Daily Nashville patriot. [volume] (Nashville, Tenn.) 1860-1862, 1861-03-31
he Daily Patriot
A Pencil sketch.

Mysterious are the works of Prov idenee.
As we progress, step by step, in the path of
life. scenes are constantly spresd before us,
which battle human wisdom, and we can only
marvel at the great designs of Him who
doeth all things we'll" A short time since,
/ was travelling through one of the most
beautiful portions of our country; the fruit
trees were white with the blossoms of the
early spring; the cattle quietly browsed upon
the tender grass on the hill-sides, and all
Nature seemed timidly awaking from her
winters sleep. Our road wound around a
slight eminence, which was crowned with one
of those buildings we so often see in snch Sc
cluded spots-a temple to the living God.
Brown and weather-beaten, rude in architec-
ture, and marked with decay. it looked as if
it had in its loneliness stood the storms of
years, and that more than one generation had
there bowed in prayer and mingled their
voices in hymns of praise. As we were
passing by, my mind was drawn from con
templating the quiet loneliness of this scene,
by the approach of procession, which was
slowly ascending the hill. A hearse with its
trappings of woe, the sad faces of its follow
ers. told us that the Earth was there to re-
ceive the body of one of her children. A
stranger, l stood among the crowd, and while
busy hands were making preparations for
the termination of this mournful scene, l
listened to recital which deepened the in
terest l already felt. The years of the de-
ceased had almost numbered four-soora and
ten; now the silver cord was loosed, the
golden bowl was broken. She had seen her
children grow up around her; grandchildren
prattled at her knee; one by one they were
taken from her; husband, children, friends,
had fallen asleep, and now solitary mourner
stood beside her open grave.
How peculiarly touching was her history!
Link by link the chains which bound her to
earth had been broken; yet her summons did
not come; the generation in which she was
born had passed away; yet she was called to
suffer on. Submissively she had bowed be-
meath the rod. These fiery trials consuming the
dross of her nature, looking forward with the
eye of faith to brighter things to come. Old
men, her neighbors, who had journeyed thro'
life near her, and learned from her lessons of
wisdom, leaned on their slaves, while the
youth who had regarded her with veneration
and awe, bowed their heads with mournful
recollections.
A few words of comfort and exhortation to
the living, a heartfelt supplication to the
Throne of Grace, and the clods fell with a
leaden sound on the coffin lid. All was over;
she had been freed from life and its trials;
her accustomed seat in the quiet church,
where she had so long praised God for His
mercies and plead for strength to endure His
Christening, will be forever vacant. Can'st
thou, o! man! with all thy boosted wisdom,
tell me why this aged tree was spared, while
around it youth and beauty fell? Why it
was that leafess, lightning-scathed and bro
ken, it stood alone, and the young vine, with
its clinging tendrils and its buds of promise,
was cut down. and fell whitening to the
earth? Thou ean'st not; for His ways are
higher than thy ways, o! man! His thoughts
than thy thoughts! ANNA.
Nashville, March 29th.