American Lancaster gazette. [volume] (Lancaster, Ohio) 1855-1860, 1855-05-31
WHEN AM DEAD.

In the dim crypts Of the heart, where
despair abideth, these words seem written.
A strange meaning-a solemn intimation
nfoldsitselfat their uttersnce Four simple
monosylables, how much Of gloom ye con-
vey! How ye speak in funeral tones of the
extinguishment of earthly hopes-of the
spirit that has struggled in vain, and is
painfully quiet nowl
"When | am dead!" is uttered calmly,
but what celm!-such as a tornado leaves
when silence broods over desolation. The
voice pronouncing that despairing phrase,
has not at all its mournfulness from itself.
The listening ear hears something more;
for from those words the groan Of high as
pirations quenched, and hopes pale and
bleeding upon the sharp rocks of adversi-
ty, come up phantom-like, and the ghastly
scenes Of the buried past.
"When l am deadP' We have heard it
often. like the pealing bell that tools the
body of the departed to its final rest. The
last word dead fingers strangely, and
echoes sadly in the ear, and, through the
portals of the sympathizing soul. Dead
dead-dead-and the world grows gray,
and the heart stills, and eye moistens, to
that mysterious sound.
The spirit trembles before the rushing
food Of conflicting emotions which follow
the dark echo, and essay to glance through
its import. But the echo fades amid en-
circling mist, and the spirit turns back
confused with blindness.
Even the echo Of death cannot be pene-
trated. The few feet of mould that COM
poses the grave, are wider than the globe,
higher than the stars. Not the minds
through the barrier-the boundary be-
tween Time and Eternity.
"When am dead!" More or less sig
nifes resignation, or dependent woe, full
fillment of nature or perversioni fits end,
may these words express, though sad they
are at last.
When the aged man, whose steps have
grown feeble in the walks Of goodness, and
whose hands trembled with the fruit of his
oft given charity, utters these words, they
fall from the lips as aprayer to heaven
In them his will hsrmonizes with his des-
tiny; and the tear that starts for q superior
soul about to leave its clay, glistens in
the light of happiness that CLEANS out of
the heart, at the prospective reward of the
futnre.
The lips, too, that never pressed the rim
of the front of Natures Poesy, may mur-
mur-"When am dead' but death to
such an one is better, perhaps, than life.
His heart holds no music, Ginning in ca
dences to veal and wo; hisnward existence
is void, and the rough surface of his being
checkered, though not frightened by the
half stray thoughts, darkens but little with
the panoply of the tomb.
How different, when youth, glowing
with beauty of soul and heart, rich with
the treasures of mind, and warm with
sympathy for all of loveliness, sighs like
the south wind, when am dead!' A
spirit seems to wall its anthem, an eclipse
Of the noontide sun to fall upon the picture
of high nature shocked in its purpose
turned from dulcet waves upon a coral
reef, against the rocks of destructive
shore.
"Whcn 1 am dead!" 1t is as mournful
as the plaint of ghost on the tempest
| anu WIlu. DuJ We muSb Say III
some time: for the grave lies athand yawn-
ing through bed Of thorns or cleaning
like white avenue ofhope leaning against
the stars.
"When am dead!'' Strange and fear
full import hath it to the utterer, but it is
weak phrase only to others, the world
Who speaks it? many think the single 60
ing forth of soul will move none-all
will be as before.
When he, and you. and we. gentle read
ers, are folded in our shrouds. friends
dearest and those who loved us BEST will
dry their tears ere they have all begun to
flow. The heart that beats with rapture
against our own will freeze above our mem
ory in brief time-briefer than woman's
trust or mans period Of goodness.
But il is well thus; It's the worlds Gus
tom and natures law. We weep not for
the dead hut while they die. We shall
soon be with them; and it may be good,
we 90 early TO their narrow home.