The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1862-09-06

ANGEL FooT-PRINTs.-"He spake well who
said that little graves are the footprints of an
gels" Sweet child-angels! who have winged
their sweet, irresistible flight from the earth to
their Fathers bosom above! You can trace
these footprints all over the world, telling you
that holier ones have passed by; purer ones,
stealing out from humanity, away from SHINING,
through little rounded graves, up where the
Saviour loves to clasp the precious cherubs in
his arms-these, their last footprints, as they
went gently away fIom us.
It's a very little grave, with a snowy tablet
of marble at its head, and full spray of will
low boughs falling over the marble; cluster
OF Bethlehem stars mingle with white blossoms,
with the sweet blue violet blows and the green,
silken blades of grass pointing heavenwards
all over the tiny mound. sour little one in
Heaven There is nothing else chselled out
of the hard, bright marble; nothing else to tell
whose grave it is, there in the far away corner
of the cemetery. "Our little one in Heaven"
reads from the tombstone giddy, laughing
rambler, But the laugh is hushed; for the
merry, careless one knows that an angel has
passed that way, and this is its last footprint
on earth, as 1t went, pure and sinless, to its
home.
ATS little childs grave" whispers anoth-
err, who turns away from the tall proud mon
uments to the meek, lowly marble stone. .'It's
a little childs grave" whispers the lips, but the
heart lays almost still with holy awe, and
sweet, full calmness of humanity, for cherub
in Heaven went up from the still wee form ly-
ing there in its coffin; child has lived on
earth who was sinless as the angels are and
here il lies, telling you that its spirit went
through this grave home to God. It's the foot
print of an angel; and its weeping, weary
mother will tell you so; she, will tell you brok-
emily through her tears, if she does so often
clasp the empty air in vain for the silken haired
head which lay so confidingiy on her yearning
bosom, that her little child was pure and sim
less; and as it lay with its sweet, clear eyes
raised to her fond face, it was ministering an
angels ministry TO her heart 1t was drawing
it gently and INCREASINGLY away from its
worship of life; and when its bright eyes
closed forever, she knew an angel had been on
earth, and had gone home again; and the
grave there under the willow sprays was its
last footprint, as it took the ministry of its
mothers love away from the world to the
yearning of its Fathers bosom above. The
mothers heart is in Heaven; and the tiny
grave tells her to follow in the footprints of
her angel-child, and she, too, will be where
her heart and her treasure il.
Weep not, mourners, over little graves, "
ing in their quiet fold-lke churchyards: for
children pure and holy are sleeping there.
All! you know they have lived on earth; lived
without SHINING; lived gentle, sant-like lives,
unconscious even of sins existence and these
meek, lowly mounds, which you can hardly
see for your falling tears, are the footprints
of the angels Of these holy children, as they
went trustingly away to their cherub-songs in
Heaven. NELLIE.