Rutland weekly herald. [volume] (Rutland, Vt.) 1859-1877, 1871-03-16
BY BRICK PoMEROY.
Tick ! Tick ! Tick |
PUT THEM AWAY.

Tick Tick Ticki
How the ticking of the clock, unno.iced
at other times, strikes lika hammer of iron
to the heart as we sit here tonight, in a
room yesterday occupied by living, low
ing friend Tonight she is at rest in the
Golden Land. And we are to MOURN
not 80 much that she is out of pain and
bodily agony, but that no more on earth
can we hear her voice-listan to her en-
couraging words, look into her eyes that
so eloquently mirrored the purity of her
soul.
Tomorrow, so soon to- be here, will be
the Sabbath. Day of rsst-Day of sad.
ness for dear, good xsiend has already
in this life won her crown and place with
those who have passed on, while we are
left to win ours, but with no more of that
help which came from her good wishes,
pure counsel and beautiful, unselfish
friendship.
No one in the room with us-save the
guardian sEisits, each with pure, loving
thoughts sen us to give to others. What
there is OF her, rests in another room.
The door is just ajar. All is still-yery
still in there. We listen-the ticking of
the clook-notbing more!
Let us sect Twenty years ago we sat,
as now, in a room much like this, while a
friend, or the temple in which he once
dwelt, rested in room adjoining. We
were then as now in the presence of death.
Then we were not at rest as now. The
wind howled without. We were afraid
in dread. There seemed then to come
shadow of terror from the waiting room
We're you ever afraid to be with dead
body Did you ever fear to be alone with
death If so, we pity you, if your fear
and sufferings were like ours in the years
agone, before there came about us light
as came to one long since--as comes to
many who are deserving. But tonight
we are not afraid. Why should we be
There is nothing there to harm us. Only
a lesson-that our home is not here.
While we are at work, she is at rest.
While WA istan to the ticking of the
clock, as Time marks those who have
"gone home" she is waiting on the shore
for the one whose very heart, soul and
life, she won by her purity and kindness
while here to bless him with her love and
Heaven-born influence.
Others mourn with rs. They sleep in
restless beds, to waken in fearful sorrow
while we keep watch of the flying hours,
each passing away laden with souls going
from here to the beautiful Land of the
Leal
This was her room. Oh! Memories
Wherever the eye rests there is something
to remind US of the absent one. There is
a little watch-ease nearly finished, as she
left it to wait her recovery There is a
book in which she read but three days
ago. Here is little ribbon worn in her
hair. 1t is too sacred to touch-so we
kiss it with tear-wet eyes. She has gone
1t is SO still here! 1t is so lonesome for
those who have to be all alone and to look
at the little articles worn or used by the
absent ones. We pity, Oh! 80 deeply
those who weep, and watch, and pray
those who are left to wait in the storms of
life, while the loved one walks on the dis
tant sunny shore.
There is slipper once worn by her-a
glove-a thimble once worn upon che
finger now so cold and lifeless. In that
little desk-it was hers-are letters and
scraps, aud kind words from others to
her. In that little jewel box ia ring
and few other articles more precious
than wealth, for they were hers All
about the room we see her still
Oh, Father in Heaven-why is she not
| ucEcy Will LCE hiAu "oloc-hoA Putc iOSo
her eyes so full of beautiful language !?
| Why cannot those who love go home TO-
getbe7 when so true to each other do they
walk the paths of life here? When we
must part some day, if only for time,
why do we not live better. purer, trner,
and more loving for each other than for
self? We cannot find our way or live our
life alone so well as with heart united.
| Then, good angel, merciful death, come
for those who are left to mourn, and bear
US as them, from pain to ease-from tears
to smiles from grief to joy-from separa-
ton to uniting. Then will you be well
| NEUTRALITY-SUSPICIOUS. visitor, and we
| reach forth to call you to US, as babe
| reaches for the hands that are to bear it
| to the bosom of love.
| On the walls are pictures she arranged.
She made every thing so homelike. She
so gave beauty to the room and house.
All about are evidences of her work and
| care, for good woman are 80 much more
thoughtful than most men. Here and
there are evidences that she lived and
loved. Garments she wore till it seems
now as if portion of her life were left
| therein, so much did she individualize
everything about her.
See Gnere A necklace worn about her
neck-let us seel Months and months
and months ago. What joy filled the
heart of the one who placed it there
when she said
81 thank you, SO much for it?" We
heard her cay it-snd she knew the one
who gave it to her was happy, because
she was. What makes the tears come so ?
She has gone-BUT SHE is HERE.
Put them carefully away. Thess sacred
little articles. Let no rough hand disturb
them. Put them all way, wet with tears,
and when tired of this battle of life, look
at them, think of the absent one, thank
God that there is beautiful Land OF the
Leal, where those who truly loved on earth
will meet, and live, and rest, and walk |
and work delightedly and delightful to.
gether where thought is the implement
and minds of men the field of labor for
ages and ages to come.
So, Welcome Death. Welcome the
Dawn!
For shat is death but life? The Open
ing of doc through which loved ones
go to better and srighter lands-for we
never shall find worse wTsrlds or existence
tnan this-to wait for our coI.sng. Then
we will put away these things we have
looked at an wept over, and put avail
that terrible idea Of bigoted. ionorant
past, that Death is dreadful for II l. M,
only to those who are e1urafad =, 60.