sound like
this?" And there we left the husband and the father reposing beneath
the tree his own hand had trained, and in the yard where he had spent
so many hours laboring to beautify the spot where he was so soon to
lie down in his last long sleep. By his side are the graves of the two
dear grand-children, who were wont to share in his caresses, and his
smiles. Silent now is their greeting, as the weary grandfather lays
down with them in the place of graves: But eternity! oh eternity!
how is the meeting there? Have they met? There are father, mother,
brothers, sister, and a long train of relatives from whom he has
been long separated. Have they recognized each other? O, bewildering
thoughts, be still, and cease your restless longings; "secret things
belong to God," and "what we know not now we shall know hereafter."
But now, while the soft winds of summer are gently sighing through the
branches of the arbor vitae tree that stands at the head of the grassy
mound that rises over the form of my buried husband, I see by his
side, the spot where, in all human probability, this frame will soon
be deposited, to sleep with him in death's silent halls, even as I
have journeyed with him through life. 'Till then, let me turn to
my mission, and endeavor by a faithful discharge of every duty,
to prepare for that time, and strive by a holy life and godly
conversation, to so influence my children, that they may all seek a
city not made with hands eternal, and in the heavens. And thus shall
be answered my daily prayer, that we may be a united family in heaven.

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.