The Camden weekly journal. [volume] (Camden, South-Carolina) 1853-1861, 1853-03-29
The Dead Wife.

clal glass. NJ. A. D.
The Dead Wife.
In comparison with the loss of wife, all
other bereavements are trhes. The wife
she who fills so large space in the domestic
heaven, she who is so busted so unwearied-
bitter, bitter is the tear that falls on her clay
You stand beside her coffin and think of the
past, it seems an amber-colorcd pathway,
where the sun shone upon beautiful flowers,
or the stars hung glittcring overhead. Fain
would the soul lnger there. No thorns are
remembered above that sweet clay, save those
your hand may have unwillugly planted. Her
noble, tender heart, lies open to your inmost
sight You think of her now rs all gentleness,
all beauty and purity. But sheis dead The
dear head that laid upon your bosom, rests
in the darkness, upon pillow of clay. The
hands that have ministered so untiringly, arc
folded, white and cold, beneath the gloomy
portals. The heart whose every beat measured
an eternity oflove, lies under your feet The
flowers she bent over with smiles, bend now
above her with tears, shaking the dew from
their petals, that the verdure around her may
be kept green and beautiful.
Many husband may read this in the ST.
lence Of a broken home There is no white
farm over your shoulder; no speaking face to
look up in the eye Of love no trembling lips
to murmur-"Oh it is so sad!'
The little one, whose nest death has rified,
gazes in wonder at your solemn face, puts up
its tiny hand to stay the tears, and then nest
less back to its fathers bosom, half conscious
that the wing which sheltered most fondly, is
broken.
There is so strange hush in every room
No smile to greet you at nightfall. And the
old clock ticks and strikes, strikes and ticks
it was such music when she could hear it
Now it seems to knell only the hours through
which you watched the shadows OF death gath
ering upon her sweet face.
1t strikes one that fatal time whom the
death warrant rang out-"there is no hope"
Two she lies placidly still-sometimes smil-
ing family, sometimes grieving little, for she
is Young, Co tread the valley Of the shadow.
There the babe has been brought in, its little
face on her bosom for the last time. -Four!
her breath becomes fainter, but heavenly
10Y irradiates her brow. Five! there is
slight chance-O! that she might live Faith
er spare her.
"Thy will he done.;'
1t was her soft, broken accents. Yes
Heavenly Friend, who gavest her to bless me
Thy will be done?
Six! there are footsteps near. Weeping
frisnds around She bids them farewell as she
ma.n,urs ''mcet me in heaven" The damp
drops gather uron her pallid features at the
seventh hour. She lies very still-sometimes
she hears sweet music. Eight! passing away
so gently! But her hand yet clings to yours,
and so she lies, while the old house clock tells
forth nine ten eleven - twelve - solemn
strokes. You spring to your feet. The lips
are stilI-coid to your lips. The small hand
has fallen back its touch grown icy. She is
gone. She will never speak to you again on
earth. You must bear that cold gaze that love
so lately kindled. and you fall weeping by
her side.
And every day that clock repeats that old
story. Many another tale it telleth, too-of
Joys past-of sorrows shared-of beautiful
words and deeds registered above. You feel
o! how often, that the grave cannot keep her.
You know she is in happier world, yet that
sometimes she is by your side, an angel pres,
euce. You look at your innocent babe, and
think that a seraph is guarding it. Cherish
these emotions-they will make you happier.
Yet her holy presence be as charm to keep
you from evil. Inall new and pleasant con-
nectons, give her place in your heart. Never
forget what she has been to you-that she has
loved you. BE tender of her memory-so
may YOU meet her with soul sustained-a
ight and beautiful spirit bride, where no one
shall say any more for ever-"she is dead"