Sorrowful, Yet Always Rejoicing [pp. 217]

WHY I WRITE.-"SORROWFUL,
manifest in the company of his elders, and in the
presence of strangers. Yet he expressed himself
correctly, and his language was chaste and classic.
Of his Christian character I am fain to speak.
It was remarkably consistent; and during an intimate and almost daily intercourse for several years,
I never knew him to exhibit an unchristian disposition, or discover a passion at variance with the
principles of his religion. He was faithful to all
his duties; and, considering this life as only a
trust, he strove to acquit himself well while in it.
Such was the sweetness of his temper, that he
never engaged in idle gossip, nor made unkind
remarks about his fellows. He was not accustomed
to speak harshly of the motives of others, but was
always ready to throw the mantle of charity over
their failings. I never heard him take up a reproach against his neighbor, nor speak one word
to injure another's reputation.
For the last two years of his life he was connected with the enterprise of sustaining a Sabbath
school on Clinton-street, in the western portion of
Cincinnati. In this work he engaged with his
whole heart; and as one of the fruits of his and
his colleagues' labors, there is now a neat little
church erected and a society of many members
formed in a neighborhood where, three winters ago,
but four or five children could be gathered together,
to establish a school.
It had long been Clinton's intention to enter the
ministry; and but for the hesitation of his speech,
he would probably have assumed the sacred stole.
He sometimes exercised his talents as a leader and
exhorter; and his labors were not in vain.
I come now to speak of the closing scenes in
his life. For several days preceding his last sickness he complained of numbness and lethargy;
yet, being ardently devoted to his profession, he
neglected to ask medical aid, and continued at his
work, till he was forced to take to bed. He now
continued to grow worse, till his disease assumed
the typhoid form; and in this state he lingered for
about three weeks, remaining the greater portion of
the time in a torpid or delirious condition, till the
afternoon of October 15, 1851, when, at three
o'clock, he gently breathed his last.
He did not repine that he was dying so young.
"I have anticipated this," said he; "all is safe."
He expressed unwavering confidence in his Savior,
and remarked that God would do what is right.
He uttered no complaint; and though his sufferings
were severe, he bore them all without a murmur.
Thus, leaning on the arm of the Beloved, he met
his fate with Christian fortitude, and smiled in the
embrace of death.
"After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well."
Upon the turf which covers his grave I shall shed
the tear of fond remembrance; but my thoughts
shall not dwell there —I shall look forward with
hope to that brighter clime where the home of the
Christian endures forever, and the fellowship of
friends is unbroken.
VoL. XII.-17
WHY I WRITE.
BY ORtA.
'Tis the bidding of a low, sweet voice,
Whisp'ring from within,
That gives my thoughts to other eyes I can not shut them in.
A feeling sad comes over me,
Tears start unto mine eye,
Yet fall not in my saddest hours,
And still I know not why.
In hours like these the prispned bird,
Nestled within its shrine,
Springs not more eagerly tq light
Than these same thoughts of mine.
They gush in music all unheard
By any other ear;
They give me joy; although I'm sad,
To me each tone is dear.
It may be wrong-I fear it is I would not speak my dream;
But often I have wondered long,
What thoughts like these could mean.
None know my heart, save One, whose eyp
Is ever o'er us all;
And he will mark each unbreathed word,
Who sees a sparrow's fall.
He knows I would fain be his,
Tho' sometimes I have strayed
From his blest fold, and the bright path
He for my feet hath made.
"SORROWFUL, YET ALWAYS REJOICING."
By A. ~RILL.
SADLY, mournfully the bell is tolling;
Quickly, ceaselessly time is rolling;
Man to his long home goeth, goeth,
And his spirit where —" who knoweth?"
Calmly, peacefully the dead are sleeping;
Sadly, mournfully the friends are weeping;
And the desolate homes are dreary,
And the desolate hearts are weary.
Darkly, gloomily the curtain falleth;
Softly, tenderly the lov'd ones calleth;
But the dead heed not their weeping,
For the dead are quietly sleeping.
Sweetly, cheerfully hope is gleaming;
Gently, joyously light is streaming;
Calmly, beautiful the day is breaking,
And the sorrowful hearts awaking.
Faith with eye upturned is gazing;
Hope her expectation raising;
And o'er Death's profound dominions
Life now throws her angel pinions.
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YET ALWAYS REJOICING."