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Hanna, Abigail Stanley

"Withered Leaves from Memory's Garland"

His snowy fingers rested upon her
fluttering pulses; she cast one fond gaze upon the dear brother that
was soon to follow her, bade farewell to her earthly friends, and went
with the angel to the spirit land.
The brother lingered till the remains of his sister were laid in
the grave, then he followed her, to add another to the long row of
headstones that marked the resting place of that stricken family. They
sleep together, side by side, ten in number, the oldest one scarce
twenty-two years old. As we stand by the spot and read the melancholy
tale, we can but exclaim with Ossian, "The flower lifts its green head
to the sun. Why dost thou awake me, O gale," it seems to say, "I am
wet with the dews of heaven." "The time of my fading is near, and the
blast that shall scatter my leaves." "To-morrow shall the traveler
come; he that saw me in my glory shall come; his eye shall search the
field for me but shall not find me."
A youth of great promise next presents; his mother had many years
since fallen a prey to the fatal disease, and although he inherited
from her the fearful malady, "the young disease that must subdue
at length," had not as yet developed itself. Buoyant with hope and
expectation, he was preparing to enter the gospel ministry, having
consecrated himself to God and his service. He had entered the
institution at North Yarmouth, and by his assiduous attention, almost
finished his education. He was expecting soon to launch out upon the
broad ocean of public usefulness, but his heavenly Father bid him
"come up higher," and he passed on into the more expansive ocean of
eternity.


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