The resurrection of the dead is the crowning act of the Redeemer's power, and the consummation of his work. How beautiful to contemplate the spiritual import and eternal grandeur of his mission:
"We may be blest, but Emma's glorious--
O'er all the stings of death victorious."
Dear M.M.:
"You feel like Eve, when Eden's gate
Had closed on her forevermore;--
You feel that life is desolate,
And Paradise is o'er.
No tears be yours, for tears are vain;
Your heart and not your robe is rent:
If God who gave did take again,
'Tis folly to lament.
Then drop the curtain, fold by fold,
O'er her consecrated bower;
And veil from curious eyes, and cold,
Your dead, yet living flower."
Affectionately, your
Father.
Hope.
A little skiff on time's dark stream,
With silken sail and golden oar,
Is floating like a fairy dream,
And pointing to some distant shore,
Where brighter bloom more fragrant flow'rs,
Perfuming amaranthine bow'rs.The oar that dips the sullen wave,
Throws up some diamond rich and rare,
Striving the sinking soul to save,
From the dark shadows of despair;
And though the night be e'er so dark,
Light hovers o'er this little bark.'Tis Hope unfurls that silken sail,
And dips her oar in life's deep tide;
And dancing on before the gale,
Throws sparkling diamonds far and wide,
And paints in brilliant rainbow dyes,
Onward to some radiant prize.
Visit to Mount Auburn.
It was a beautiful day in autumn, when the mellow sun shed his subduing rays Over the face of decaying nature, that we entered the elegant carriage of an esteemed friend, and pursued our way towards Mount Auburn, that quiet resting place of the dead.