The Lancaster ledger. [volume] (Lancaster, S.C.) 1852-1905, 1856-08-27
RURAL FUNERALS.
BY wAsINNGToN IRVING.

The sorrow for the dead is the only sor.
row from which we refuse to he divorced
Every other wound we seek 10 heal, eve
ry other atfliction we forget; but this
wound we consider it a duty TO keep open:
this attlicton we cherish and brood over
III solitude. Where is the mother who
would willingly forget the infant tha, per-
ishcd like blossom from her arms, lhouyh
every recollection is pang! Where IS
the child that would willingly foget the
most tender OF parents, though to rcmcm-
Der he but 10 lament!
Who, even in the hou: Of agony, would
forget the friend over whom he mourns q
Who, even when the tomb is closing up-
on the remains OF her he most loved
when he feels his heart, rs it were, crush
ed in the closing portals-would accept of
consolation that must be bought by for
getiuncsS 2 No. the love which survives
the tomb is one of the noOlest attributes
of the soul.
1t II has its woes, it has likewise its Ic-
lights and when the overwhelming burst
OF grlet is caImed into the gentle tear of
recollection, when the sudden anguish OF
the convulslve agony over the present ruins
oi all that we most loved, is softened A.
way into pensive meditation on all that it
was in the days of It's lovcincss, who would
root out such a sorrow from the heat L?
though 1t may sometimes throw pass
ing cloud over the bright hour of gayetv
or spread deeper sadness over the hour
N H..t bn
en- for the song of pleasure, or the burst of
eloquence
No, there is a voice from the tomb
sweeter than song. There is a remem-
brancc Of the dead to which We turn even
from the charms Of tho living. Oh the
grave! the grave! 1t turies every error.
covers every defect, exiting guishes every re.
sentiment! From its peaceful bosom spring
none bu: fond regrets and tender recol
lections. Who can look down even up.
on the grave Of an enemy, and not feel a
compunctous throb, that he should ever
have warred with the poor handful OF earth,
that lies mouldering before him
But the grave Of those we loved. what
a place for meditation There it is that
We cal! up in long review the whole his,o
ry of virtue and gentleness, and the thou.
sand endearments lavishcd upon us, al.
most unieeded in the daily intercourse of
intimacy there it is that we dwell upon
the tenderness, the solemn, awful tender
ness Of the parting scene. The bed of
death, with all its siihed griefs, its noise
less attendance, its mute, watchful assidui.
ties.
The last testimonies OF expiring love
the feeble, fiuttering, thrilling, oh ! how
thrilling ! pressure Of the hand The
faint, faltering accents, struggling in death
to give one more assurance of affection !
The last fond look Of the glazing eye, turn
ing upon us even from The threshhold OF
existence Aye, go to the grave Of buricd
love, and mediate! There settle the ac
count with thy conscience for every past
benefit unrequited, every past endearment
unrcgarded, Of that departed being, who
can never, never, never return TO be soo,h.
ed 10y thy contrition
II thou art child, and hast ever added
n sorrow TO the soal, or furrow to the
siIyered brow of an affectonate parent : il
thou art a husband, and hast ever caused
the fond bosom that ventured it's whole
happiness in thy arms, to doubt one mo.
ment Of thy kindness or thy truth il thou
art friend, and hast ever wronged. in
thought, or word, or deed, the spirit that
generously confded in thee; il thou art a
lover, and hast ever given one unmerted
pang to that true heart which now lie,