Volcano weekly ledger., 1857-03-14
From Hutehings' Magazine.
Cloud and Sunshine,
BY BESSIE.

A blissful dreaminess had rested upon my
heart all day. OH how could ] help but be
happy in this sweet spring-time, when the
skies are so blue, and the earth so fair; when
little dimpled hands have placed the early vio-
lets in my hair, and gentle voices, and soft
bright eyes have spoken SO pleasantly and
encouragngly to me. Unhappy could not
be, gazing forth into the glad world, where
every thing | see is type of heaven, and
heaven scarcely hid by the blue between!
had stood by the window two hours, though
it seemed to me not as many minutes. A
gay procession of the good, the true, the
beautiful, of days long gone, passed in re-
view before me, and gush of olden melodies
thronged every avenue of my heart-illing
it with gladness In my selfishness, l pray
ed that / might ever thus enjoy the beauti-
full sunlight, and starlight, and love-light
which made my heart the dwelling place of
such angelic guests; forgetting for the mo-
ment, though Marahs bitter waters may
have circled above us, it has been that we
might rise with the pure pearls we have
gathered beneath their dark waves.
A gentle tap at the door, and my reveries
are dspelled by the familiar voice of one
of my pupils, exclaiming,
"She is dyingl Obi Mrs. W, Lizzie is
dyingl Come quick. she is almost gomez
Dying? dying? My little blue-ed pet, Liz
zie? who but yesterday was the light of our
charmed little circlel
lam by her bedside, and glance at the
little sufferer tells me it is even so.
Hist the pure spirit approaches nearer and
nearer the shore, where to such as are of the
kingdom of heaven, every footstep is upon
flowers; and clear and low murmur the limp
id, amber-colored waves, that we call the
Jordon of death Sec they are dashing
over her, and the cool spray falls in pearls
upon her forehead Another struggle, and
the frail dwelling that enthralled her pure
spirit, is without an occupant
Oh, there are SO few who love us,-and
surely there was room enough in this great
world of ours! But death is like "the flow
er-girl, who, going forth to gather the first
born of the spring-time, the lilly, bending
with the purest Installations of night, is gath
cred frst.' Oh be not distrustful ye strick-
en- mother--be silent. Is not yon heaven
your daughters home? dwells not your FA-
TIER there?
They brought me the little shroud, and
asked me to put it on, and the ribbon to tie
her hands, those hands which had so often
clasped my own with such loving confidence,
aud smoothed my hair.
They took from her finger a ring, and
placed it upon mine, and told me to keep it,
for her sake; and rose-buds and geranium
leaves, were nesting over the little guileless
heart that for two years had beat lovingly
for me-
And now, there are five little graves up
there in the church-yard, which in that time
have been made for those who have passed |
out from under the school-room roof, to "a
house not made with hands - Five times has
the music which echoed from heart to heart, |
been mutled by the shroud-fods, and the fu- |
neral pail Five times have / gone with my
little flock, and folded back the winding /
sheet, to show them all that remained of
their playfellow, or classmate,--and to-day
we all knet around little Lizzie's grave; and /
prayed, not for long life to any of us, but
that when we shall 60 hence, we may die as
only the pure in heart can die.
This will be hallowed spot years hence
aud loving hands will part the boughs of the
lupine, and read on plain little head-stone,-
Elizabeth Merker, aged years and four
months"