The flow’rs have perish’d on the stem,
    Their brilliant beauty all decayed,
  And many golden hope like them,
    In disappointment’s tomb is laid.

  But yet, far sinking to his rest,
    The golden king of day behold,
  The crimson curtains of the west
    Are richly fring’d with molten gold.

  Thus brightly may your life decline,
    Though youth may fade upon your brow,
  May Truth and Virtue radiant shine,
    E’en like yon sinking sun beam now.

Letter, from the Pen of My Husband, Now Deceased.

Pawtucket, June 20, 1852.

Mrs. M. M. Bucklin: 

My daughter in affliction, I would that, like Paul on Mars Hill, I could enter at once, with eloquence and persuasion, on a subject that might have the influence of restoring or bringing back your natural buoyancy and elasticity of spirit.  I need not tell you that I feel earnestly, sensibly and deeply for you; and any mortal effort or sacrifice within my power should not be wanting to effect an object so desirable by your friends.  But Malvina, an arm of flesh is not to be relied upon; no human ken can reach the mysterious windings and wonderful intricacies of a mother’s love for her offspring.  That is, as yet, the unrevealed handiwork of Omnipotence, who in wisdom conceived the beautiful mechanism, and brought to perfection the refinements of our nature; and to his almighty fiat are we indebted, both for the boon of death and the glorious hope of the resurrection.  How peculiarly adapted to our consolation is the doctrine of the resurrection.  The angel of mercy has withdrawn from your boson a beloved child.  O, how sweet the consolation of hope through the very life-giving words of Him who cannot lie, as so beautifully and so tenderly expressed to Martha, “Thy brother shall rise again.”  And, my daughter, be assured that your little Emma shall rise again, for said the same Almighty Comforter, “of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.”  Therefore it would be wise in us not to sorrow for her who is asleep.  I know you believe that Jesus died and rose again.  And so, also, of them who sleep in Jesus, will God bring with him.

The question by the afflicted man of Uz might once, with some degree of propriety have been asked, “If a man die shall he live again?” But we believe in the resurrection of the dead, because He who has promised is able to perform, and no science however new, nor speculation however magnificent, should be allowed to rob us of this beautiful and life-giving hope.  I know that it is hard for us to concieve the mighty power of transformation or to demonstrate the great principle of a spiritual ascension from our decayed bodies, of those seraphic hosts, who are to stand as ministering angels around the majesty of Heaven, through all the never ending cycles of eternity, no matter what objections skepticism may urge of the impossibility of conceiving how the dead can be raised up to a newness of life.  Our faith receives it as a revealed fact, and our hearts rejoice in the glorious hope, because we know that our Redeemer liveth, and that he will again stand upon this earth.  And though these our frail bodies may be destroyed by death, yet shall we see God.  Marvellous as may be the transition, at death and the resurrection, we shall all preserve our own identity, and see and know the beloved companions of our earthly pilgrimage.