But the desire of riches urged him, with hundreds of our fellow
citizens, to seek the land of gold, and like many of them too, fell a
prey to his ambition. He died on shipboard, never reaching the place
of his destination.
Dr. Somers died about the same time, and was buried in his own quiet
yard, in the little village that had been the theatre of his life.
That young form that had been educated for the express purpose of
dancing on his grave, was tossing beneath the tumultuous waves of the
briny ocean, never to be at rest.
William Lawrence lived, loved and respected and transferred his
earthly love to God, giving him his supreme affections, thus living to
his honor and his glory while on earth, and meeting death with a calm
resignation, sank peacefully down to slumber in the quiet grave.
All the actors in the little drama have sunk beneath the waves of
death, (but three daughters and the son's wife,) and the dust of ages
is gathering upon them; but their influence still lives and speaks to
the generations of men.
The master and the slave are there. The father and the daughter, the
husband and the wife, and the parents and the son are there, each one
"to answer for himself for the deeds done in the body." Surely, "it is
a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God."
Lines, Written on the Year 1852.
Weary and sad I sit alone,
The storm-god whistles shrill and high,
And piles of sombre clouds are thrown
O'er the blue curtains of the sky.
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