Oh! the grave, the secrets of the grave, are they hidden there
for ages, or shall they survive as treasures for eternity?
I have been wandering among the graves of those loved best when the
heart could love most, and dead memories sprouted anew, and with them
a flash of the feelings which made them treasures of the heart. Yonder
is the grave of Thomas W. Cobb; near me is that of him most
loved--William C. Dawson; and here, in this green grave, is Yelverton
P. King; and near him is the last resting-place of Adeline Harrison.
Dear, sweet Adeline, you went, in truth, to heaven, ere yet the bud of
life had opened into flower! This is the county of my birth, and all
of these, save Cobb, were natives, too, of the dear old land.
To me, how near and dear were these! Turn back, O Time, thy volume for
fifty years, and let me read over anew the records of dead days, and
make memories once more realities, as they were real then--else hurry
on to the end, that I may know with these, or with these forget
forever! I would not linger in the twilight of life, with all of time
dimming out, and nothing of eternity dawning upon my vision.
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