Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1871-08-25
WRITTEN ToR TnE vERMoST PHu.Sr.
no REHR.Tp.BD .uOTuEYS.

Within the borders of each village is am
utnvr vil1agc, white ANA STILL ,vhoso to~outa
are silent and motionless through chance
and change. Ever so will they remain
through all time, till the thundcrs Of the
last trump shall wake them to greet the
glory of the dawning resurrection morn.
Walking in these white, still villages, it can
but be noticed how constantly multiplying
arc the little white doors, the portals to the
short, small grave that tells Of little child
in its last home. Somebody's baby. lit
tie bright face, with merry smile and pleas
ant eyes, is covered up here forever, that
made sunshine in somebody's home. Two
little quiet feet here, whose restless patter
will never more make what has seemed
music to somc mother. Here forever fold
cd, arc the two little hands that will never
more clasp mothers fingers, or wave b1-
by welcome. Hid forever from sight and
loving touch, the soft baby hair, and the
dear little form your vacant arms reach out
for, so longingly and so often, in the half
waking minutes Of many lonely night.
Oh, poor, sorrowing stricken mothcrl you
know full well all this anguish, ever rocur-
ring, as day by day little things remind you
of the little lost one. The two small shoes,
still bearing the imprint of the baby foot; 4;
the worn playthings, bringing TO mind so
sadly now the chdings, too often given in
pctulancc and mpaticncc, TO the dear child
now far away from the sound of mothers
voice, that you vainly wish had ever been
gentle, You fold away the tiny clothes,
inf al, ial hnI
upon them, once your bright hopes and
plans for the future of the little form now
buried here, still and cold. The pure spirit
has flown far beyond the reach of your care
and anxiety, and is safe. All! think of that,
weeping mother. You dear baby is free,
now! Free from suffering and the weary,
drcary cares and sorrows Of life. Tears will
fall and the heart will ache for grief is nat
ural; but should there be repning, moth
ers, when you know that your darling
child's pure, untried spirit is safe and is
free? For we know that the paths are so
thorny where the feet of zach dear child
must go. Can we but wish, had ii been
Gods will, that I'VE had been laid to rest
peacefully in that silent village, free from
the sufierings of treading through lifo's
thorny paths and thus our soul, while pure
and untriod, taken to be worn as a precious
ie wei in the diadem of the great kingl Re
member, sorrowing mother, your baby is
surely in Heaven, for "of such is the King
dom," Jesus has said and, by life of pa
tence and trust in the same Jesus, you can
surely gain that same Kingdom, where is
your precious one waiting for you, and even
now stretching forth the little hands and
watching with eager eyes, and the smile of
welcome will be lovelier than Imagination
can picture. For though the little form Of
your baby does indeed lie under this earth,
there will he a baby for m for you to clasp
and caress when you reach Heaven. Some
thing that you will recognize as "mother's
own baby" as satisfying to your mother
heart, as that which you have laid away
here in the ground. Now, seeing "but
through glass darkly," we shall then see
face to face" and until the meeting "over
the river" we must hive ON the firm faith
of Gods promises that we shall surely
know each other in Heaven.
GAIL PUTNEY.