The Kingwood chronicle. [volume] (Kingwood, Va. [W. Va.]) 1861-1861, 1861-03-02
SUNDAY READING.
An Hour with the Dead.
"All that live must die,
Passing through nature to eternity"

Passing through nature to eternity
Strolling late, one summers afternoon, il
the upper part Of the city, with no definite
object in view, chance directed my stepsto
one Of the beautiful cemetries which cluster
so thickly around its northern boundary. The
sun was just setting and, as his last rays
gilded the tops Of the monuments, and inger-
and there dotted the green sward, the scene
was one Of surprising loveliness. The mid
summers sun had not yet dimmed the beau
tiful green Of the foliage, and recent shower
had filed each tiny blossom with heavens
diamonds An inlehnable, but not unpleas-
ant feeling COMES over one on entering grave
yard The tones involuntary become more
gentle, and the step lighter, as your feet press
the sod which covers the mortal remains of :
those who were once as full OF life and buoy.
ancy as yourself 1t seems hard to realise \
that the time will come when you will be q
they are when your eyes will be closed, your Y
limbs b. stiffened, and the heart, now throb-
bing % strongly, have ceased its pulsationS
forever Neither the sun nor death, " says
an old and able writer, can be looked at
steadily, and the more we reflect upon the
assertion, the more torcibly does its truth and
aptness strike us The fear of death is i'm.
planted in every human breast 1t is not so
much the fear Of the corporal suffering Of
the rang which attends the rnding Of
soul and body, as the thought Of the mystery
and uncertainty beyond, the entrance Of the
soul into the darkness and gloom which en-.
velopc eternity. Happy-happy is he who
knows IN whom he trusts, and who as earthly
scenes fade forever from his view, with the
eye Of Faith disccrns the dazzling glory Of
that heavenly city whose pearly gates open
to him scene which mortal pen cannot de-
scribe nor mortal mind conec We. Death, it
IS said, places all mankind upon level; but,
as the eve glances from the costly sculpturcd
pile, to the gently rising mound which marks
the last resting place OF the lowly, we must
admit that, in an external point Of view, there
is still distinctions Over the mouldering
remains Of one stands the massive marble
structure, monument Of mans skill, while
on the humble grave Of the other springs the
little flower, or few blades Of grass, monu-
mcnt Of the Creator love and power. And,
in the everlasting destiny Of the two, may
there not still be distinction? Yes he,
who in this life was over looked, Or treated
with contempt and scorn, may now shine ~
one Of the brightest stars in the Permanent Of
heaven, while the other, who received his
good things in his lifetime, has gone down to
endless torment, Death is the Iberator Of
him whom freedom cannot release, the physi-
clan Of him whom medicine cannot cure,
and the comforter Of him whom time cannot
console 10 some, death Is indeed welcome.
10 those worn out with grief and suffering,
pain and sorrow, he comes as friend, cool
ing the burning brow, healing the broken
heart and to the wcarisome day Of life, sue
ceeds the 'dreamlcss night Of long repose." "
Long could have meditated in this charming
spot bn' the gathering shades warned me of
approaching night, and reluctantly arose q
depart As sauntered slowly homeward, th6
beautiful words Of the poet, Bryant, occuI1e8
to my mind :-
so live, that when thy summons come 70 JON
The nnumerable caravan, that moves
TO that mysterious realm, where each shall t66o
His chamber in the silent halls Of death,
hen 60 not like the galley slave at night,
scourged to his dungeon; but sustained and
soothed
By an an!altering trust, approach thy grave
Like one that draws the drapery Of his coue6
Around him, and lies down to pleasant dreama,s