Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1871-07-05
The Home Circle,
She is Dying.

The following is sublimely beautiful and
pathetic, and could only have been dictated
by heart that has experienced all the Bit
terness therein expressed Who the author
is we do not know If anybody can read it
without moisture in their eyes and stones IN
their throat, they must be made Of marble
Hush She is dying the sunlight streams
10 through the plate glass windows the room
is fragrant with southern howers-large milk
white African lilies, roses a nightingale would
stop to worship, caps, jassamines and cameias
with their large glossy leaves. Through the
open easement steals the faint musical ti1gle
Of playing fountains the light tempered
pleasantly by the rose colored satin, kindles
up gorgeous oil paintings with a halo as
bright as the rainbow.
1t is as if fresher sunshine were falling
earthward on the bower Of beauty.
The canary sings in his gilded eage-her
canary-and the mocking bird raises her
clear notes on the perfumed air.
Why do you clinch your hand until the
nails draw the rich, rosy blood through the
thin, quivering skin2 Why do you grind
your teeth together and hiss that one word
hush 1t is a beautiful home, I'm sure
that lady with her hand on her husband, is
as fair as any dream.yision of the painter.
Surely, nothing could be purer than that
broad, high brow nothing brighter than
those curls.
And she loves you, too All yes, any
one can read that in those deep violet eyes.
raised so tenderly to your own. All that is
it your young wife loves you.
Che 1ipkal Ia xottra tho cvigtouaa of IA
angel when she knelt beside you at the mar
riage altar and placed her hand in yours,
For twelve golden months an angel has
worked or sat by your sic, or slept on your
bosom.
You know it, No mortal woman ever
made your heart bow before purity so
divine.
No earthly emblem ever filed your soul
with the glows beyond the stars no earthly
smile ever shone unchangngly above all
noisesome things we earth-worms call care
and trouble. She is an angel, and other
angels have been singing of her in the pleas
ant June time.
Hush, you say. You can't shut the anthem
notes of heaven from the unsealed ears longer
-hither swells the hymn Of seraphs, brighter
grows the smile on the young wife's lips.
She whispers " Dearest, I'm almost
home I'm going to ask God to bless you =
But you cannot bear it; you turn away
and the big tears gather in the violet eyes
You hold her there on your bosom all
night are you tired Bat you can't an
swer Closer, closer you clasp the ligit, fair
fgure-painfuly you press your lips to the
pale brow. Carrie is dead
What is it to you that the sun shines 50
brightly2 What that its cheerful rays fall
on the broad lands 2-our lands2 What is
it now that she walks on them no more
And what is death--her death Few people
knew her; no wise president can be chosen
to fill her place no nation will raise monu'
ment to her memory; but she was yours
your all
No yours and Gods and your years Of
Joy are over; she rests in His bosom now
! 10 heaven.
They have dug a grave for her. Spring
T flowers will brighten over it, and the green
grass smiles with daisies and yioets.
You go there and sigh and pray, and ask
God if you too, may come home. And nc
answer coming, your heart raises up IN bitter
ness, and with the bold wicked words upon
your tongue, you pause, for your guardian
! angel looks down from heaven and whispers
+" Hush !"