Welch.On the 5th inst., Mary C. Welch, wife of William B. Welch, and daughter of Catharine and George W. Markland, in the 29th year of her age.
Has gone and left us all behind.
Cease to weep, for tears are vain,
Mother dear is out of pain.
Serve thy God with filial fear,
And meet me in the land above,
Where all is peace, and joy, and love.
What could be sweeter than that? No collection of salient facts (without reduction to tabular form) could be more succinctly stated than is done in the first stanza by the surviving relatives, and no more concise and comprehensive programme of farewells, post-mortuary general orders, etc., could be framed in any form than is done in verse by deceased in the last stanza. These things insensibly make us wiser and tenderer, and better. Another extract:
Ball.On the morning of the 15th inst, Mary E., daughter of John and Sarah F. Ball.
That when my change shall come
Angels will hover round my bed,
To waft my spirit home.
The following is apparently the customary form for heads of families:
Burns.On the 20th inst., Michael Burns, aged 40 years.
Here thy loss we deeply feel;
But tis God that has bereft us,
He can all our sorrows heal.
Funeral at 2 oclock sharp.
There is something very simple and pleasant about the following, which, in Philadelphia, seems to be the usual form for consumptives of long standing. (It deplores four distinct cases in the single copy of the Ledger which lies on the Memoranda editorial table):
Bromley.On the 29th inst., of consumption, Philip Bromley, in the 50th year of his age.
Physicians were in vain
Till God at last did hear him mourn,
And eased him of his pain.
We did not think so soon to part;
An anxious care now sinks the thorn
Still deeper in our bleeding heart.
This beautiful creation loses nothing by repetition. On the contrary, the oftener one sees it in the Ledger, the more grand and awe-inspiring it seems.
With one more extract I will close:
Doble.On the 4th inst., Samuel Peveril Worthington Doble, aged 4 days.
His tiny spirits fled;
Our little boy we loved so dear
Lies sleeping with the dead.
A mothers aching heart,
Can only tell the agony
How hard it is to part.
Could anything be more plaintive than that, without requiring further concessions of grammar? Could anything be likely to do more towards reconciling deceased to circumstances, and making him willing to go? Perhaps not. The power of song can hardly be estimated. There is an element about some poetry
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