Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1872-06-10
For the Monitor.
BURIED.

1t was pleasant picture on which
the summer sun looked as he smiled his
goodnight through the leafy branches of
the maple trees by the cottage door, and
little child sang gaily her bird-like
song as the twilight came on. The cot
tage needed no sweeter music than her
laughing voice, but ere the morning
dawned on the earth again, the angels
bore her away to their starry home,
away from her loved and loving ones and
they speak of her as "buried" now.
A youth went forth from his child
hood home strong hearted and earnest,
the love of the true and good went with
him as benediction. Life was bright
before him; the rolling pillows of the
ocean charmed him with their many
voices chanting forever of mystery, and
he roamed afar in distant chimes. Wealth
came at his bidding, and fame and pow
er. But there came an autumn day.
under a foreign sky, when the light went
out from the blue eyes, and strang-
crs folded the hands above the still
heart. The sad, solemn services of an
ocean burial interrupted the monotony
of life at sea; his pale form sank down
through the dark waters, the restless
wave wrapped him in shroud of messy
fabric, and the cool, pearly chambers of
the sounding sea received him to rest.
Thus it is: the waving grass of every
land, the tossing waves of every sea are
above the loved and cherished of NOR
tails.
And not in the material world alone
are graves made, they are scattered all
along the path of life, in the realm of
the soul, often-times without inscriptions
on the headstones, for the heart would
feign forget the sad forms lying there.
Perchance they were gentle whispers of
admonition to which the stubborn heart
refused to listen, but buried them. away
from sight Maybe they were half-form-
ed resolutions of good, which pride
crushed down. Buds of hope were they,
which never blossomed, birds of song
whose pinions tired, ere their warbling
woke to life the latent music of the
soul.
Reader, how is it; are those strict
principles of truth and integrity with
which you started out in life, still yours,
or are they buried under mountains of
worldly policy? Do you number the
counsels of that mother who sleeps under
the bending willow, are her faithful In
structions lost, or are they molding
your character yet?
The precepts, the example of that ia
Their gone to the better land, what Of
them; are they buried with him in his
quiet grave, or do they live, embodied
in your life, directing and controlling
your ways, and shaping your destiny?
You who abound with the good things
of this life, what has become of thai
pity for the poor and suffering, that be-
nevolence toward the needy, which char
acterized you in your own days of pow
erty? All, sad day for you, wher
wealth increased, and you set your heart
upon it, when the generous impulses o.
your nature were overwhelmed, and
borne down by that food of selfshness
which now possesses you, so entirely.
Where are your talents, o, idle one
who sit with folded hands, while the
harvest is white and the laborers ar
few. Where are those energies tina
should be active in the Masters work
Alas, for you, that for these years, the.
have been rusting away under the dam
mildew Of heglectS and disease.
Friend, is it you, whose nobl
thought, whose faith and gentle chart
ties, whose sympathy and tenderness 70
the weak and erring, whose love for Go
and humanity are mot buried? The
happy are you, thrice happy in the pos
session of treasures with which those c
monarch cannot be compared.
BEULAH.