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Ours, Loved, And "Gone Before"
by
I can give you no idea on paper of the beauty and sublimity of that death-scene as it was painted to me. We imagined that the heart must shrink, or at least draw back before the entrance into the dark valley. But all was peace; it flowed in upon her like a river, and she felt that underneath were the everlasting arms. Her husband and two remaining children stood by the bed. Oh, the bitterness of the cup he was called upon to drink! He shrank from it. As he bent over her, she said,
“Do not weep, love. How good God has been to give us so many bright, happy years together! Surely the lines have fallen to us in pleasant places, and I”–raising her beautiful eyes to heaven–“have a goodly heritage. I go to my Saviour. How should I feel at this moment had I not a hope in him? Oh, I am going home! I see Willie beckoning me to hasten. I will bear him in my arms to the Saviour’s feet, and together we shall sing the ‘new song.’ I do not love you nor these sweet darlings less; but I love the Saviour more. I wish you could look in my heart and see the love I bear you. Thank you for all your indulgence, for all your kindness in bearing with my many infirmities. If I am permitted, I will be ever your guardian angel. Remember me with much and undying love to all the dear friends who have been so kind to me.”
She appeared buoyed up with unnatural strength, though her end was so near. She broke into a sweet hymn; and it was, they said, as though the angel’s voice had anticipated the few short moments before she should sing the “new song.” She lay quiet for a little time, holding the hand of her husband in her own; then, opening her eyes and seeing the last rays of the departing sun, “I shall never look upon that bright orb again; but there is no need of the sun there. I draw near to heavenly habitations, and I would not retreat for what the world can give. Dearest, be faithful to your trust.” And, imprinting a kiss upon his lips, her pure spirit went peacefully home.
We draw a veil upon the feelings of that bereaved one; too sacred are they to be looked upon; his house was left unto him desolate. That form, which had been to his eye like the well in the desert or the bow in the sky, was now cold in death.
Oh! thought we, why needed this affliction to be sent upon one so near perfection? Surely, he, of all others, needed not this discipline; and then came to our minds, soft, sweet, and soothing, the words, “Every branch in me that beareth fruit, he purgeth it that it may bring forth more fruit.”
We felt that it was hard to lay in the grave the form of our dear friend; it was hard to part with the casket which had enshrined the precious jewel. Beautiful in life, she was so in death. The departing spirit had left a ray of brightness on its earthly house, and, in looking at the calm brow and peaceful smile, death seemed divested of its terror. We had twined the pure white flowers she loved around and amongst the rich dark masses of wavy hair, and she looked like a beautiful bride more than a tenant for the grave. The memory of that day will live ever in our minds. It was the last day of summer, and there seemed a beautiful appropriateness in the season; it seemed to us that the summer of our hearts had gone with her.
A sad and mournful procession, we followed her remains to the church so dear to her in life. It was but a few days since she entered it in her loveliness and bloom, and for the last time on earth commemorated a Saviour’s dying love. She will partake with us here no more. May we be counted worthy to sit down with her at our Father’s board in heaven! Mournful was the sight of the black pall which covered the coffin; mournful the drapery which shrouded her accustomed seat and enveloped the chancel; mournful the badges which all, as by consent, had adopted as expressive of their feelings on the occasion; but, oh! most mournful and heart-rending was the sight of that husband and father leading by the hand on either side all that remained to him of his beautiful family. It was difficult to recognise in him the man of two short weeks before; twenty years seemed added to his life; the eyes, usually beaming with light, now cast down and swollen with weeping–the countenance, index of a heart full of peace and joy, now so sorrow-stricken. Truly, he seemed “smitten of God and afflicted.” We turned our eyes away as he stood by the grave which contained almost his earthly all.