The Grenada sentinel. [volume] (Grenada, Miss.) 1868-1955, 1912-08-16
A Visit to Mothers Grave.
an absence of nearlu J n,.

Alter an absence OF nearly q quarter
of a century, l stood the other day al
my mothers grave. 1t was on a lonely
hill not far from Resaca, Georgia, from
which Sherman's batteries played upor
Johnston's veterans in deep-toned thun-
der at the time of the famous battle at
that point in the march of the Federals
toward the sea. Close beside her are
the remains of my brother and sister
who preceded her to the better land
several long years before. What a sa-
cred moment it wa to me! 1t was in
the late afternoon and the sur was dip
ping in the far west. The wildwoods
were clad in their richest vestments of
green and the impregnated air was red
olent with the perfume of flowers.
From out the wooded bowers the music
of the sylvan songsters fell in varied
notes upon my ear and and the subdued
tinkle of a far-off cowbell added to the
weird thought of the occasion. felt
a loneliness that recalled the sad day
in the long ago when l stood beside
that open grave and saw the earth
swallow all that was left of her mortal
ity. My heart beat a triAe faster, a
strange sort of lump came into my
throat, and my eyes began to moisten
with tears. Memory opened the door
to the storehouse Of the past years,
and forgotten pictures began to throw
themselves upon the canvas of revived
recollection. l was soon transported
back to the scenes of my childhood
when l knelt at eventide beside her
knee, and her sweet songs again echoed
in the chambers of my heart. looked
into her angelic face once more; l heard
the sound of her silent voice, and I felt
the touch of her vanished hand. l was
at home again. For the time being
there were no scars upon my heart, no
sound of battle was in my ear and life
was a dream. l knew no sorrow; grief
was a stranger; disappointment was
unborn, and my years we're in the fu-
ture. She was talking to me once
more, and there played upon her lips
the smiles of her young motherhood. l
was her boy and she was my own dear
mother. 1t wa next door to heaven. l
listened and heard the football of an
gels. l looked and saw the futter of
white robes, and there came into my
heart an old-time joy that written
speech cannot adequately express. But
the sight of those three graves rudely
awoke me from my temporary revery
and l found that it was a dream. l
was no longer a child, but a mar far
out on the journey of life, with fur
rows upon my brow and the frost of
winter upon my head, and there before
me were the sorrowful reminders of
the grief and loneliness of the inter-
years. 1t was not home; mother
smile was only in my imagination. L
never vas so lonesome in all my life. |
and my heart hunger was intolerable. |
How / cried out for one more moment
in her presence, for one more kiss from
her lips! But there was no response
from the silent mound to my cry. Then
my faith turned from things earthly to
thing heavenly, and l heard a voice
sweetly singing: ~ am the resurrec-
ton and the life; he that believeth in
me, though he were dead, yet shall he
And my response came not from
the silent grave, but from Gods un-
changing word. And l turned nv
thoughts toward the future and real
lied that in His W good time He
would speak and those graves would
give up their dead and we would strike
hands again on the eternal morning.
How sweet it will be in that beautiful
land,
So free from sorrow and pain.
With songs on u lips and with harps
in our hands,
meet n another again!
DIR. E. G. Rankin in Texas
Christian Advocate