human
Open the door wide. We did so and he said,
gpt
Let the King of Glory enter in. Very soon after he said,
human
I am going home to Paradise, and then sank into that sleep which on this earth knows no waking. I sat by the window near his bed and watched the rain beat into the grass and saw the peonies and crocuses and daffodils beginning to come up out of the ground and I thought to myself, I shall never see the flowers come up again without thinking of these sad, sad days. He was buried Monday afternoon, May 2, from the Congregational church, and Dr. Daggett preached a sermon from a favorite text of Grandfather's,
gpt
I shall die in my nest. James and John came and as we stood with dear Grandmother and all the others around his open grave and heard Dr. Daggett say in his beautiful sympathetic voice,
human
Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
gpt
Grandmother, don't you know that Grandfather said we were to care for you and you were to care for us and if you die we cannot do as Grandfather said? She opened her eyes and looked at me and said quietly,
human
Dry your eyes, child, I shall not die to-day or to-morrow.
gpt
They are passing away, they are passing away, Not only the young, but the aged and gray. Their places are vacant, no longer we see The armchair in waiting, as it used to be. The hat and the coat are removed from the nail, Where for years they have hung, every day without fail. The shoes and the slippers are needed no more, Nor kept ready waiting, as they were of yore, The desk which he stood at in manhood's fresh prime, Which now shows the marks of the finger of time, The bright well worn keys, which were childhood's delight Unlocking the treasures kept hidden from sight. These now are mementoes of him who has passed, Who stands there no longer, as we saw him last. Other hands turn the keys, as he did, before, Other eyes will his secrets, if any, explore. The step once elastic, but feeble of late, No longer we watch for through doorway or gate, Though often we turn, half expecting to see, The loved one approaching, but ah! 'tis not he. We miss him at all times, at morn when we meet, For the social repast, there is one vacant seat. At noon, and at night, at the hour of prayer, Our hearts fill with sadness, one voice is not there. Yet not without hope his departure we mourn, In faith and in trust, all our sorrows are borne, Borne upward to Him who in kindness and love Sends earthly afflictions to draw us above. Thus hoping and trusting, rejoicing, we'll go, Both upward and onward through weal and through woe 'Till all of life's changes and conflicts are past Beyond the dark river, to meet him at last.