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Title: Our Darkened Pathway
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It is with a sad heart that we take up our pen to pursue our weekly task of laying before our readers, the curren news of the day, and the various items of interest that concern us as a community. Deep down within our hearts there is a blank- a void- which follows in the wake of death, and which casts before us, along life's pathway, a shadow, dreary, dark, lonely. During the two years and a half we have been connected with this sheet, the tender voice of a loving companion, and her fond caresses have cheered us along the routine of life's duties, but now, alas! the grave is the receptable of that form which, though fragile and temulous as an aspen leaf, imparted strength and determination to us, which impelled us to fight bravely in the great struggle with evil. She is dead! In the silent city of the dead she sleeps!- "dead," did I say? Ah, I mistake. She hath lain by her tenement of clay, and merged into a higher, a holier, an immortal life. She lives. She will live forever. And were it not for this glorious assurance, how could we endure her loss? How could we wander along life's darkened pathway without the assurance that soon, we too, should live the same glorious life upon which she was entered? And tho' we may not there call her wife, for the marriage relation will not there exist, but we have the assurance that she will clasp our hand, and embrace us in all the ardor of an immortal affection, in a land where parting shall be no more. And this thought sustains us at this hour. It will sustain us through life. It buoys us up, and nerves us to higher duty. To the dispensations of Providence we must submit. It is hard for us to lay our friends in the tomb, but then when the conviction come upon us in all its force, that our loss is their eternal grain, it would seem a selfish sorrow to lament their departure. Imploring the Good Father for a spirit of resignation, and for a greater longing for the good and pure, and strength to make stronger efforts for the entire consecration of our powers to Him, we bow, not in inconsolable grief, but in hopeful assurance of a re-union with those that have gone before.

What though my beauteous bird of light,
Lies mute with plumage dim;
In Heaven I see her glancing bright,
I hear her angel hymn.

G.T. Richardson.

Date: 2/3/1870
Origin: Warren Republican
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Record ID: 00001487
Type: Periodical
Source Archive: Warren County Historical Society
Date Entered: 8/10/2001
Collection: Clippings Scrapbook
Entered By: Amber M Knipe

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