Morning Star

REFLECTIONS AT THE GRAVE OF ***

How full of meaning is this grave! It speaks
in silent accents which no vocality can copy!—
Every word it utters is emphatic with awful
silence! This grave, - but hold, -- my
soul but struggles with eternal sentiments it can-
not speak! Here lies--yes, here the loved
one lies-lies imbosomed in eternity. This
grave, O how it stirs the deep and latent sen-
sibilities of the deathless within! O that a
tongue, a pen were mine! But no-'tis better
otherwise. The soul finds strange delight in
this wrapt struggle of its immortality! How
shall substance find free converse with shadow!
How shall eternity be sociable with time, or a
tongue of flesh utter infinity! Earth's ocean-
valleys were too small to receive the waters of
the soul's vast sympathies, or here beside this
grave they otherwise should flow! Indeed they
do—but upward far, to mingle with the sympa-
thies of saints in the vast ocean of God
This grave,-O how it speaks of -- whose
body fills it. It speaks of -- to me. How it
chides my failure to imitate her virtues. and re-
bukes my slow pace to " the city of my God!"
Thou, —-, now art blest, and still thou blessest
me. Never in thy life time did thy voice,-so
often heard in needful counsels and reproofs,-
never did thy voice so deeply impress my soul!
Thou art my " minister of God," and ever
shalt thou be. while I hold converse with a world
of vanity.

My soul comes near thy grave, and grasps at
thine, but grasps in vain! And yet not all in
vain. God only knowest, how much our spirits
mingle unperceived by this, thy place of resting.
My soul sure feels a touch. But is it thine? Ah,
mysterious being that I am, who can tell. But,
lo, I come where thou hast gone. Re-
luctantly my soul withdraws from this, thy sad
memorial. But in my heart the chief memorial
lies of what thou wast-of what thou art, and
what thou must be forever! I go to my task of
doing this world good, strengthened by thee for
its duties and its trials. Farewell.-M. J. S.