The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1855-08-23
For the National Era.
SHADOWS FROM AN OLD CHURCH.
BY LYDIA A. CALDWELL.

o dear, old tender times To-day, more
precious, more tender, more dear, than ever be-
forel
This morning, when first opened my eyes
upon this once familiar spot, (not seen till now
for so many years,) when I saw the old church
standing solemnly alone, the top of the spire a
starlike, radiant point, in the sunrise of this
sweet June morning-when | felt about me
the deep calm, the sense of rest and repose and
silence, which its own sanctity has gathered
about it; the long quiet, which, for so many
years, has fingered amid its shadows-its shad-
ows as deep and serious as when, years ago,
child, worshipped among them and yet,
more when between the trees | caught CLEAN
of white marble shafts, and the slow sway of
rose trees, waving with their summer beauty
and fragrance-when l saw all these things,
1 thought that it would be pleasant to make the
bed of ones death here, in this most quiet
place, amid this holy gloom, soothed by these
sacred shadows, and surrounded by the con-
tinual Sabbath which reigns here. Amid these
sleepers, whom no disquiet ever disturbs or
comes near, think one might rest long and
well.
Come with me in hither, and rest amid these
solemn aisles, until you feel how holy is the
light which, descending from this radiant June
heaven, falls upon these dark pews, like the
last hymn or benediction. Then, speaking low
and in tender key, will tell you of those who
meet no more with earthly congregations.
l. h Il L
organ, stood Lucy B, the sweetest voiced
of the fair girls who sang in the choir. I re-
member how, from beneath my child's gipsey
bonnet, | stole looks at her beautiful eyes, and
how the pastors voice was lost, forgive me, oh
meek shades of unremembered sermons y while
my falsely prophetic brain wove her future life
romance. Some prince, or some noble lord
from far-off country, should come hither and
wonder at her eyes as | wondered, until-oh
sweet Lucy BIT one came, but it was
death and thou wentest with him. not to mar
rage pillow, but to bed from which no ten
derest human love can ever win thee to rise
up, or reopen those glorious eyes,
| saw her beauty pale, until, looking in her
white face, / seemed to see only the orbed
darkness of those wonderful eyes, and her wan
smile, like the last light of setting star, flicker
ing about it. Her life was like one of the beau
tiful psalms she used to sing, which would have
been too solemn, but for the tenderness in her
voice.
In one of the central pews below, the one
which, standing here, you can Just see, sat the
mother of Lucy B, from whom the daugh-
ter inherited her beautiful voice. A young wife
now sits in her place but, ali mel it must be
cold thing to be an old mans young wife, else
why is she pale, while children with innocent
lips name her mother? and why does the palsy
of the old man, their father, so increase, when
he stands by the grave of his dead wife? and
why is the path to that grave dug deep by con.
slant feet, which journey thither, impatient for
the earth beside that dearer clay to open once
again? Oh, old man, signing for DEATH and, oh,
young wife, in thy cold and barren existence,
signing for life know not for which of you
there is most pity in my heart.
Nearer the pulpit was the pew of an aged
deacon, a venerable and holy man, who, in my
childish visions of heaven, always stood high
est among the saints.
To the left of him sat Charles l.. I
remember how dark the church was when he
died.
But, look again to the right Near that pill
lar sat DR.. N and his wife. the tender
matron and mother-how we'll remember her.
what noble presence was that of Dr. N,
among these simple, generous, rough-handed,
and coarse-garbed people. There was stern
music in his voice when he spoke, but his eyes
were always kind. Beside them, a little in the
shadow, (oh, my heart, be still y sat their
daughter, Mary M, first and dearest of
my girlish love. But, how can tell thy story.
Mary? = the bitter, bitter story of thy brief.
unhappy welded ife-how - =
"Thou worest no less a smiling face
Because so broken-hear,edn-