Lynchburg Virginian. [volume] (Lynchburg [Va.]) 1829-185?, 1851-07-21

| ny WASHINGTON fRvrNa.
The grave is ,he ordeal of true affection,
II Is there the divine passion Of tho soul
maniiests its superiority to the instructive
impulses Of mere animal attachment. The
latter must he continually refreshed and
kept alive by the presence Of the object,
but the love that is seated on the soul can
live on long remembrance. The mere in.
ohnations ofscnse, languishing and decln.
ing with the charms which excite them.
turn with shuddering and disgust from
precints Of the tomb; but it is thence that
true spiritual affection rises purified from
every sensual desire, and turns like holy
ilare to illuminate ndsacntiiy the heart Of
| the survivor. The sorrow for the dead is
the only sorrow from which we rcfaso 10
be divorced. Every other would we seek
10 hcal--cvcry otlrr aiFiicIion to forget; but
this wound we consider il duty to keep
open--the Affections we cherish and brood
over in solitude. Where is the mother
who would willingly forget tho infmnt
that perished like blossom from her
arms. though every recollection sa panpl
Where is the daughter who would willing
| ly forget the most tendcrof parents. thoueh
TO remember be but 10 lament2-Wbo.
even In the hour Of agony, would forget
the friend over whom he mournsl Who.
when the tomb is closing upon the remains
OF her he most loved--whcn he feels his
heart, as 1t were. crushed in the closing Of
Its portal--would accept consolation that
must be bought by iorgetfulnessl No:
| the love which survives the tomb is one OF
the noblcst attributes Of the soul. lf Il
has woes, it likewise has its delights; and
when the overwhelming burst Of grief Is
Gained into the gentle tenr of recollection
when the sudden and convulsive anony
ls over the epresent ruinof all that we most
loved is soitened away into pensiyc medi-
tat'on on oil that 1t was in the days of its
oveliness Who would root out such
sorrow from the heartl Though il may
sometimes throw a passing cloud over the
bright hours OF gayciy. or spread deeper
sadness over the hour Of gloom, yet who
would exchange ii for the song of pleasure
or the burst Of revclryl No; there is
voice from the tomb swecter than song.
There is remembrance of the dead To
which we turn even from the charms of
the living. Oh. the grave!--thc gravel
IL bunes every error---covers every defect
-exlingulshes every resentment. From
its peaceful bosom springs none but fond
regret and tender recollection! Who can
look upon the grave even of an enemy, and
not feel compunctive thrub that he had
ever warred against the poor mindful Of
earth that lies mouldering before himl
But the grave Of those we loved--what
place Of meditation! There ii il that we
call up in long review the whole history OF
virtue and happiness, and the thousand en-
dearments lavishcd uponus almost unhecd-
ed IN the daily intercourse Of intimacy; the
tenderness Of the parting scenc--thc bed Of
death. with all its stiRed griefs, its noise
less attendance, its mute, watchlul assidui.
ues--thc last testimonials of expiring love
the feeble, huttering, thrilling-oh, how
th1llingl-pressurc Of the hand--thc faint.
ialterlng accents, struggling IN death to
| give once more assurance Of affection!
Ay, so to the grave Of buried love and
mediate! There settle the account with
conscience for every past benefit unrequit.
cd, every past cndearmcnt unrcgarded, Of
that departed being who can never, never
return to be soothed by thy contrition.
II ihou art child, and bust ever added
sorrow to the soul or furrow TO the
silver brow of an aflectionate parcnt--if
thou art husband, and hast ever caused
the fond bosom that has vcnturcd It's whole
happiness IN thy arms to doubt one mo.
ment ofthy kindness and truth--if thou art
TREND who hast ever wrongcd, in thought.
or word, or deed, the spirit that generous.
ly confdcd in thec--if thou art n lover, and
hast given one unmcriicd pang to that heart
that now lies cold and stiff beneath thy feet
then be sure that every unknd look. eve
ry ungcntle action, will come throneins
back upon the memory and knock doleful-
y upon thy soul; then be sure thou wilt
he down sorrowing and repeniing on the
grave, and utter the unhcard groan,
and pour the unavailing tear more deep,
more bitter, because unheard and unavaiI.
ing.
Then weave tie claplct Of flowers and
strew the beauties Of Nature about the
grave--console thy broken spirit, if thou
canst, with those tender yet fertile tributes
OF regret, and take warning by thy bitter
ness Of this thy contritc affection over the
dead, and hcncciorth be more faithful and
aHcctionato in the discharge Of thy duties
to the living.
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