There is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn even from the
charms of the living. Oh, the grave! the grave! It buries every
error, covers every defect, extinguishes every resentment! From
its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender
recollections. Who can look down upon the grave even of an enemy,
and not feel a compunctious throb that he should ever have warred
with the poor handful of earth that lies mouldering before him?
But the grave of those we loved--what a place for meditation!
There it is that we call up in long review the whole history of
virtue and gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished upon
us almost unheeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy; there it
is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful
tenderness, of the parting scene. The bed of death, with all its
stifled griefs--its noiseless attendance--its mute, watchful
assiduities. The last testimonies of expiring love! The feeble,
fluttering, thrilling--oh, how thrilling!--pressure of the hand!
The faint, faltering accents, struggling in death to give one
more assurance of affection! The last fond look of the glazing
eye, turning upon us even from the threshold of existence!
Ay, go to the grave of buried love and meditate! There settle the
account with thy conscience for every past benefit
unrequited--every past endearment unregarded, of that departed
being who can never-never--never return to be soothed by thy
contrition!
If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul or
a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate parent; if thou
art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured
its whole happiness in thy arms to doubt one moment of thy
kindness or thy truth; if thou art a friend, and hast ever
wronged, in thought or word or deed, the spirit that generously
confided in thee; if thou art a lover, and hast ever given one
unmerited pang to that true heart which now lies cold and still
beneath thy feet,--then be sure that every unkind look, every
ungracious word, every ungentle action will come thronging back
upon thy memory and knocking dolefully at thy soul: then be sure
that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and
utter the unheard groan and pour the unavailing tear, more deep,
more bitter because unheard and unavailing.
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