The Union and eastern journal. [volume] (Biddeford [Me.]) 1854-1858, 1854-03-31
For lie Union ana Ea.tern Journal.
THr GRAVEYARD.

Come with me, my young iriends,.t TO The
silent graveyard. Do You no: feel kind
Of melancholy pleasure in wandering over
the sacred repositories Of the quie, dead
where those who have passed before us
have long since been gathered 10 their
dreamless sleep. - Let US trace out The
names carved upon The stones. Many ate
almost uninielligible dim with moss, and
decaying like him whose name Is engraved
thereon. o,,,..-,-,.
Here the young as well as the old, have
found narrow res,ing.place. Here Is one
whose years were numbered four score and
ten, and another who was taken away in
the morn of life. .l. .a ssd p. '"s
We see enclosed two little mounds. The
jassamine and roses climbing around the
stones, and daisy aud cypress blooming be.
low Some lille brother and sister are
sweelly sleeping The sleep OF death; per.
haps they were the only ones. Look yon-
der: alady is approaching with waterproof
and flowers. II is the mother, come TO visit
,he graves Of her darling babes. She kneels
by them and prays = prnys that The father
and husband, may be safely landed from
the foaming deep. Poor mother thine was
bitter cup. Twas hard for thee 10 lay thy
loved ones 10 rest beneath The cold clod Of
the valley !; twas hard for thee when knew
The father noughi Of il on ,he,deep.
She placed the flowers tenderly upon tho
Wondering forms, and, with trembling
footsteps, leaves them. a. :
Let us read The names. Henry, and Lima.
All well remember now the little bright
eyed boy, who daily greeted me with his
merry laugh, OH my way 10 school. now
see him with his infant sister, half hid
among the flowers, or playing beneath the
shady trees, in all the innocence of happy
childhood ..
Twas brigh, moraing in winter when
he died, and though scarce four years old,
he was sensible OF death; for when told
tina, he must die, he clasped his tiny hands
in prayer, and lisped, "Our Father who
art in Heaven" Precious ones thou ar,
now lisping lha, prayer in better world.
Farther on, and we come TO the grave OF
Emily. Spring, Sumner, and Autumn,
have passed away since she left us in all
the bloom Of youth.
AS memory carries me back 10 The past,
wha, scenes arise before me. Isec maid.
en- in the freshness of life, galy roaming
through woodland aud dell, in search OF
wild flowers -now climbing the messy
bank, or sporting by The sivery stream, that
rpples over The pebbly bed. Now her
is beaming with smiles, and
her joyous laugh echoes though the dim
old woods, and then again a shadow fits
over her, and her long lashes are wet with
tears, and why is il! All! The ;housht of
a coming separation shoots through her
mind. Emily, thou vert TOO pure 10 live
in this sinful worll,,o battle with lis storms.
It was well for thee that thou vast taken
away, for thou ART happier, and though thou
ar, gone from our gaze, thou art not forgot.
ten.
II was at The close Of n lovely day in
June when she leN us. The soft breath o.
evening was swaying The long grass, and
aud waving the flowers around. The moons
pale ligh, fingered upon the heavenly
features as though il loved 10 linger
around thing so beautiful, even in the
chamber Of death. Upon snowy couch,
lay Emily. Her long dark curls swept The
pillow and her mild blue eyes had an i'm
mortal briliancy. The flowers we had
called for her were laying by her side,,o
perish with her Softly and swee,ly she
raised her voice in prayer, and with our
Fathers name upon her lips brea,hed her
last. Shall ever forget ii No, never!
With heavy hearts VIC saw her consigned
TO her last home, beneath the willow.
The quiet graveyard, what place for
meditation. The place prepared for all
AS we gaze OH the lovely hillocks, the re.
Election forces itself into our minds, tina,
we must sleep The sleep of death tina,
others will tread above us, and the grass
look green and beautiful on the sod that
lies upon our Wondering forms. We think
OF the shoriness Of life, and think we will
so live, that when we are called from this
TO another stale, we can look back
with no ether feelings than those Of pleas
ure. But as we turn from the solemn place
Of graves, we loso those reflections that
were forced upon our minds, and we inscn-
sibly become the same vain, giddy morials
as before. LILLY.
South Windham, March 1854. ....
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