Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1857-08-20


Be it to slumber when the day is done--be
it cessation from toll and wearying care in
any form Or to lay by our armor and make
the quiet grave our home when the battle of
life is fought the word rest has in it some
thing that whispers to the soul of sweet, gen.
tie peace.
An hour ago, rowing with friend through
yonder graveyard whose white stones tell of
many slumberers whose loving hands have
sorrowfully laid down in the cold, dark beds
Of death,-reading the various inscriptions
some lengthy sick ming phraseologies, and
others seemingly signs from bleeding hearts
i finally paused by one whose singular
plainness and beauty, amid the many gaiy
ornamented, had at first attracted my atten-
ton; and l approached to observe it more
closely. 1t was of plain, white marble; the
only engraving a hand pointing upward-per-
fectly natural in form, so decately was it
chiseled--and above it the words, cat
Rest" This was its only inscription. No
name was there to tell the beholder who had
finished the wearisome journey, and found
that blessed rest; and as awaited the APP
proach of my companion, fell to wondering
at the mysteries of that grave: Was the
slumberer one who had struggled on through
a long life, and had at last gladly sunk into
this couch spread ready to receive him? or
was it one who had early wcaried; whose
path had been all too rough for the tender
feet, and in whose heart sorrow had been an
abiding guest until the tender chords were
severed?
Oh sweet indeed must be rest to heart
thus weared. AS my eye glanced over the
slightly raised mound, and rested on the beau
tifully blooming rose-tree, | thought it must
be youth thus calmly sleeping, and, for mo-
ment, l longed to pillow my aching head on
the cold turf, and be, like the unknown one,
" At Rest"
A hand placed within my own interrupted
my musings, and, seated by that beautiful
sone | learned from the lips Of loved one
the story Of her whose resting place was thus
sngularly marked; how hers was, indeed, a
cloudy morning and sunless day how she
walked from the cradle to the grave, unknown
and unappreciated.
The deep fountains of holy love and gen.
erous confidence, that welled up from her pure
nature, were chilled and crushed back by the
whitening influence Of uncongeniality and cold
unkind .ess ere their radiating influence had
lent one Frightening ray to her unlovely ex-
terror. From earliest youth breathing the
very air of nsincerity-hopes but permitted
to bud ere blasted forever-what wonder that
her sensitive nature should become soured
and embittered by contact with such blightinq
death-winds; her brow wear shadow of al
most repulsive sadness, and hers prove an un.
, loved and unloving childhood? And in af
ter years, when Disappointment, spectre-like
still lowered DER her pathway, and deeper
A SORROWS struck chill upon her heart, wha
A wonder that its portals should finally close al
e an armor against the poisoned arrows of tn
enemy, even as the flower is gently folded il
its protecting leaves to preserve its beaut,
It from blighting frosts? but unlike the flower
$ there was for her no genial sun to gently un
a lock the treasure and bring its hidden wort
d to light. Her life proved what her mornin
e had promised cloud without even sive
C lining. True, there were a few, whom acci
n dent, or the promptings of kind nature, lie
l. to study more deeply that seemingly colo
# gloomy spirit; aye, and as they pierced ye
If farther beneath that cloudy veil, learned
e love, and strove by well directed Tenderness
Of to draw out that slumbering confidence, an
awake those dormant fires whose light ha
D never beamed from those dreamy eyes, or fc
1T one moment driven the gloom from tia
s. shrouded heart. But such sunlight came to
VS. late. Those portals had been too long an
n firmly closed to ever open fully; and thos
g waters, whose current had been so roughl
p stayed, would never flow again, Witho,
n the lite-sustaining power of warm affection
he her fettered spirit struggling to expand, "
lie shrinking back from encountering more bi
e. terness-it seems not wonder that it shoul
SO easily wear out its prson-house of clay tn;
es an early grave be welcomed, even prayed 70
MS and the last-almoSt only expressed-wish
lg that life should be, that the monument cree
ed to her momory should tell only, that
mt wearied one was " At Rest"
r. EvEY EvEssoN.