The Camden weekly journal. [volume] (Camden, South-Carolina) 1853-1861, 1855-05-22
From tie Spirit Of the Age'
"GOne, But Not LOST.

Another harp tuned to Thy praise, Holy Fa'
ther! Thou art gathering Thy little band o.
cherub choirs and where. is the hearthstone
that hath no voice miugliug in its mighty swell
Sweet little Willie to-day read that thou toe
vert gone to join that shining infant host. Gone
from mothers bosom, a fathers arms to rest
with him who said, "Sufcr little children to come
unto me-" Blessed thought to cheer thy mothers
heart! Thou art sheltered within this bosom
and greater than her strong love is the tender
Parents who called thee thus early to Himself.
The God Shepherd is careful Of His precious
lambs, and gathers them early into His fold,
before earth's storms have rent and stained
their spotless robes. Ddst thou tremble, little
lambkin, as the shadows Of the "dark valley
closed around thee? or did His rod and and His
staff guide and comfort thee to thee blest eternal
home and is he now leading thee beside still
waters in green pastures
CONTEST thou in the deep dark night time to
watch around thy mothers pillow g.! And as
she dreams sweet drcams,,- and imagines her
darling beside her in his little crib are they thy
cherub lips that print kiss upon her cheek; thy
spirit voice that echoes through the silent room
and wakes her from her restless griefworn slum.
ber? wakes her to streach forth her hand into
the thick darkness for thy little couch, and then
siI& upon her pillow with fainting heart as the
rushing memory comes thou art sleeping in the
church yard. Sleeping the sleep that wakes
rot-the cold earth pressing thy little heart
thy tiny form mouldering in the silent grave.
And she sees thee tossing in fever delirium, with
parched lips and crimson eheeks-hears thy
sweet-bud voice calling In piteous tones for
mama. Then thou art wrestling with the Great
Reaper--she leans over the coHius edge, and
there is thy little waxen figure, robed for the
deep sleep, thy dainty limbs straight and chill,
thy laughing eye closed and lightless-thy pratt
tling voice hushed forever. She stands by the
open grave as they lower the little coffin to its
last home-she hears the earth rumbling on the
closed lid-she watches, as they heap the cold
earth above thee-gazes upon the tiny mound
and with bleeding heart turns to her desolate
hearth. Oh! who can tell the weight Of the
burden laid upon her--who can know her
hearts pangs as she gathers his little treasures
and slows them away, where curious nor careless
eyes shall see them! Who can read her spirits
loneliness as passing through the quiet rooms,
shSJmisses everywhere the little nursing who
made her hearts gladness.
Woman. in hours like these, to whom canst
thou go but to Him who has promised that
His ''gracc shall be sufficient" What comfort
have those who teach that these Angel spirits
are lost! LOST nay. they arc bnt living
Living in the bright celestial realms of funfading
glory-living. where earth cannot reach them
where cartl-stains cannot dim their spotless puri-
ty-hving, where clouds do not gather, wkcre
storms never Lcat-lving, where all is warmth,
and light, and love! Safely housed in Heaven.
Sorrowing mother! Thou walkest this earth an
honored woman ! Angels look from their
"bowcrs of bliss, "and bless thee as thy trembling
footsteps echo through these aisles of darkness
Raise thou thine eye above )" thy treasure rests
not here---Too pure for earth =
1.-THE churchyard hath an added stone,
And Heaven ono chcrub MORE"