The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1872-04-19
THE DRUNkARD'S GRAVE.

around 1t. No memorial stone,
with name craven thereon, and lit
tie cherub, with outstretched wings,
as if bearing the departed soul aloft
to glory, carved upon it, marked the
spot where the very earthly remains
were deposited. A Scotch thistle,
bristling with prickles and angry
like stood sentry over it, frownlng
upon u Bathurst bur that presumed
to occupy the second place of dis
honor near its foot. Modest little
wild flowers grew at some distance,
as if unwilling to come near it.
For it was Il drunkard's grave.
No iron railing, or in the absence
of iron, no wooden palings enclosed
it. Nobody living seemed to take
an interest in it, or have any care for
it. 1t stood, or rather lay, neglect
cd and forsaken; u marked and
striking contrast to some OF its
neighbors. For it was a drunkard's
grave.
No weeping willow dropped its
pendent green boughs mournfully
over it like a guardian angel with
folded wings watching the sleeping
dust till the glorious resurrection
morn when "the trumpet shall
sound, and tho dead shall be raised
incorruptible." No dark cypress
gracefully reared its slender form
close by it, speaking its own silent
language. Friends, keep his mem
ory green" II was a drunkard's
grave.
No roses with their sweet smiling
faces, looking so happy of being
permitted to occupy such hallowod
ground, grew about it, or dropped
one of natures pearly tears upon it..
No violets poeped out with their lit
tie eyes from quiet resting places
around it, making the air redolent
of their sweet perfume, embalming,
in their own quiet way the dead, as
the gentle loving women of whom
we read in the Scripture, with the
alabaster box of ointment, very pre-
cious, did the living. 1t was q
drunkard's grave.
The wild, winter winds careored
unmolested over it, and rushed on
heedlessIy past it. Tho coming
summer's hot winds soathcd it and
scorchod it and burnt it. They had
no respect for il. 1t was only
drunkard's grave.
Since the hard and hardened
grave digger carelessly and roughly
smoothed the cold yellow clay o
which it was made, no other hanc
tended it. Since that last dull
thud of the spade sounded heavily
upon it, pressing earth upon earth
and clay upon clay, and dust to tho
dust, as if the body were not to rise
again, but we go down deeper and
deeper, no human foot Lad stood
beside it, save the passing foot OF
the needless stranger, as he slowly
moved regardless along, bearing
the remains of a friend or neighbor
to the narrow house and the long
home, "whcre The wicked cease from
troubling and the weary are at rest.
No busy bee ever paid a flying visit
to it, rested at it, or returned from
it laden with luscious honey, gather
ed from opening flowers blooming
around it. This they did not, fol
no flowers invited them. Roses had
never been planted, 50 they never
bloomed. 1t was n drunkard's
grave.
Cold bitterly cold, blew the wind
on that cold day. Mercilessly beat
the rain upon that rainy day. The
wind blew upon wretched horse
and still moro wretched driver, upon
shackly dray and uncovered coffin
it blew upon miserable widows, and
still more miserable looking or,
phans, as they moved on slowly and
drearily, scantily clad, along the
rough bush road towards the drunk
ards grave.
AS lie would have nothing to dc
with religion when living, religion
would have nothing to do with him
when dead. No solemn words de-
claring I am the resurrection and
the life" He that believeth on me,
though he were dead, yet shall he
live, were spoken hopefully over the
drunkard's grave.
No words or psalm nor voice OF
praise was heard. No earnest pray
er went up from from holy lips
pleading from the widow and the
tatherless. The man had lived a
drunkard's life, and died drunk
ards death, was bui led in, and had
thus druukard's grave.
No hallowed associations cluster
around it. No holy memories cling
tenaciously to it. The mans life
was q blank, his death was Il blot.
The only legacy he left behind was
a bad name and drunkard's grave
This is it, with tangled weeds
growing over it. With the rank
grass llourishing luxuIiantly around
it. That is it with no memorial
stone over it. Yonder, whero the
Stotch thistle, anery-likc, frowns at
its head, and the Bathurst bur, fit
emblem of the curse of strong drink,
grows at its foot. Yes, that is the
drunkard's grave. Stranger as you
pass look at it in the light OF this
passage. "The drunkard shall not
inherit the kingdom of God" and
man, as you value your soul, avoid
the drunkard's grave.
A young wife, on being lately
asked what she would do if hel
husband should fail, replied: olive