being who can never-never return to be soothed
by thy contrition
If thou art child, and hast ever added a
sorrow to the soul, or furrow to the silver
brow of an atfectionate parent; if thou art a
| husband and hast ever caused the fond bosom,
| that has ventured its whole happiness in thy
| arms, to doubt one moment of thy kindness or
| thy truth; il thou art n friend, and hast ever
| wrOnged in thought or word, or Decd the spr-
| it that generously confided in thee-if thou art
| a lover, and hast ever given one unmerted pang
to that true heart which now lies cold and still
beneath thy feet, then be sure that every unkind
look, every ungracious word, every ungentle
action, will come throneing back upon the mem
ory, and knocking dolefully Mt thy SOUL then be
sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and
repenting on the grave, and utter the unheard
groan, and pour the unavailing tear-more
deep, more bitter, because unheard ana unavail-
ing.
Then weave the chaplet of flowers, and strew
the beauties of nature about the grave, console
thy broken spirit, if thou canst, with those ten
der yet fertile tributes of regret, and take warn
ing by the bitterness Of this. by contrite sfcton
over the dead, and henceforth be more faithful
and afiectonate in the discharge Of thy duties
to the living.