Our Dead

They are not all there—our dead—buried in the churchyard, beneath the grave, o'ershadowed by a cross, and round which the roses bloom.

There are others which nothing can recall; they are things which belong to the heart alone, and there alas! have found a tomb.

Peace surrounds me to-day; and here in my lone chamber I will invoke them, my much-loved dead. Come!

The first that present themselves are the sweet years of childhood, so fresh, so guileless, so happy.

They were made up of loving caresses, bountiful rewards, and fearless confidence: the words, pain, danger, care, were unknown; they brought me simple pleasures, happy days without a thought for the morrow, and only required from me a little obedience.

Alas! they are dead ... and what numberless things have they carried with them! What a void they have left!

Candor, lightheartedness, simplicity, no longer find a place within!

Family ties, so true, so wide, so light, have all vanished!

The homely hearth, the simple reward earned by the day's industry, maternal chidings, forgiveness so ingenuously sought, so freely given, promises of amendment, so sincere, so joyously received.... Is this all gone forever? can I never recall them?

The vision that follows is that of my early piety, simple and full of faith, which was as some good angel o'ershadowing me with its snowy wings, and showing me God everywhere, in all, and with all.

The good God, Who each day provides my daily bread!

The God, Who spared my mother in sickness, and relieved her when she suffered—God, Who shielded me from harm when I did right!

The God, Who sees all, knows all, and is Omnipotent, Whom I loved with all my heart.

Alas! faithful, simple piety, thou art dead; in innocence alone couldst thou live!

Next comes the love of my earliest years. Love in childhood, love in youth, so full of true, simple joy, that initiated me in the sweet pleasure of devotion, that taught me self-denial in order to give pleasure, that destroyed all egotism, by showing me the happiness of living for others.

Love of my childhood, love of my youth, so pure, so holy, on which I always reckoned when they spoke to me of trouble, loneliness, depression ... thou also art dead.

An involuntary coolness, an unfounded suspicion never cleared, an ill-natured story ... all these have destroyed that child of Heaven. I knew it was tender, and I cherished it, but I could not believe it to be so frail.

I could make a long list of all the dead enshrined in my heart! Oh, you who are still young, upon whom God has lavished all the gifts that are lost to me,—candor, simplicity, innocence, love, devotion ... guard, oh, guard these treasures, and that they may never die, place them beneath the shelter of Prayer.