The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1882-02-02
LIFE IS A rrTEur FEVER.
Some Beautiful Thoughts, Linking
Time and Eternity.

i
tion: - low many who may read
this will lack the breath to hold out
to reach the mile post upon which
will be written 'Jdn'y Isl, ISS2'?"
: Look around you and see how many
you can count OF the young, the gay
sho have "perished with the flow
ers-" All. many and many have
budded TO bloom, and bloomed but
to die. As falls the frost upon the
green leaves, so upon them has
fallen the mildew of death when
their hopes were brightest and their
Joys in iull blossom. But these
melancholy, suicidal days are to
last hut for a time. Spring will
shortly come Iagain to restore the
faded beauties of the fields, hills,
groves and meadows. The will
cause, the daises, lilies, honey
suckles and the roses to rise and
clothe themselves anew with beauty
and brightness and bloom again as
was wont upon earth. Bat, my
friends, while your hearts are
cheered and your eyes delighted
with the temperance of these floral
favorites, the thought will some
times modest and trouble you that
departed friends must still sleep on
their everlasting sleep. No genial
spring. wal ~ sun nor soft showers
can START them from their silent
graves. They are dead! Dead to
the world at large and alive only in
the remembrance OF an affectionate
few. Oh, no; they are not dead but
departed. They have left this
sphere of sorrow, affiiction and woe
for another and far happier exist
ence, and there is joy in the hope
of meeting them at last in that
blessed world where youth, beauty,
friendship and love remain fresh |
through out all eternity. Agaln we
ask:
"where are the flowers, the fair young
flowers
That lately spran9 and stood 81.
In brighter hight and softer AIRS
beauteous sisterhoodl
Alas. they are all in their graves
The gentle race of flowers
Are lying in their iowly beds,
With the fair and good of ours"
'Tis well enough for us to be re |
minded once in while that death
Is not dead but still silently busy In
his great stint OF destruction Al
this melancholy and meditative
season of the year, when decay is
50 solemnly visihles throughout the
getable world, where we see the
leaves all scattered and dead around
US, We cannot but be reminded how
our friends are falling through de
crepit. old age or dire disease-and
vet how soon the thought of death
forsakes US. The wing of the fleet
bird leaves no scar upon the sky;
no stain is lett upon the cloud
where the rainbow rested; the
parted wave quickly closes behind
The vessels keel and no furrow re-
mains; and so dies in human hearts
each thought of death When
friend or a loved one Unexpectedly
tails by the way-side we give
shudder and stand appalled, tor
moment. A few melancholy reflec-
tons like cloud shadows over a
sunny land scape fit across our
minds, and then we trot along as
merrilv as the pillow boy that Whistles
while turning the turf that covers
the ashes of.his ancestors. The
flowers have a time to fade and the
leaves a season to fall, but man,
mortal man. is just as likely to be
cut off in the bud of infancy, the
greenness Of youth, or the full
bloom Of manhood, as in hoary age
Death is a step that reaches to
eternity. We follow the remains of
beloved ones to the grave; then the
door of the tomb is shut in our
faces-they are hid from our sight
forever and all beyond is shrouded
are like stars by day Withdrawn
from mortal eye, and yet not ex-
tinct, for they hold their way in
glory through the sky-spirits from
bondage set tree and left to vanish
amid immensely where human sight
like human thought fails to pursue
their trackless flight, We may sup
pose that to die is to land on some
silent shore upon which the billows
of affection rever break, and where
mpests of trouble are never known
to disturb the peace and tranquility
that ever there preside; but the
truth Of all this is only known to
him who has passed SHAT bourne
from whence no traveller returns"
These thoughts have been sug
gested by the sad fates of Mr-.
Emma Gooch and Capt. Rhea. How
true are the words OF Moore:
''Oft in the Silly night,
Ere slumbeT's chain hath bound me, 5
Fond memory brings the light !
OF otherdays around me-" !
During the dark days OF "thi-
cruel war" Capt. Rbea came to nv
house on his way back from the
south TO visit his young wife and !
child and | went with him one dark /,
night through the hilfs to avoid
Pulaski, where the FedIrsls were I
and doubtless when he n
cached hts home that night he .
found that
Home is mans ark when trouble springs
And gathering TEN pc Is shroud the morrow, :
And womAn's love the bird that brings
der peace branch DER flood OF sorrow. .
We met him in Pulaski on the t,
day Of his SAD misfortune and be =
alluded TO our ride on Il
that night that accompanied him c
10 his home. Little dad / think G
then that would be our last meeting.
So it is.
Friend after friend departs;
Who hath not lost a frieudf :
There is no union here OF hearts
That fnds not here an end"
"Wnen remember al
The friends so linked together
Eye seen around me fall
Like leaves 10 wiutry weather. 4