Can you be
willing so to live?
The following account, written by one who, many years after her
mother's death, visited her grave, forcibly describes the feelings
which the remembrance of the most trifling act of ingratitude will,
under such circumstances, awaken.
"It was thirteen years since my mother's death, when, after a long
absence from my native village, I stood beside the sacred mound,
beneath which I had seen her buried. Since that mournful period, a
great change had come over me. My childish years had passed away, and
with them my youthful character. The world was altered too; and as I
stood at my mother's grave, I could hardly realize, that I was the
same thoughtless, happy creature, whose cheeks she so often kissed in
an excess of tenderness. But the varied events of thirteen years had
not effaced the remembrance of that mother's smile. It seemed as if I
had seen her but yesterday--as the blessed sound of her well-
remembered voice was in my ear. The gay dreams of my infancy and
childhood were brought back so distinctly to my mind, that, had it
not been for one bitter recollection, the tears I shed would have
been gentle and refreshing. The circumstance may seem a trifling one,
but the thought of it now pains my heart, and I relate it, that those
children who have parents to love them may learn to value them as
they ought.
"My mother had been ill a long time, and I became so accustomed to her
pale face and weak voice, that I was not frightened at them, as
children usually are.
Pages:
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30