Amador Weekly Ledger

[Written for the Ledger.]

MY SISTER'S GRAVE.

BY EPSILON.

Pale death, with equal foot, strikes wide the door

Of royal halls or hovels of the poor.—Horace.

Oft when the village bustle all has ceased,

And nought disturbs the silence round but the

Low murmurs of the wind, as through the boughs

Of trees it lonely sighs, as if singing

The requiem of departed spirits; and all

Nature is hushed in stillness, as it were;

And twilight gray shines on the brow of even:

I love to sally forth and view the spot

Thrice sacred because of the fond object

There entombed. That object, once the solace

Of my care, and companion of my youth,

With whom I oft had spent my childish hours,

With whom I oft had spent my early years in joy

And happiness. But alas! sad death came

And snatched away the flower in blooming youth

Though youth she was, she's gone, and I am left

To mourn her loss. The flower is now cut down

By the cold hand of death. Well, be it so!

'Tis right; when Jesus calls we must obey;

But still I sigh, lament, and mourn, and weep,

For ne'er on earth shall I see her again.

A marble slab, a few plain sculptured words

Thereon, are all that mark her resting place;

There she sleeps in calm repose; nought disturbs

Her silent rest. The wintry, stormy blast

Disturbs her not, nor yet the lightning's flash;

Nor does she heed the thunder's opening roar;

The storm and calm to her are both the same.

For her I deeply mourn and ever shall,

Though I mourn not as those who have no hope;

This sister once was dear to me in life—

The memory still is dear.

We once enjoyed

Each other's love. Sweet were the hours we spent

In innocence, and happy, joyous sports;

But those scenes have fled, and she, too, is gone.

In the low, narrow grave, where now she sleeps,

Long, long she'll lie, and sweet shall be her rest.

She's now unconscious of our cares and tears,

And all our sorrows, joys and anxious fears,

All our woes and happiness, she knows not.

But though I mourn her loss and feel the same,

I would not wish her back to earth again:

For she is happy now among the blest,

While I am left in sorrow here to stay.

But I will wait in hope, and trust in God.

That I may be prepared, when He shall call,

To soar above the regions of the skies.

There to enjoy my blessed Savior's love,

And dwell in bliss to all eternity.

My sister, too, I there expect to see

All clothed in golden robes of righteousness.

Her body, though entombed, shall rise again,

And then I trust we both shall meet in Heaven.

CLINTON, Feb. 27th, 1858.