So we returned to the house beneath the mild radiance of a Sabbath sun, to experience that awful void that death makes in the domestic circle to which so many bereaved hearts can respond.
Lines, Written upon the Young Who Have Recently Died in Our Village.
Why are the young and beautiful
Call’d so early to the
tomb?
Death surely loves a shining mark,—
And sweetly feeds on youthful
bloom!
Go, wander in the place of graves,
When softly steals the autumn’s
sigh,
And on the sculptured marble read,
How many in life’s morning
die.
Beauty may bloom upon the cheek,
And brightly sparkle in the
eye;
But soon the fatal hectic streak
Proclaims that stealthy Death
is nigh.
Maria, by her mother’s side,
So young, in Death’s
dark chambers laid,
And Lottie, soon to be a bride,
Have seen earth’s fairest
vision fade.
A lovely vision floating fair,
In Memory’s chambers
now is seen,
With sparkling eyes and glossy hair,
A radiant brow, and gentle
mien.
She stole by fond and winning ways,
Into many a loving heart;
And with a sweet and childish grace,
Well performed her little
part.
But death soon laid her beauty low,
Like spring flowers fading
on the stem,
And, blighting all her youthful bloom,
Laid Clara, mould’ring
now with them.
Dear Willie too, that child of prayer,
So suddenly has pass’d
away,
And enter’d those bless’d
mansions where
All is bright, eternal day.
Here, many a loving name is found,
Of those who in life’s
pathway trod;
Who slumber now, beneath the mound,
Their spirits summon’d
to their God.
Some by long disease confin’d,
Have slowly wasted day by
day;
Health, strength and beauty—all
declin’d,
And Youth’s bright visions
pass’d away.