The Forrest City times., 1911-05-26
Sorrow for the Dead.
Communicated

Sorrow for the dead k tie only sor. row from which We refuse to be di- vorced. Every other wound we seek i to heal, every other afliiction to for. i get, but this wound we consider our duty to keep open: this afflction we cherish and brood over in solitude. l Where is that mother who would i willingly forget the tender infant that | has faded like flower from her arms, though every remembrance is pang. and where is that child who would willingly forget the fond parent, though to remember be but 10 la- ment. And who in the hour of agony would forget the friend over whom he mournS.
 | No, the love which survives the grave is one of the noblest attri- butes of the soul. If it has it's woes 1t likewise has its delights and when the sudden anguish and convulsive agony over the present ruins of all that we most loved, is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection. Who would root out such sorrow from the mind?
 Though it may sometimes throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gayety or deepen the sadness, yet who would exchange it for the burst Of revelry or the song of pleasure. There Is voice from the grave sweeter than song, there is remembrance of 1 the dead to which we turn even 1 from the charms of the living
 c, the grave, the grave. It burieS ever, covers every defect, ,extinguishes every resentment, from it's peaceful | bosom comes none but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who, then can look down upon the grave of even an enemy and not feel little compunctuous throb that he should have ever waried with the poor hand 1 full of dust that lies mouldering be- 1 fore him. But the graves of those we love-what place for meditation. There 1t is that we call up in long re- view the whole history of virtue and gentleDess the thousand endearments laVished upon us almost unheeded in the daily intercourse for intimacy. | There it is that we dwell upon the | tenderness, the solemn awful tender ness of the parting scene, the bed of death with it's mute noiseless attend ance, it's stifled griefs. the last testi- monies of expiring love, the thrilling, oh how thrilling pressure of the hand the last fond look of the glazing eye turning upon us even from the thres- hold of existence. The feeble faltering accents struggling even in death to give one more assurance of affection If you have added sorrow to the sou or a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate parent, if you have given one unmerited pang to that true heart which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet, then be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious word, and ungentle action will come thronging back upon thy memory and knocking dolefully at thy soul then you will utter the unheard groan and pour the unavailing tear, more deep and more bitter because unheard and unavaiing. Then wreathe your chap let of flowers and strew the beauties of nature about the grave, console your broken spirit, if you can, with these tender yet futile tributes of re. gret, take warning by the bitterness of this, your contrite affection for the dead, and henceforth be more faith ful and affectionate in the discharge of your duties to the living