Mineral Point tribune. (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1869-1938, 1871-08-03
THE GRANDMOTHER,
Bea utiful Passaxe from Mans Chri st
Ian Andersen @

n DE Absa Nc from ans 4 nrlots
Ian Andersen.
Grandmamma is so old, she has so
many wrinkles, and her hair is quite
white; but her eyes shine like two
stars. Yes, they are much more beau
tiful they are 50 mild, so blessed to
look into. And she can tell the most
delightful stories, and she has dress
of thick silk that rustles it is covered
with large flowers.
Grandmamma knows so much, for
she lived long before papa and mamma,
that is certain. Grandmamma has q
psalm-b 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 80 fine as the rest she had in
the vase, and yet she always smiles
most kindly at it; there even come
tears in her eyes. How can it be
that Grandmamms looks always so
fondly upon the withered rose III
old book Do you know? Each time
that grandmamma's tears fall upon the
flower, it's color revives, it freshens
again, and the whole room is filed 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
golden lock, and blooming cheeks, en-
gaging and lovely; no rose is more
fresh; yet the eyes, the mild, blessed
eyes, they are still grandmamma BY
! her side is seated youth--so young,
handsome and strong, He offers her
the rose, and she smiles-but not thus
smiles grandmamma! Yes. the smile
comes. He Is gone; many thoughts
and many forms pass by; the hand
some youth is gone the rose lies in
the psalm. and grandmamma-
gazing at the withered rose that lies in
the book.
Now grandmamma is dead She sat
in the easy chair, and told a long, long,
delightful story. And now it is
over" she said, land am quite wea-
ry; let me sleep little" Then she
lay back, drew a heavy sigh, and slept
but it became more and more still, and
her face was so full OF peace and JOY, it
was rs if the sun shone upon it: then
they said she was dead.
She was laid in a black coffin, en-
shrouded in pure white linen; she
looked so 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, so
honorable, no one could be afraid to
look at her; it was still the same, be-
nign, kind grandmamma. And the
psalm book was laid under her head,
as she herself had desired, and the rose
lay in the old book; and 50 they buried
her.
On her grave, close under the church
wall, they planted rose tree, and it
stood fun OF blossoms; the nightingale
sang over it, and from within the church
the organ played the most beautiful
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 fearlessly
go there at night, and pluck rose,
by the church yard wall.
One that is dead knows more than all
we living know; the dead know the
dread we should teel at anything 80
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, the
rose with all its associations has crumb-
led into dust but above, fresh roses
bloom-above the nightingale sings,
and the organ plays one thinks Of the
old grandmother, with the mild eyes,
ever young.
Eyes can never die! Ours shall one
day see her, young and beautiful as
when, for the first time, she kissed the
fresh red rose that heth now dust in
the grave.