Grand River times. [volume] (Grand Haven, Mich.) 1851-18??, 1857-10-14

so often called smile 10 her pale lips, when
it came to her bed fragrant from the rose
thckets and the white clover-feld, which lay
beneath the windows they had SO cruelty
darkened. The gloom of the death cham
Der made me feel sonowful; but l went to
the bed, turned down the linen, and laid
carelessly upon the pale face which lay SO
white and motionless in the dim light. 1t
was cold as ice. drew back affrighted, and
stealing from the room, sat down alone, won
dering and full of dread.
They buried her beneath lofty tree on
the high bank of the river. A waterfall
raises its anthem near, and the sunset filings
its last golden shadows among the long grass
that shelters her. remember it all-the
grave with the newly broken sod; the coffin
placed on its brink; the clergyman, with his
black surplice sweeping the earth; and the
concourse of neighbors gathered around that
grave, each lifting his hat reverently as the
solemn hymn swelled on the air, answered
by the lofty anthems surging up from the
waterfall, and the breeze rushing through the
dense boughs of that gloomy tree. Then
came the grating of the coffin as it was low
cred into the narrow bed, the dull hollow
sound of the falling earth, and those most
solemn words of "dust to dust and ashes to
ashes." With mournful distinctness were all
these things impressed on my young heart; /;
but my mothers last prayer is written more
forcible than all, in characters that deepen
with maturity.
1t has fingered about my heart, blessing
and a safegurd pervading it with music that
cannot die. Many times, when the needless
ness of youth would have lead me into er-
ror, has that sweet voice, now hushed forever,
intermingled with my thoughts, and drawn
me from my purpose.
Oft when my brow has been wreathed with
flowers for the festival, when my cheeks have
been flushed, and my eyes have sparkled
with anticipated pleasures, have | caught
the reflection of those eyes in the mirror,
and thought of the look which rested upon
me when my mother died-that broken sup
plication to Heaven has come back to my
memory; the clustering roses have been car
ried back to my lost parent, and from her up
to the heaven she inhabits. The festival,
with all its attractions, had no power over
Ilc Illeli, anu L nave Deeu " uellfcTcU iTOul
temptation" Again, when the sparkling
wine cup has almost bathed my lips, amid
merriment and smiles and music, has the last
sad prayer of my mother seemed to be min
gled with its ruby contents, and l have put
away the goblet that 1 might not be sled
into temptation" When my hand has rest
ed in that of the dishonorable, and trembled
at the touch of him who says in his heart
there is no God, as that voice seemed to flow
from his Turing accents, ] have listened to it
and fled as from the serpent of my native
forests.
Again and again, when the throbbings Of
ambition have almost filled my soul, and the
praises of my fellow men have become pre-
cious incense, the still voice of my mothers,
prayer has trembed over each heart-string,
and kindled it to a more healthy music. In
infancy, youth, and womanhood, that prayer
has been to me a holy remembrance
sweet thought full of melody, not the less
beautiful that there is sadness in it.