Free’d from the mockery of earth, In the Almighty’s glory drest, How mean appears their spot of birth? How beautiful their place of rest? Their voices ring ’mid angel choirs, And love in sweetness tunes their lyres.
Then ask not life, but joy to know That sinless they in heaven shall stand; That death is not a cruel foe To execute a wise command. ’Tis ours to ask, ’tis God’s to give.— We live to die—and die to live.
BY J. MILTON SANDERS, AUTHOR OF “THE MIAMI VALLEY,” ETC.
I have a tale thou hast not dream’d— If sooth—its truth must others rue. Byron.
It was one of those lovely autumnal days of which we all often dream, and so fondly wish to enjoy, when lying upon the bed of sickness; such a day as we love to dwell upon in imagination, when we are closely housed and sitting by a sparkling fire during the long freezing winter nights.
Well, it was such a day as this that my friend Ned K—— and I started through the rich country which lies north of Dayton. The sun was just rising, glorious and unobscured by cloud or mist, his early rays dancing gaily upon the parti-colored foliage, like millions of those little bright elfins which people the glowing imagination of the oriental improvisitore.
Feeling the influence of the early morning air upon our spirits, we pricked forward our steeds; and as the noble animals danced over the earth, our hearts leaped to our lips, and we gave forth their joyousness in the glowing language which the poets numbered before us.
We gazed up into the deep blue vault of heaven above us; we saw the moon sailing along in cloudless majesty, and the stars peeping through their lingering drapery of darkness, and we raised our voices, and in gladness and lightness of heart, we shouted aloud. And the birds—those ceaseless lutes of the summer morning air—warbled a response.
We soon became short of breath; our lungs had expanded too freely, and our blood was too fiery after its slow and even circulation during the lethargy of the late night—our spirits boiled over, and like everything which boils over, they soon sank into a contrasting calmness, and we discovered that we were riding side and side with all of the sedateness of a Quaker preacher when he arrived in sight of the meeting house.