Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1857-09-26
THE GRAVES OF THOSE wELOyE.

The grave is the ordinal of true affection. 1t
Is there the vine passion Of the soul manifess
Its superiority 10 the instructive impulses If
mere animal attachment. The latter must be
continually refreshed and kept alive by the
presence of the object but the love that is seated
on the soul can live on long remembrance. The
mere inclinatOns of sense, languishing and de-
clining with the charms that excite them turn
with shuddering and disgust from the precinct
of the tomb but it il thence that tru6 spiritual
affection rises purified from every sensual de-
sire, and turns like holy fame to illuminate
and sanctify the heart of the survivor
The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow
from which We refuse to be relieved Every
other wound we seek to heal-every other az
Fiction to forget; but this wound we think it r.
duty to keep Opon-thiS aff1iction we cherish
and brood over in solitude Where is the mo-
ther who would willingly forget the infant that
perished like a blossom from her arm though
every recollection is pang9 Where is the
daughter whe would fOrg ret the most tender of
parents, though the thought is but to lament
Who, even in the hour Of agony, would forget
the friend over whom he mOurns2 Who, when
the tomb Is closing upon the remains of her he
most loyed-when he feels his heart, as it were.
crashed in the closing of its portal-would ac-
cept consolation that must be brought by for
gefulness2 No; the love which survives the
tomb Is one of the most noble attributes of the
soul. LII IT has Its woes il has also its delights
and when the overwhelming burst Of grief is
Gained into the gentle tear of recollection
when the sudden and cOnvulsive agony is over
tho present ruin of all that il most loved is
softened away into pensive meditation on all
that IL was in the days Of its lOveliness. Who
would root out such q SORROW from the heart?
Though 1t may sometimes throw passing cloud
over the bright hour of gaiety or spread a deep
e. sadness over the dark hour Of gloom, vet who
would exchange it for the song Of pleasure or
the burst OF Ieyelry! No; there is a voice from
the tomb sweeter than song
There Is a remembrance of the dead 10 which
we turn even from the charms of the living
Oh, the grave the grave, 1t buries every
crrOr-cOvers every ydefect-extinguishes eyery
resentment. From its peaceful bosom springs
none but fond regret and tender recollection.
Who can look upon the grave even of an enemy;
and not feel cOmpunctive thrOb that he had
ever warred against the poor handful of dust
that lies mOuldering before him?
But the grave of those we loved-what a
place of meditation There it is that we call
up IN long review the whole history of virtue
and happiness, and the thousand ondcarments
lavlshed upon almost unheeded in the daiiy
intercourse Of intimacy the tenderness of the
parting scene-the bed Of death with all its
suded grlefs, Its noiseless attendance its watch
fui assIdultieS-the last testimonials of love-
the feeble, futtering, thrilling oh, how thrill
ing pressure OF the hand-the faint falter-
lag accents, struggling in death to rive one
more assurance of affection
Aye, go to the grave OF buried love and med
itate , There settle the account with tby con-
science for every past benefit unreauired, of
every past endearment unregarded OF that de-
parted being who can never, never return TO
be sOothed by thy cOntrition
If thou art a child, and hast ever added n
sorrow to the soul or furrow to the silver brow
OF an atectiOnate parent-if thou art a hus-
band, aud hast ever caused the fond bosom
that has eentured its whole happiness in thy
arms, to doubt moment Of thy kindness and
truth-f thou art a friend, who has ever
wronged, IN thought, word or deed the spirit
that generously confded in thee-if thou art a
lover, and hast ever given one unmerciful pang
To that heart that now lies cold and stiff be.
meath thy feet-then be sure that every unkind
look, every ungraciOus word, every ungentle
action, will come thronging back upon thy
memory. and knock dolefully upon thy soul:
then be sure thou wilt lie down sorrowing and
repenting upon thy grave, and utter the un-
heard grOan and pour the unayailng tear the
more deep, more bitter because unheard and
unavailing.
Then weave the chaplet Of flowers and strew
the beauties Of nature about the grave-con
sole thy broken spirit if thou canst, with those
tender yet fertile tributes Of regret. and take
warning by the bitterness of this thy contrite
affection over the dead and hercefortn be more
faithful and affectionate in the discharge of thy
duties to the living.