The Tiffin tribune. (Tiffin, Ohio) 1868-1887, 1870-06-10
Narriel-lied.


MARRIED yesterday Every
day in the journal, that with the first
gieam of the sun is flung within our
doors, We read this little sentence :
Married yesterday, So and So" Ev-
cry day there is a wedding feast in
some of the mansions of earth; a
clasping of hands and n union of
hearts i'll the dim isles of some molly
temple; Il pledge of eternal love and
constancy during all the hours that
are yet To come down like spring
flowers upon life's pathway. Each
DAY some new marriage crown is put
on, and she that wears it, leaning up
on him whose love is the brightest
jewel set amidst its leaves, steals
away from the ''dear old home" and
nesties tremblingly iii the fair cot
where Loves hand has trained the
hOneysuckle over the latticed patch,
and placed EOlian Tyres in all case
I ments.
"MARRIED yesterday There
are pearls and gold shining now amid
the flowers that fringe Loves path
way, and stars cleaning like great
! chandeliers in the armament of Hope.
There are harps thinking now, whose
melody is sweeter than the sound of
evening bells, and joys falling like
shower of amethysts upon the hearts
/ that Yesterday were wed. Life now
is becoming beautiful; the soul scars
| upward from the dust like bird
loOsed from its cage; there is a melO-
| dy in every breeze and every place /;
yea, there are angels in every path,
/ with crowns for those who are press
! ing Onward with prayer and song.
| "MARRIED I YESTERDAY. ."-It seems
now long distance to the grave-a
long road to find rest. But soon the
shadows will come, and life loses its
summer bloom. Then the patter of
| tiny feet is heard about the grand
fathers house, and little BARNS clus-
ter about his knee, those who were
married yesterday mayhap will
turn back to records of the past, weep
ing silently the while, remembering
that their summer is gone, their har-
vest is ended, and that soon, gather
ing up their leaves, they must pass
beyond the gates of pearl, where there
will evermore be but one marriage
that of the Lamb with his chosen
people.
''DIED YESTERDAY. EVERY day
is written this little sentence "Died
yesterday, So and SO." Every day a
flower is plucked from some sunny
home; a breach made in some happy
circle; a jewel stolen from some treas
ury of love. Each day, from summer
fields of life, some harvest disappears
yea, every hour some sentinel falls
from his post, and is thrown from the
ramparts of time into the surging
waters of eternity. Even as we write,
the funeral of one who "died yesteF-
dayn winds like shadow along the
streets.
'DIED yesterday WHO died +?
Perhaps it was n gentle babe, sinless
as an angel, pure rs a Zephyr's hymn
one whose laugh was the gush of
summer rills lettering in q bower of
rOses-whOse little life was perpet-
ual litany, Maytime crowned with
the passion flowers that never fade
Or mayhap it was youth, hopeful
and gcnerous-One whose path was
hemmed by flowers, with not a ser
pent lurking underneath; one whose
soul painted for communion with the
great aud good, and reached forth
with earnest struggle for the guerdon
i'm the distance. But that heart or his
is still now, for he 'tdied yesterday"
"DIED IA young
girl, pure as the orange flower that
clasped her forehead, was stricken
down rs she stood at the altar; and
from the dim aisle of the temple, she
was borne to the "gaTden of slum-
bers." a tall, brown man, girted
with the halo of victory, and Mt the
days close, under his own vine and
fig tree, fell to dust as the anthem
trembled on his lips; and he, too, was
laid Hwhcre the rude fOrefathers of
the hamlet sleep" An aged patri-
arch bowed down with age and care, |
even as he looked out upon the dis
tant hills for the coming of the angel |
hosts, sank into dreamless slumber;
and on the door post next day was
written, "Died, yesterday"
"DIED YESTERDAY. ."-Daily, men, |
wonseh and children are passing |
away; and hourly, in some graveyard, |
the soil is flung upon the dead. As /
often in the morn we find some flow I
ers that blushed sweetly in the sunset
have withered up forever, so daily, |
when we rise from biyOuac to stand |
again at our posts, We miss some
brother whose cherry cry in the sieges
and struggles of the past has been as
fire from heaven upon our hearts,
Each day, some pearls drop from the
jeweled thread of friendship, some
Tyre to which we have been wont to
listen, has been hushed forever. But
wise is he who mourns not the pearl
and music lost; for life with him
shall pass away gently as an eastern
shadow from the hills, and death will
be a triumph and gain.