Public ledger. [volume] (Memphis, Tenn.) 1865-1893, 1878-11-09
SABBATH MEDITATIONS.
Memories Of the Departed.
BY s. T. GRAHAM.

mas not lelt tne pang OF bereavement,
and by it had tears drawn from their
fountain, to ease the swelling, breaking
heart? The graves that crowd our
city cemeteries and country church
yards, the habilimeuts of grief seen in
every circle, along every path and in
every home, tell us, too plainly to be
misunderstood, that there are but few,
if any, who have not felt the pang and
passed through the shadow. In almost
every home there is vacant chair.
Silence now reigns whore once the |
merry laugh and the cheerful word |
were heard. The clowd lowers where |
once the sunshine cleaned Why this |
great changer The answer promptly
comes, "A loved one has departed"
There it was a father, whose care for
us was a constant bcnediction. There
it was q mother, whose arms were our
first supporters, and whose presence
from first to last shed sunshine along
our pathway. There it was dear one
Just budding into manhood or woman
hood. The prospects were bright with
promise. But soon the destroyer began
his work, and we saw that life green
tree had received its death blight.
The leaves began to wither and fall.
the buds of promise to fade, the
branches to droop, and everything
pointed to speedy dissolution. At last
the hour, the fatal hour, came. The
tree fell, and in that fall one Of earth's
ornaments is removed. There is a
vacuum here that is broad and desc
late indeed. In another instance, it
was one Of lifes buds that was
nipped, as if by some untimely frost
ere it blOomcd. 1t was too rare a
flower to bloom in such an uneongcnial
cline. The earth was too cold; there
, fore, the Master ordered it back to
the celestial conservatory to bloom for
ever
Nor are these all. We cannot now
recount every scene in which figured
lover, companion and friend. Each
can do this for himself.
And shall we forget our loved and
lost?' We would not; we cannot
G There are scenes of the dear departed
O as vivid as ever artists brush put OF
g canvas, hanging in memory's hall
. which time can never fade, nor tn
l. dust of ages cover scenes whicI
n shed the light of other days aroun
IS us, and bind us still to the eterno
:, past; and looking upon them we liv
. again amid scenes long gone an
u friends of other days. Who woul
1t forget them2 Who would forget tn
IF mothers who nursed our helpless IN
fancy and first directed our totterin
footsteps-tho mother who first taugh
our lips to lisp that sweetest of a
names" Jesus, and after her repeat
until memory retained the word
! Our Father which art. in heaven
Iy She may have passed beyond our mol
Y, tai vision, but in memory's great ha
: her portrait hangs to-day, and thei
= will hang forever.
"Thoso lips arc thine, thy own sweet smile
+ =, The same that oft in childhood solaced me.
y Who would forget the loving sister
er Graceful was her form, sweet her fac,
IN and tender her voice. And oh, thi
loving heart of hers How ready
ar sympathize in trouble 1t was on
= refuge, She never wearied of the +,
nc cital of lifes ills. At once unde
er stood us so well. Her soul had ey,
that could see us as others could no
or and touch that was sensitive to evel
/ pulsation Of our heart. Hers was
Il kindred nature that mingled with OF
W, own. Two lives, like vines, with tel
H. drills clinging, each clasping to SUI
is port the other [ feel it yet, the pow
- of soul communion, the sweet blen,
''' ing of eongenial spirits, that was on,
ours-hers and mine. Those hou
". still breathe their benedictions, thoue
days, weeks aud months have pass,
since last we parted. ] look up,
cc them still, and in my calmcr momon
in lend an ear to the voice now heard !
\ more, but whose accents sweet st
~ linger in mine ear though the tone
changed and solemn.
:. 1t was beneath the evening sky
:" walked together, side by side. n
A. setting sun was nearing the horizon
ie brink, tinging mountain range, towe
ie- ing peaks and skirting clouds wi
lrs crimson aud gold, and seemed
breathe benedictions on the world c
he departed. The shadows We
lengthening DER hill and dale, a
ne night was coming on We started,
..o knew not where; nor did it matter.
1 oa0 was only to muse and commune wi
JOi each other, with nature and with G.,
We walked and we talked. Thil
past, things we hoped to come, W,
Va scanned in brief succession. So
stars were mounting sentinel o'cr I
nor earth, as if with bayQnets of liz
Is they would drive back the advance
columns OF darkness. We turned {
steps homeward. But all tho VIII
bo- the mental artist was painting
)hn scene on memorys canvas, to sta
For forever, 1t can never, never fade.
,ra- was the early morning hour, y
out were seated on the corridor, to cat
the the fragrant breath of morn, to swo
ad- en- all the day. The roses were bloc
ted ing in the yard, and the woodbine ,
for climbing the lattice-work around, q
to filing the air with an odor all its o'
ST. while on these and the grassy sw;
Iich lay the due, sparkling in the su
ace. rays like gems dropped from
op breast Of night There wo talked o
art. things new and old. Soul looked i
he soul, and feeling ihterlinkod with {,
self ing. The hours passed, we knew
ig- how. Duty called us away. Blu
rely picture was hung in mcmory's hall
lscp hangs there still.
There are scenes Of the past We
meyer forget. And our loved one
n 1 IL 4