Raftsman's journal. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1854-1948, 1854-12-13
CLEARFIELD WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 13, 1854
WHEN / AN DEAD

F. WHEN I AN DEAD"
In the dim crypts Of the heart, where des-
pair abideth, these words seem written. A
strange meaning-a solemn intimation unfolds
itself at their utterance For simple monosyl-
ables-how much gloom ye convey! How ye
speak in funeral tones of the extinguishment
of earthly hope-of the spirit that has strug-
gled in vain, and is painfully quiet now!
aWhen | am deadl'' is uttered calmlye but
what a calm-such as the tornado leaves when
silence broods over desolation. The voice
pronouncing that despairing phrase, has not
all its mournfulness from itself. The listen
ing ear hears something more; for from those
words the groan of high aspirations quenched,
and hopes pale bleeding upon the sharp rocks
of adversely, come up, phantom-like, amid
the ghastly scenes of the buried past.
ssWhen | am dead!'' We have heard it oft
en-, like the pealing bell that tolls the body of
the departed to its final rest. The last word
ssdead,'' fingers strangely, and echoes sadly
on the ear and through the portals OF the
sympathizing soul. Dead-dead-dead-a
the world grows gray, and the heart stills, and
the eye moistcns, TO that mysterious sound.
But the echo fades amid encrcling mist, and
the spirit turns back confused with blindness.
Even the echo of death cannot be penetra-
ted The few feet of mould that composes
the grave, are wider than the globe, higher
than the stars. Not the minds eye, nor the
anxious can glance the barrier-the boundary
between Time and ETERNITY.
ssWbap I ar, -da,.i Mora or loco io1,ifias
resignation, or dependent wo, fulflment of
nature, or a provision Of its end, may. these
words express, though sad they at best.
When the aged man, whose steps have
grown feeble in the walks of goodness, and
whose hands tremble with the fruits of his Oft
given charity, utters these words, they fall
from the lips prayer to heaven. In them
his will harmonizes with his destiny and the
tear that starts from superior soul about 10
leave its clay, glistens in the light of happi-
ness that CLEANS out of the heart, at the pro-
spective reward of the future.
lTheslips, too, that never pressed the rim of
the fount of Natures Posey, may murmur
.sWben am dead!' - but death to such an ono
is better perhaps, than life. His heart holds
no music, Ginning in cadences to veal and wo
His Inward existence is void, and the, rough
surface OF being checkered, though not bright
ened by the half stray thoughts, darilened but
little with the panoply of the tomb. ..s
How different, when, youth, glowing with
beauty of soul and heart, rich with the treas
ures of mind, and warm with sympathy for all
of loneliness, signs. like the south wind sWhen
| am dead!' A spirit seems to vail its anthem,
and an eclipse of the noontide sun to fall upon
the picture of a high nature checked in its
purpose-turned from duleit waves upona cor
al reef, against the rocks of destructive shore.
ssWhen | am dead!'' 1t is as mournful as
the plant of ghost on the tempest and mid
night wind. Rxt we must ali say it sometime;
for the grave lies at hand, yawnng through a
bed Of thorns, or cleaning like white aven'
ue OF hope leaning against the stars. a
..wheuaf am dead!'' Strange and fearful
import hath it to the utterer, but it IS aweak
phrase only to others, the great world. Who
speaks it, may think the single going forth Of
a soul will move none--all will be as before.
When he, aud you, and we, gentle reader,
are folded in our shrouds, friends dearest, and
those who loved us best, will dry their tears ere
they had all begun to flow. The heart that
| beats with rapture against our own will freeze
above our memory in brief time-breifer than
! woman's trust or mans period of goodness.
| But it is we'll thus; 'tis the worlds custom
| and natures law. We weep not for the dead
but when they die. We shall soon be with
/ them and it may be good, we go early
! to their narrow homes.