Saint Mary's beacon. [volume] (Leonard Town, Md.) 1867-1983, 1874-06-25

CAAiSD MJ aimost uttef nofeleeknee9 q eS-
cape from the prison which disease and
misfortune -ssspsd % have buildsd f6r me
in that burning cline, and CON pared the
prcfcnt with The pas. 1T wns ss if q bene-
'distion had fslIeslupaa ne from 10 visible
heights; and resaiaisg the open sir md
looking to the eastward. where the far of
Siersas shone in abe light Of the DECLINING
day. could bear witness with the poet,
! p s'That care AID trial seem at last II
In memory s sunset air,
Like moup,ain ranges oyerpast, wwv,
. hso1n pofpse distance sair." = ~
Lingering around the charmed pre-
c;ncts Of this venerable pile. my footsteps
led me unconseiously to that portion Of the
grounds set apart as the City Of the Dead.
"Tbe frah memorials" erected to the mem-
DRY of those who sleep in that consecrated
ground Eere not. to me at least, .uyyes-
tive Of such mournful feelings as were the
evsiences Of neglect apparent in the con-
dition OF the cemetery. I. is lonely
place. ,ha. burial grouud. The cross up
lifts itself above full many narrow mound.
Here and there solitary grave seems to
have been forgotten BY those who bore ito
occupant TO bis long home. An! there
are many such. the wide world over.-
Many. above which the hand of. Affection
would rear monuments as beautiful and
chaste rs ever made the sculp.ors' art im.
mortal. Cid not ''chill penury" forbid the
execution Of the pious task; but shove such
graves fall tears which consecrate. and
around which cluster memories which make
them beautiful forever. have seen them
in the heart OF the wilderness. Iknow Of
Que upon whose narrow precincts the last
rays Of the setting sun fall like . halo
through an opening in the forest trees
God peace enfolds the little boy I laid
away to rest forever in that far of spot.
..My baby, DER thy grave
Wild flowers and grasses wave,
And wild birds warble al their sweetest songs;
Sweet be thy drpamless sleep,
The while wake and weep,
Gods best is thine; His peace to thee belongs"
Here among these unmarked graves
might Evangeline have come if her long
wapdesings had led her to this, as they
did to tha, Mission Of tho Black Robes
where her Gabriel was to her 80 nesr
and yet So fap." Iiere. nigh, she in the
solemn hush of even.tide. have
asa, BY some naneless grave an i thought tha,
PERHAPS. in is bosom
lie was already NJ rest and longed 10 s,ulnbcr
beside him.
But it is time these musings had an end.
II is the vesper hour Long. long years
ago Grandces aud bigN born DANES. men
and women of middle rank in life. and
peasants. sor,e bowed with age. and chill
drcn offender years stood round Il seething
furnace in old Spain. Ornaments of gold
and silver were flung into the fiery mass
Anon a chime of bells came from the mas
ter's hand. With prayer and chant. and
they were given to the keep
ing of a galeon bound for this far of land.
Propiti"us gales bore them in safety to the
old emba-cadero of the Mission Of San
Gabriel. For many and many year they
have clamorcd at prime and flung their
silvcry music on the evening mir. The
wedding feast has grown more joyous as
they pcaled nut their congratulations; the
solemn rites with which the dead are lain
away have taken deeper, u not saddcr
tinge. as they tolled last farewell. Long
be it before their voices shall grow silent
IN the land. They are but echoes of an
endless chain of sound. San Diego. San
Xavier, ST. Augustine t,kc up the choral
strain and bear it along tho shores of the
mirty Atlantic until Canadian chapels catch
the refrain. Santa Barbara watches for
the pulsing waves Of sound and sends them
north until the furtherest bounds of civil
izntion are reached, and speeding across
the continent. ST. Bonisce on the Red
River Of the North peals out jubilant
welcome to the wandering airs which come
laden with the dying murmurs ofthc Mis-
sion bells
"The vovageur smiles rs he listens
To the sound that grows apace,
Well he knows the vesper ringing,
OF the bells Of ST. Boniface.
The bells OF Tire Roman Mission
That call from their turets twaic,
To the boaiman on the river,
To the hunter On the plain.
And when the angel Of shadow
Rests his feet on wave and shore,
And our eyes grow dim with longing,
A,d our hearts grow faint ., the oar,
Happy is he who heare.h
The signal of his reiease.
In the bells Of the Holy City
The chimes OF eternal peace"