The Hartford herald. [volume] (Hartford, Ky.) 1875-1926, 1912-09-04
BEHIND THE CEMETERY GATES.


No doubt you have, for it is favor
lite resort for some people, and of
ten you see visitors whom you
would least suspect of an inclina
tion TO be there.
Perhaps it is a local cemetery and
you know many people buried
there. Did you ever notice how
quickly they are forgotten, how fast
their personages fade from mortal
view, after entering for an eternal
residence into this little city of ST.
lence whose inhabitants are only
known by the carved epitaphs on a
piece of voiceless marble? Look
around and see. The dates are all
there-the coming and the going of
those souls who partook of life's
heritage of happiness or misfor-
tune. In some cases many links of
years intervene between the earlier
and the later date. In others the
span was but a few months or
weeks or days. But you know that
beneath each silent sentinel of
store there rest the. deeaying re-
mains of some one who lived, was
loved and is now passed to that
realm from which no voice or sign
returns to enlighten you as to their
welfare.
From life to death is but a step,
Just a gasp of the breath, but be-
yond that thin veil which inter-
venes no mortal eye can gaze. 1t
holds a mystery so deep and pro-
found that the wisdom of all the
ages cannot solve it. How We would
love to know the fate of those pass
ed on, If but for a glimpse. but an
invulnerable decree has willed it
otherwise. We may weep and pray
and agonize and allow our imagi-
nation the widest range of mental
vision, but our only answer is the
dark wall of death that ever defes
our puny efforts at conception of
what lies behind il. More uncer-
tain than the time of our going,
which is ever a certainty yet a mys-
terry, is our knowledge of what eter-
nifty may hold for US.
We all know we will go-maybe
sOon-and yet il grieves us when
we realize how soon we will be for
mil ha Ice
ed, as compared with others, the
fresh mounds of whose graves lie
before us. Here lies a friend that
ii seems we knew in life but yes
terday, yet-what is that date?
Passed away more than a year ago,
and we had hardly thought of him
since his funeral! Yes, it all comes
back now-his life and personality
yet only the precincts of his
grave reminded us of it! We will
probably not think of him again I'M
til we take another stroll out this
way.
And here is another tablet, the
most significant word on which is
Mother" 1t matters little how
many children her maternity en-
braced; the lone fact that once upon
a time, while in life. she went down
to the inviting gates of death and
brought back a little white soul,
fresh from the arms of it's Maker,
and placed it's feet upon the road
to External Life, puts the seal of
blessedness upon her existence,
poor and humble though II may |
have been. For her the cares and |
vicissitudes of life are over, yet her
memory should live longest. Why? !
For answer, pick out most any |
mother yet living, especially one
upon whom fortune has not smiled,
and ponder a little sketch OF her |
LIES history. Her body will soon
err or later crumble into dust like |
the other one, but no tomb or ex-
panse OF eternity can blot out that
vision of tireless love, self-sacri-
flee, tears, smiles and duty, embrac-
ed in that little word which will
some dav embOwer her tomb
Mother"
We pass by other marble senti-
nels as We aimlessly wend our way
through the aisles of this little city
which is but the waterway to eterni-
ty. Some OF these silent abodges are
well kept. showing that somebody's
memory yet fingers. Others are so
that we tread careful
ly lest we trample the only spot
that bears witness of their former
existence. There are still others,
the lettering on the marble being
and cracked by the hand
Of time, and the memory of the
sleepers is crumbling, as 1t were,
With the marble dust.
To such place We all must ,