Urbana union. [volume] (Urbana, Ohio) 1862-1872, 1871-07-26
The grandmother

Grandmamma is so old, she has 50
many wrinkles, and her hair is quite.
white; but her eyes shine like two stars
| Yea, they are much more beautiful; they
are so mild, so blessed to look into.
And she can tell the most delightful sto-
ries, and she has a dress of thick silk
that rustles; it is covered with large
flowers.
Grandmamma knows go much, for
she lived long before papa and mamma,
that is certain. Grandmamma has
psalm-book with thick silver clasps, and
she reads in it often; in it there lies
rose; it is quite pressed and dry: it is not
so fine as the roses she has i'll the vase,
and yet she always smiles most kindly
at il; there even come tears i'll hel eyes,
How can it be that graudmamma looks
always 50 fOndiy upon the withered rose
in the old book? Do you know? EacH
time that grandmamma's tears fall upon
the flower, its color revives, it fresheus
again, aud the whole room is filled with
the scent of it; the walls disappear as
though they were only fog, and all
around is the green, beautiful wood,
with the sun shining through the leaves,
and grandmamma-yes, she is quite
young! She is beautiful girl with gold
ell locks and blooming cheeks, engaging
and lovely; no rose is more fresh; yet
the eyes, the mild, blessed eyes, they
are still grandmamma's. By her side
is seated a yOuth-sO young, hanjsom e,
and strong! He offers her the rose, and
she smiles-but not thus smiles grand
mamma! Yes!-the smile comes. He
is gone; many thoughts and many forms
pass by; the handsome youth is gone,
the rose lies in the psalm book, and
grandmamma-yes, there she sits again,
as an old lady, gazing at the withered
rose that lies in the book.
Now grandmamma is dead. She sat
in the easy-chair, and told long delight
full story. "And now it is over" she
said, land am quite weary; let me-
sleep u little" Then she lay back,
drew heavy sigh, and slept: but 1t be-
came more and more still, and her face
was so full of peace and joy, it was as if
the sun shone upon it; then they said
she was dead.
She was laid in the black coffin, en-
shrouded in pure white linen; she look
ed 80 beautiful, and yet her eyes were
closed. But all the wrinkles were gone;
a sweet smile played on her mouth; her
hair was so silver-white, 50 honorable,
no one could be afraid to look at her; it
was still the same benign, kind grand
mamma. And the psalm-book was laid
under her head, as she herself had desir-
ed, and the rose lay in tile old book;
and so they buried her.
On her grave, close under the churell
wall, they planted rosCzFee, and it
stood full of blossoms; the nightingale
sang over it, and from within the
church the organ played the most beau
tiful psalms in the book that lay under
her head. And the moon shone right
down upon the grave; but the dead one
was not there; every child could fear
lessly go there at night, and pluck rose
there by the churchyard wall
One that is dead knows more than all
we living know; the dead know the
dread we should feel at anything 50
strange as that they should come to US,
the dead are better than we all, and so
they do not come. There is earth over
the coffin, there is earth in it. The
psalm-boOk with its leaves is dust; but
above, fresh roses blOOm-abOve, the
sings, and the organ plays;
one thinks of the old grandmother, with
the mild eyes, ever young.
Eyes can ReUeJ' die! Ours shall one
day see her, young and beautiful as
when, for the first time, she kissed the
fresh, red rose that lieth now dust in the
Christian anderson.