Gallipolis journal. [volume] (Gallipolis, Ohio) 1837-1919, 1874-08-20
CORRESPONDENCE.
For the Gallipolis Journal.
Our Dead.


If, when death enters our social cir
Gle and darkens our homes by carry
ing off some member of the family
fold-when we stand beside the pros
trate form of some near and dear
friend or relative, who has received
the sad summons to leave the world
when we draw near and clasp the fee
BILE hand and kiss the marble brow in
a last farewell-when we stoop over
the dying pillow to catch the faint
whispered goodbye, and bend our
ear to hear the last tremulous hutter
of the heart, and gaze for the last
time on the eye that is raised to our
own as it grows dim and glazed in
deaths sleep-when the coffin-l lid
shuts from our view the still features
and we shed the scalding tear of sor-
row. over the fresh mound that has
just closed over the inanimate form
of some loved one-if they were
blotted out from our vision forever
Alas! what a terrible thing then
would death be. How deeply and
despairingly would we grieve. But
thank God, the dark cloud of sor-
row soon melts in a shower of tears
The veil of woe is soon rent, and q
celestial light dawns about our eyes
We look up and view the shining
realm of the immortal blest and fee
the consoling assurance that they are
not gone forever-Only called from
our midst for a little while; only
crossed deaths dark, rolling river be-
fore us; only finished their work g
little sooner than we, and gone to re
ceive their reward. They are aodit
ing for as there. Then as we take
up our unfinished task, and strive to
fulfill our mission here, we are
strengthened by invisible hands, and
encouraged by familiar voices. They
are with us still, our beloved dead.
When we are in trouble, and oppress-
ed, we feel their cheering presence
most. Those unseen spirits silently
commune with ours, and in soft sooth-
ing whispers, bid us look up, and be
comforted. When we languish on a
bed of pain, we hear their light steps
about us, and feel their cool hands
about our burning temples, as they
noiselessly administer TO our wants.
Yea, in nightly visions, in peaceful,
healthy slumbers, those minister
ing spirits, like guardian angels,
constantly hover around us. We
behold their glad smile and hear
their gentle voice, in friendly ac-
cents, as when in life. We hear
again, the mothers pleading prayer,
for the welfare of her children,
and feel the sisters warm kiss
on our forehead, and we put out our
eager hands to clasp them in our arms,
so plainly is their blessed presence
felt. Those visitants of an upper
world. Then it's only the mortal
part we have lain in the dust. The
spirit has not expired with the frail
CdShcb VI Clay IHd1 Hclu IL HcIc' " O.
glorious thought; the soul lives on
forever; and through the mists of
doubt that enshroud us-by faith zoe
gietU them still.
'The spirit world around this world of
sense
Floats like an atmosphere, and every
where,
Watts through these earthly mists and
vapors dense,
A vital breath of more ethereal air.
And as the moon from some dark cate
Throws DER the sea floating bridge
of light,
Across whose trembling planks our fan
cies crowd
Into the realms of mystery and night.
So from the world of spirits there de-
scends,
A bridge of light, connecting it with
this,
O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways
and bends,
Wander our thoughts above the dark
abyss"
MAGGIE MILES.