The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1871-06-22
Missing.

The crew of the missing bark Mondcz of Bel
fast have not been heard from, and there is not
much doubt but she went to the bottom with
all on board. probably on Georges banks.
From the marine record 0f a commercial pl-
per We clip the above. Under the cold, brici
word, what u world of anxiety, of sorrow and
despair there lies Missing. Gone-uo one
but God knows whittier. one day She sailed
from port with fair skies AMI tayo.ing wind,
her brave young commander full Of confidence
and hope, and every heart clatc with the prom
Se of prosperous voyage AMI quick return,
Her white sails lesscncl in the distance, @leam-
ed on the horizon, and We're gone They were
alone on the wide, illimtabic, mysterious
oceml-;llone in he midst Of the winds and
WayeS-Slonc With God. 70 the friends at
home, days grew into weeks, weeks eugthCn-
cd into months. No tldilgS. The llly days
still creep on, and bring no messages. Con-
lecture grows pale and the weary watchers
bear the heart-siclneSs of hope deferred,
Missing, That terrible word. How it tells
of longing, SUITE ing. aching heart of the
dread uncertainty. Ii they could only know
and be assured of the worst. Our friend,
sicken and anguish. We minister tenlerv to
their wants and Soothc their pains. We stand
by their death beds, and give them all that human
sympathy and kindred love can oiltr. They
die. We lay them in the earth. Henceforth
the spot is sacred, halloWcd by tender regrets
and mournitil memories. Hut we know the
worst, and fondly believe That III brighter
world the severed of this lite will he reunited
Softly over the bleeding heart passes the lapse
of time, yelling but not oblicratn@ Ills wounds.
We make pilgrimage to the mounds where To-
poses the sacred dust of those we could not
save, and renew the memories Of the loved ana
lost.
But how can we console the friends Of those
who have sailed away and returned no more.
and over whose mysterious fate we ponder in
vain: In their breasts hope has never died,
and cannot die. The heart clmgs TO it, how
ever frail. They question the wandering
winds, the clouds, the waves that idly lap the
shore, if they know ausht Of their mysterious
fate. They look in the eyes of friends who ap-
proach, searching for some glcam OF hope.
The heart beats quick ut the sight Of those who
may be bearers Of sad tidings. The bercavcd
and Borrowing are alert for all that may bear
on the terrible mystery. The daily sun rises
in hope and sets in despair. The poor bruised
tendrils of love reach out in sleep, ana cheat
fancy into vision. of rescue and return and re-
union-visons that alas. the waking destroys,
and the Old, duh heart-achc comes back.
Shall we never know the fate that the re-
lentless and mysterious veil of the unknown
conceaIs: On what scenes has the flying
storm cloud, the sun in his course, or the pity
ing stars looked down? Shall no survivor
come back to tell how in the fierce battle with
the elements the bravery of true hearts stood
forth, and ooked unlinchlngly in the face of
death? Will not the relentless ocean keep the
treasures of the earthly dross with which they
sailed, adding to the uncountcd wealth it has
swallowed, and give back the priceless Ives