The Louisiana Democrat. [volume] (Alexandria, La.) 1845-1918, 1884-07-01
OBITUARY,
To the Memory Of Fannie Burgess
Beloved WIFE Of Russel
c. Rogers.

FANNIE, the earth is cold above
thee! We have laid thee within
the silent tomb with breaking
hearts, and smoothed the turf above
thy dreamless slumber. Glorious
summer time is here, to blend her
ringing harmonies of bird and
breeze and Ginning waterfall, as
though seraph's ring had swept
the harp universal Nature, till its
chords thrilled the soft air with
mystic melody-an ever sounding
anthem to the God whose breathing
kissed creation into life. Unhecd-
ed on the "dull, cold ear of DEATH"
that music trembled, and the SOL
emn sound Of ''dust to DUST Jared
like discord strange along that
rich bewildering harmony, and told
its origin was but of earth. Long
weary years must mingle with the
past, and from thy grave we slowly
turn away, and from our hearts the
spirit of despair gushes in low, bro
ken tones, and shuddering seeks
darkened home, to dwell no more
with thee save in the realms of
Hope and Memory. The earth is
cold above thee, and soon the win
try winds will wall through lcafess
trees and sigh around thy monu-
mental urn its requiem. But deep
within our hearts thou hast,a bright
er being;-as thou vast joyous and
Young aud proudly beautiful /! Re
membrance will trace our early
home! Like dew on lily leaves
the gentle voice Of oldeA times fall
on my dreaming heart. Memory,
faithful to her guarded trust, is
bending DER me, and her pencil
fair, like magic, traces DER the ia
ded lines of old familiar scenes. 1t
stirs my soul as waring flame is
shaken by the wind at midnight
hour. A train of star-lit imagery
comes winding up along the shad-
owy past, blent with the music of
departed years, apilgrim train and
DER "bridge OF sighs' they pass,
to bow before a ruined shrine and
broken altar stone, where beamed
the light of pleasant hopes that per-
ished long ago, and bring again the
wreath of faded joys that hang in
Memory's temple. Strangers now
circle around our glowing hearth
where once q joyous group gather
cred. Stranger hands will train
the infant buds that cluster DER our
easement fair. They may thrill to
bloom, and birds and trees may lull
them to repose at evening hour,
with dewy murmurings, but the young
hearts that trembled to their lay
and loved them in their purity will
be far, far away, but their dream
shall be of that Old home, as soft a
whisper falls lonely and deep and
fraught with melody, "Blest are
the loved, for theirs is a prelude to
paradise" Our hearts are sore and
weary now; and oh! that we should
still thus on weak words to pour
a stream of fire, bringing the flame
from lava veins that burst from pas
sion's fountain, when it should await
the signature Of God. There is a
soft, dim twilight Of the soul, and
glowing memories linger far along
its hushed horizon, with a beauty
like the clouds of evening floating
as they sleep. I hear the waving
of thy snowy wings across that twi-
light sky, and; seem to list the Ca
dence of thy low, sweet music tone.
Thou art before me in the dazzling
light Of angel beauty, robed in
loveliness-a soft star cleaning
through the mists of life,' radiant
serapR by the thronsof God.
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