Year: 1865

MARRIED YESTERDAY. Every day
in the journal, that with the first gleam
of the sun is flung within our doors, we
read this little sentence: Married yes
terday, So and So. Every day there is
wedding feast in some of the mansions
of earth; clasping of hands and union
of hearts IN the dim aisle of some holy
temple; pledge of eternal love and con-
stancy during all the hours that are yet
to come down ike spring flowers upon
| lifes pathway. Each day some marriage
crown is put on, and she that wears it,
| leaning upon him whose love is the
/ brightest jeWelset amidst its leaves, steals
away from the dear old home" and
nestles tremblingly in the fairy cot where
! Loves hand has trained the honeysuckIe
over the latticed porch, and placed Ho-
lian Tyres in all the easements.


MARRIED YESTERDAY. There are
| pearls and gold shining now amid the
| flowers that fringe Loves pathway, and
stars cleaning like great chandeliers in
the frmanent Of Hope. There are harps
tinkling now, whose melody is sweeter
/ than the sound of evening bells, and joys
falling like shower of amethysts upon
| the hearts that yesterday were wed. Life
now is become beautiful; the soul scars
upward from the dust like bird loosed
! from its cage; there is melody in every
breeze and in every place; yea, there are
angels in every path, with crowns for
those who are pressing onward with song
and prayer.


MARRIED YEsTERDAY.'-It seems
now long distance to the grave-a long
road to find rest But soon the shadow
will come, and life loses its summer
bloom. Then, as the patter of tiny feet
is heard about the grandfather's house,
and little bairns cluster about his knee,
those who were married yesterday may
hap will turn back to the records of the
past, weeping silently the while, remem-
! bering that their summer iss gone, their
harvest is ended, and that soon, gathering
up their sheaves, they will pass beyond
more be but one marriage-that of the
Lamb with his chosen people.


written this little sentence: "Died yes
terday, So and So" Every day flower
| is plucked from some sunny home; a
breach made in some happy circle; jewel
stolen from some treasury of love. Each
day from summer fields of life, seme har-
vest disappears-yea, every hour some
from the ramparts of time into the surging
waters of eternity. Even as we write,
| the funeral of one who died yesterday
winds like a winter shadow along the
street


"DIED YESTERDAY. Who died p
Perhaps it was gentle babe, sinless as
an angel, pure as the zephyr's air-one
whose laugh was the gush of summer
rills lettering in bower of roses-Whose
| life was perpetual htany, May time
crowned with passion flowers that never
fade. Or mayhap it was youth hopeful
and generous-one whose path was hem
med by flowers, with not a serpent lurk-
| ing underneath; one whose soul painted
for communion with the great and good,
and reached forth with earnest struggle
for the guerdon in the distance. But
that heart of his is still now, for he died
yesterday"


DIED yesterday "A young girl,
pure as the orange flowers that clasped
her forehead. was stricken down as she
stood at the altar; and from the dim aisle
of the temple, she was borne to the gar
den of slumbers. A tall, brown man,
girt with the halo of victory, and at the
DAVIS close, under his own vine and fig
tree, fell to the dust, even as the anthem
trembled upon his lips; and he, too, was
laid where the rude forefathers of the
bowed down with age and care, even as
he looked out upon the distant hills for
the coming of the angel host sank into a
dreamless slumber, and on the door post
next day was written, Died yesterday"
| DIED YESTERDAY. Daily, men, wo-
men and children are passing away; and
hourly, in some graveyard, the soil flung
upon the dead As often in the morn we
find some flower that blushed sweetly in
the sunset, has withered up forever, so
daily, when we rise from the bivouac to
stand again at our posts, we miss some
brother whose cherry cry in the sieges
and struggles of the past has been as fire
from heaven upon our hearts. Each day
some pearl drops from the jeweled thread
! of friendship; some Tyre to which we have
been wont to listen has been hushed for
ever. But wise is he who mourns not
the pearl and music lost for life with
him shall pass away gently as an eastern
shadow from the hills. and death be a
triumph and a gain.