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   Hon.  ANDERSON  G.  DANA, M. D.,
LL. D.,  a  distinguished  citizen of Vermont,
died at his residence in Brandon yesterday.*
  Hon. A. G. DANA, M.D.,  LL.D.,  died
at his  residence in Brandon yesterday morn-
ing at 2|  o'clock.   Dr.  Dana  was a  distin-
guished citizen  of Vermont.   He  died full
of years,  and surrounded by the respect and
affection of the community in which  he had
lived.f

      * Boston Daily Journal, August 21, 1861.
      t Nmo York Daily Tribune, August 21, 1861. 
   Died,  on Tuesday  morning, at  half past
two o'clock, Hon. A. G. Dana,  M.D., LL.D.,
aged  seventy years.*


   Dr. Dana was a native  of  Massachusetts,
though  long  a  resident in this  State.   In this
death Vermont has lost one of her most dis-
tinguished citizens, the medical profession one
of its brightest ornaments,  the State  a true
patriot,  the Church an intelligent and  decided
Christian.
   Of marked ability as a physician and sur-
geon,  Dr. Dana had mental and  moral traits
which would  have  made him eminent in other
professions, had he  chosen them.   His  mind,
keen  in its  analysis  and logical  in its char-
          * Brandon Gazette, August 22, 1861. 
5
acter,  fitted him for the bar, while  a thor-
ough  acquaintance  with  our  political  insti-
tutions, joined  to a  profound knowledge  of
national jurisprudence, would have placed him
among the first of our statesmen.
   His medical  brethren  honored  and  loved
him, showing their appreciation of  his  worth
by constituting him   President  of the  State
Medical  Society, which office  he held several
years.
   His fellow-citizens  placed him  in the State
Senate  at  a time when  political  preferment
meant more  than now, — a proof  of his  po-
litical ability and integrity.
   And  Middlebury  College, in whose growth
and  prosperity he ever took  the liveliest in-
terest,— as he  did  in all kindred  institutions
and  educational  enterprises, — recognized  his
scholarship by conferring  upon  him  its high-
est honorary degree.
   The community in which he  lived respect-
ed him as an  earnest, true-hearted man, and
hundreds of families  knew him as  " the  be-
loved physician." 
6
  As a Christian  Dr.  Dana  was clear  and
discriminating, — his views being governed by
principle rather than emotion.
  For the  last few years  he has  lived in
retirement,  because of an   affection  of the
heart which forbade active  employment; but
in the quiet of his family he has been grow-
ing in those  higher graces  which  constitute
the glory and  strength of manliness.
  His last  sickness  was  short and severe;
his  death  characteristic  of  the  man — the
death of a  philosopher and  a Christian.
  We mourn  his  loss and  shall  cherish his
memory. 
OBITUARY.*
   Dr. Dana was descended from an  old  and
highly respectable  Massachusetts family,  and
early in life commenced the  practice of his
profession  in  Boston;  but, preferring a resi-
dence  in  the country, he  took  up his abode
in Vermont, where, among  his medical breth-
ren, he soon received that  high consideration
to which  he was entitled.  His physical  and
mental endurance were almost inexhaustible ;
and  he was untiring in his attentions to the
sick and  suffering  upon whom,  in  his exten-
sive  practice, he was called upon to minister.
As a consulting physician  and surgeon, his
advice was invaluable ; his  accurate memory,
extensive  study, and large experience,  gave
        * New York Times, Sept.  2,1861. — R. 
8
to his  opinion great importance.   This notice
is  written  by one who, after  thirty years  of
intimate acquaintance and friendship, pays this
grateful tribute  to his  memory.
   Dr.  Dana  did not  confine  himself exclu-
sively  to his profession, but found occupation
for his capacious  mind in  literary and scien-
tific pursuits,  as well  as in the  study of po-
litical  economy.   The  history of  the  country
was to him  as  familiar  as  household  words ;
and his acquaintance with  the character and
acts of the public men  of the  day,  and his
thorough knowledge  of the  party  politics and
great issues  which  have  from time   to  time
arisen in the country, was unsurpassed.  Thus,
while eminently fitted,  by his  broad and com-
prehensive information,  for  political  distinc-
tion, he would not abandon his profession for
office ; but, from time to time, as a  senator,
and in other  positions in  his own  State,  he
had occasion  to show the  strength  of his  in-
tellect, and the thoughtful, statesmanlike views
which  characterized his  life.
   His   reading  was  extensive   and  varied, 
9
and his wonderful memory enabled  him at all
times to use  the  information  thus  acquired ;
and the free  and  constant use of facts, anec-
dotes, and illustrations, gave  to  his speeches
and  conversation a  charm and interest which
never failed  to attract and  entertain those
who listened  to him.
   The purity of Dr.  Dana's  life  and char-
acter, the high principle which actuated him,
the dignity and courtesy  of his  bearing, and
the kindly consideration he showed toward  all,
has left his name unsullied  by a  single stain;
and he will be remembered, by those who knew
him,  as a noble type of a Christian  gentleman. 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH
                    OF

     DR.  ANDERSON  G. DANA.

Bead before the Vermont Historical Society,
  at its Special Meeting in Burlington, January
  22, 1862, by Rev. Bernice D. Ames, A. M.
   Hon.  Anderson  Green  Dana, M. D.,
LL. D., was born  September 17th,  1791, at
the homestead called Oak Hill, in  that  part
of Cambridge which now constitutes  the town
of Newton,  Massachusetts.  His father  was
Rev. Nathan  Dana, a Baptist clergyman of
such liberal  views, that, on one occasion, he
received the holy communion with  a Method-
ist Church ;  and when he was called to ac-
count  for the irregularity, he would  only con-
fess that " if  he had  grieved his  brethren,
he was sorry for it."
  Dr. Dana  had  five  brothers and one  sis- 
11
ter who  lived to mature years.  The  latter
married  Dr. K.  Winslow, of Pittsford ;  the
former became well-known  business  men, —
three of  whom resided  in Boston, Mass., one
in Troy,  N. Y., and one in Buenos Ayres,
S. A., where he  was also Vice-Consul of the
United States.
   Dr.  Dana  had in his  possession  a  paper
containing the lineal  history  of his family
down to  a comparatively recent  period, — by
which  it  appears that those bearing the name
in  this  country have  a  common  ancestor,
Richard  Dana, who, — according  to tradi-
tion, — in  early  life went  from France   to
England   to  avoid  the  persecution  to which
the  Protestants  were  exposed.   In  1640,
being  then about  thirty years  of  age,  he
came to  this country,  settled in Cambridge,
Mass., where  he was married and had three
sons, who lived  in  that town, and died leav-
ing small  families.   These, with  few excep-
tions,  and  many  of  their   descendants for
several generations, settled  in Massachusetts, 
12
 and they were represented  among  the  grad-
 uates of Harvard College as early as 1718.
 In  process  of time  the  family has  become
 quite numerous, especially in the New Eng-
 land States, and it has furnished many names
 that have  been  distinguished in the  profes-
 sions and  in  public  and  private  life.   The
 subject  of  this sketch was of the sixth  gen-
 eration  in  descent from  Richard  Dana the
 settler.

  When eighteen  years of age, young Dana
 commenced  the study  of medicine.   While
 a medical student, his promising talents and
his  familiarity with national  affairs  attracted
much attention; and in 1812, when  the Dem-
ocrats  and Federalists of Brandon  united in
celebrating  the  anniversary  of  our national
independence,  Dr.  Dana,  then twenty years
of age,  was the orator of the  day.
  Having passed  through  the usual prelimi-
nary course of study, in October,  1812, he
entered  upon the  annual course of lectures at 
13
the Philadelphia Medical College, which then
numbered  among its professors Dr. Benjamin
Rush, Dr. Philip Syng Physic, Dr.  Barton,
and  others of  almost  equal  celebrity.   He
left Philadelphia and visited the hospitals in
Boston,  to acquire a  practical knowledge of
surgery,  and  commenced   practice  in   the
spring of 1813, while the fearful epidemic of
that  year  was  raging.  The  skill and judg-
ment which he exhibited in the management
of this  disease, and the accuracy with which
he  predicted  its  approach, from  the early
symptoms in any case,  gained the confidence
of the people  to a remarkable  degree.  In a
memorandum  alluding to this well-known  dis-
ease,  he says : " An epidemic disease prevailed
this season in New England and some of  the
adjacent States, more extensive and fatal than
has ever before been known in this  region.
Its  general character was that of the Pneu-
monia Typhoides of a highly malignant form,
and persons of adult  age were principally its
subjects.  In  some  towns,  as  many as fifty 
14
fell victims to this  terrible  scourge.  Most of
the  fatal cases terminated  within  the  first
three days,  and many  were  carried  off  in
twenty-four hours after  being  attacked, and
before the disease had put on  any other dis-
tinctive  symptoms  than those  of  the  dying
state."
   When  the  Vermont Medical Society was
incorporated  on the 6th of November, 1813,
Dr. Dana was one of those named  in the act
of  incorporation.   Of  this  Society he  was
elected  president,  at the  annual meeting  in
1843, and reelected in  1844, on which  occa-
sion he delivered an address.
   He was several  times  appointed delegate
of this Society to the  American Medical As-
sociation, of which body he was  made a  per-
manent member, at its annual meeting  in
Boston, in  1849.   He  was  repeatedly ap-
pointed  a Counsellor of Rutland County and
delegate  to  Castleton  Medical  College ; and
on  the organization  of a hospital department
of that college, was  chosen its  first president. 
15
In  1830 he received the honorary degree of
M.  D. from Middlebury  College.
  The first public dissection in Vermont was
performed  by Dr. Dana, in the presence of
a large  number of physicians.  Of this  he
made  the  following  memorandum : — "In
April, 1814, I  was  employed by Dr. Porter
of Rutland to dissect  the body of James An-
thony, who had  been sentenced to be hung
for  the murder  of Joseph Green, a merchant
of that town.   Dr. Porter  had, for the bene-
fit of the profession, procured of the  prisoner
a bill of sale  of his  body.  Anthony hung
himself in prison on the morning he was to
have  been executed.   I  had for an assistant
a young man named Cazier, who had  attend-
ed  a  course of medical lectures  in Fairfield,
N. Y.  We spent two weeks  on the  subject,
as we wished to make the  most  of it, having
but one.   About forty  different  physicians
and students attended during the dissection.
The  tickets of admission, which were  three
dollars each, were ♦only intended  to meet  the
incidental expenses paid  by Dr.  Porter." 
16
   Dr. Dana was induced to leave Boston  in
 1823, and  settle in Pittsford,  where he  re-
 sided until  1843, when he removed to Bran-
 don,  to  spend the evening  of his days.
   On the  11th of August,  1816, Dr. Dana
 married  Miss Eliza  A. Fuller, daughter  of
 Roger Fuller, Esq., of  Brandon,  a  descen-
 dant  of one of  the  Pilgrims of the  " May-
 flower."   Mrs.  Dana's  literary productions
 have  associated  her name  with the poetical
 writers of her sex.  It is to be  hoped that
 a  volume of  her  poems  will  at  no  distant
 day be added  to  the permanent literature  of
 Vermont.
   She, together  with a family  of seven chil-
 dren,* survives the husband and father, whose

  * The names and residences of the surviving chil-
dren are as follows, viz.: William A. and Henry F.
Dana,  San  Francisco ;  Anderson  C.  and  Charles
Dana,  New York;  George  Dana,  San Francisco-
Eliza  A.,  wife of Rev. Francis B. Wheeler, Pough-
keepsie; and  Emma, wife of John Howe, Jr., Bran-
don.   The three oldest in the  order stated have been 
17
last words, uttered a  few moments before his
death, were  a tribute  of affection worthy of
the mutual and endearing relations  subsisting
between them.
   In   the extensive  religious  awakening  of
1817,  Dr.   Dana  embraced  the life-giving
truths of the gospel, and on May 4th of that
year, united  with the  Congregational Church
in Brandon.
   Dr.  Dana  brought  to  the profession  of
which  he was a  member,  a  mind  of rare
abilities,  whose quick perceptions,  yet  calm
and  careful   judgments, were  recognized  in
the most trying  emergencies.  His  presence
at the  bedside of the  sick  gave that kind of
satisfaction  which perfect confidence inspires,
— often  kindling hopes which his  practised
eye  could not encourage,  but meeting  the
just expectations  of  others with  all  the aid
which human  skill and sympathy could afford.
for many  years associated as commission  merchants
and bankers in San Francisco.  Charles Dana  estab-
lished a banking-house in Honolulu, S: I.  George
Dana graduated at Middlebury College in 1848.
                  2 
18
In  the  diagnosis of  a case  which from its
nature admitted of  precise determination, his
judgment, though rapidly  formed, was  almost
unerring.  His  keenness  of  discrimination in
this  process was, perhaps, his  crowning ex-
cellence  as  a  physician.  Probably he  en-
countered the  personal trials  and vicissitudes
of fife with  more fortitude  than is generally
manifested;  but in  the emergencies incident
to his  profession,  he  retained  a  calm  self-
possession which no excitement  or alarm on
the part of others could disturb.
   This steadiness of  mind, together with an
accurate knowledge of anatomy, made him  a
skilful operator  in  surgery, — in  which de-
partment he had few  superiors,  except  among
the  specialists  or  those  enjoying  the oppor-
tunities of the hospital.  Yet he was   a  man
of keen  sensibilities,  of  warm  sympathies,
who, after thirty years of practice, remarked,
that he had never witnessed  suffering with
indifference;  that   he  had  never  used  the
knife except under  the pressure of necessity,
and  with a strong effort of the will over the
inclinations. 
19
  In his  intercourse with  his  medical breth-
ren, whom  he  often  met  in  consultation,  he
observed  the  usual  courtesies with an instinc-
tive delicacy, as free from conventional  re-
straint as it was from  all appearance of  os-
tentation.   There  was  an  intelligence  and
sobriety in his proceedings befitting the grav-
est  occasions, accompanied by a  naturalness
and evident good-will which  served to disarm
all  rivalry, and win the  friendship, as well as
confidence,  of his associates.
  He  always enjoyed  the  best  portion of the
practice  in  his vicinity, which  sometimes  ex-
tended into various towns  in  three  adjoining
counties; but he never neglected the poor,
or  observed  the slightest  difference  in  his
treatment of  one class over another; visiting
the  rich  and  poor alike,  without  sufficient
thought  of pecuniary results  to  protect  his
own interests.   Even  in  collecting  his  solv-
ent  accounts,  he  manifested   a reluctance
which  was  only overcome  by a  life-long  de-
sire not  to  owe  others.   He  was  prompt in
meeting   his  pecuniary obligations, and prob- 
20
ably never  allowed a debt that had matured
to remain unpaid.
  As the practical  duties of a  physician  are
limited  to  a narrow locality,  requiring  his
constant presence,  he is,  from  the  nature of
such employments, obliged to seclude himself
from official stations  and the wider fields of
influence  enjoyed  by those  in public  life.
Dr.  Dana  was  no  exception  to this  rule;
and  only in three  instances — once  for a
short visit  to  Europe,  and  twice   to  attend
the sessions of  the  legislature—was  he  ab-
sent for any considerable time  from the  ap-
propriate  field  of his  labors.
  But he was a man of  varied acquirements
in other  departments than  those   pertaining
to his  profession.   And  his  influence upon
the legislation  and politics of the State,  and
upon all public  measures  affecting the welfare
of the people,  was  wisely exerted   and wide-
ly felt.
  From early life he had devoted his  leisure
time to reading, — generally rising  in  season
to have one or two  hours with books  before 
21
breakfast, and often  spending an hour in  the
same way after  retiring at night.   These and
other opportunities were  irregular  and often
interrupted,  but they were seldom neglected.
   As  a recognition of his scholarship, he re-
ceived from  Middlebury College, in 1860, the
honorary  degree of Doctor of  Laws.
   He  was  not  a  very  general or  miscella-
neous  reader, — being  more  inclined  to  the
elementary  studies, seeking for  principles  to
determine the issues arising from them; — as
he  sought for the  chemical analysis of medic-
inal substances, to  ascertain their nature and
properties;  and as he studied  the  anatomy
of  the  human body, in  order  to  understand
its  functions.   He  devoted but little time to
the periodical literature of the day, to poetry,
criticism, or works  of fiction, or to new theo-
ries and  doctrines intended to  supplant  the
old and established.  He  was most interested
in studying the  principles  of  law  and  politi-
cal economy; the history  and  character  of
our government, its relative powers, its poli-
cy, laws,  and treaties, and the  political par- 
22
 ties and public men  of the  country.   The
 character  of his reading was  determined by
 natural tastes, rather than ambitious motives.
 That which  seemed  a hard  study to others,
 afforded him as much satisfaction as the solv-
 ing  of a difficult problem is supposed  to  con-
 vey to  the  mathematician.   At  the  same
 time, there  was none of that  eagerness  for
 books exhibited by many, which renders them
 restless or uncomfortable when otherwise em-
 ployed.   He  was  never  in  a  hurry  about
 anything,  either  in   acquiring  or  imparting
 knowledge  ; but  seemed  in a natural way to
 improve  opportunities  for both; having  also
 the  rare merit  of  being  a  good  talker  and
 an  equally good listener.   He enjoyed the
 society  of  others, — adapted  himself  to their
 various   circumstances  or  peculiarities,  and
 seldom failed to  interest  those  with whom he
 conversed.
  Believing in the inherent  rights  and polit-
ical  equality of men,  he  gave  a life-long ex-
 ample  of  the  sincerity  of  his opinions,  by
scrupulously  regarding those  rights,  and  by 
23
manifesting towards  his fellow  men  all due
respect and sympathy.
   Originally educated in  the Federal school
of politics, he  acted  with the Whig party,
and  subsequently, in  a  more restricted sense,
with  the  Republicans;  considering that these
parties had inherited, in  succession, the gen-
eral spirit and policy of  the "fathers,"  and
especially that  they  were more  conservative
than  their political  opponents.
   He  was, by constitutional predilections, a
conservative.   Strongly attached to the  estab-
lished  order  of things, he  regarded innova-
tions with  a  jealous eye, and  uniformly dis-
countenanced  violent  changes  and measures.
Hence, he was  opposed  to  the Abolitionists,
because he thought  their  doctrines tended  to
the  subversion of the Constitution.   He, how-
ever,  claimed, notwithstanding his  conserva-
tism,  to  have dehvered the first  anti-slavery
address ever  given in Brandon.
   He was a  politician  in the  proper  sense
and of the most  unselfish kind;  actuated by
no personal interests,  and  adopting  opinions 
24
whose wisdom and consistency were sustained
even amid  adverse popular  currents, with a
steadiness and devotion worthy of an  enlight-
ened patriotism.
  Probably  he  was  never  an  applicant  for
office,  and  only  twice a  candidate  for  the
suffrages of his  fellow-citizens — in 1840 and
1841 — when he  was elected to  the  State
Senate.   On  entering that  body,  his  famil-
iarity with legislative proceedings enabled him
to take a leading part  in  the business and
debates of  the  two  sessions  which  he  at-
tended.
  He  often presided over  public  meetings;
and, as a speaker, could secure the attention
of an audience  upon  any subject he chose to
discuss.   Entering directly  upon  its  merits,
he would  proceed with logical  precision,  apt
illustration,  or  amusing  anecdote,  and, when
occasion required, by  a  reference  to  author-
ities and an  appeal  to  facts, which  no  one
would  venture  to dispute  who  knew  the ac-
curacy  of his memory.
  This  facility in speaking  did  not  tend to 
25
remove  a  natural  distaste for writing; and
although a good correspondent, and for many
years an occasional contributor  to the  press,
he  wrote  but  few addresses.  The  last  of
these was written for  the Agricultural Fair
held in Brandon some five years ago.   Owing
to his  illness  at  the time, it  was read to the
Society  by   Judge   June,   and  afterwards
printed.
   Many years ago, when  a  resident of Pitts-
ford, he,  in  connection with Rev.  Dr. Child
and the late  Thomas  H.  Palmer, Esq., dehv-
ered a course  of lectures  in that town  on
Chemistry,  accompanied  with  experiments.
These   were  probably  never  written.    At
other times, he  delivered addresses on vari-
ous  subjects, — such as politics, physical edu-
cation,  temperance, and the  like.
   The  writer of this  sketch  has  had access
to a bound volume of newspapers  containing
contributions  by Dr.   Dana, bearing  date
from 1823 to  a  recent  period.  They  em-
brace discussions of  a  great  variety of sub-
jects.   There  are  articles  in support  of 
26
national  Republican  and  Whig  principles ;
articles  on rendering Otter Creek navigable;
on  connecting  that river with  Lake  Cham-
plain  by a canal;  against bridging the Hud-
son  at  Albany;  and  in favor  of  Vermont
railroads ; — showing his  interest in the cause
of internal improvements.
  There are  also religious articles; and others
evincing his  interest in  the  cause of educa-
tion,  of temperance, of agriculture ;  in behalf
of the Cherokees  and other oppressed Indian
tribes ;  and treating  of quacks and  quackery
in the profession.
  In person he   was  tall  and  well-propor-
tioned ;   and such was  the  strength of  his
constitution,  that  " his  physical  and mental
endurance were almost  inexhaustible."    He
was generally   buoyant  in spirit, and digni-
fied,  though  cordial, in manner.
   In 1853 Dr. Dana was  seized with an  or-
ganic affection  of  the  heart, which  suddenly
prostrated him to apparent  death.   He  had
been spending  a few hours in Castleton, and,
about to return,  was walking rather hastily 
27
at the time, in  company with Dr. Goldsmith,
to take  the  cars.   The  immediate  use • of
remedies restored him  to  consciousness ; and
although his  death was announced by tele-
graph, he  was  able  to reach  home  the fol-
lowing day.
   This  attack was followed  by several others;
and  he was obliged  to relinquish  all  active
practice  to his  associate, Dr. Olin  G. Dyer;
to adopt  an  abstemious diet, avoid physical
exercise,  except that  of riding in pleasant
weather; and to  suppress  all  mental  excite-
ments and emotions  tending to increase the
action of the heart.
   He was, however,  for some years, President
of the  Rutland and Addison  County  Insur-
rance Company; and he afterwards collected
a large  amount of material, and  had  nearly
written a  history  of  Brandon,  embracing all
the  original grants and grantees,  the  organ-
ization of  churches and schools, and  notices
of more than one  hundred  of the  pioneers
who  settled  there prior  to  the year  1800.
In several departments, this history is more 
28
elaborate  and  complete than  the history of
any other town in Vermont which I have yet
seen.   So valuable a contribution to the early
local history of the State  should not remain
exposed  to  the perils  which  attend  a single
manuscript, but should be  published  by the
town  of Brandon, or  the friends of the de-
ceased author.  It would  be  prized  by mul-
titudes, both for its intrinsic  interest  and as
a worthy  memorial of  a useful  and  honored
life.
  During the period  of  comparative  retire-
ment  above referred  to, his mind was  unim-
paired and  cheerful, though perfectly  aware
of his  critical  condition.   He  had long been
a  consistent member   of  the  Congregational
Church; and  though for the last  eight years
almost  entirely   prevented  from attending
meetings  of any kind,  his religious character
grew  brighter, and  his experience more ab-
sorbing.
  Always disposed to  bear his  own  troubles
quietly, he  now appeared patient in  suffering,
peculiarly  affectionate  in  manner,  and en- 
29
couraging  to  others,  as their  solicitude  for
him  increased.
  Probably the last few years were really the
happiest of his mature life.  He was  disposed
to overlook the failures, and magnify the  kind-
nesses  of  others;  and  as he  got into  such
harmony with  all the world as would tend to
increase its attractions,  he seemed the  more
prepared and  willing  to  leave  it.
  He  met  his death on  the  20th of August,
1861, after an illness of three days, perfect-
ly conscious of every stage  of its approach,
yet  free from  alarm, — with the simplicity of
a child, and the  assured hope of the Chris-
tian, " as  one  who wraps the drapery  of his
couch around  him, and lies down to pleasant
dreams."
  A large concourse of people attended his
funeral  obsequies,  on which  occasion   Rev.
Dr.  Child,  of Castleton,  officiated,  assisted by
Rev.  Dr.  Thomas,  of  Brandon.   As   Dr.
Child's  able   and  impressive  discourse  will
probably be published, I forbear making any
extracts. 
30
  Highly appreciative  notices of Dr.  Dana
appeared in  the  "New York Tribune," the
" New York Times," the " Brandon Gazette,"
and other papers. 
FUNERAL  SERMON,
   PREACHED BY REV. WILLARD CHILD, D. D.


  " In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not
so, I would have told you.  I go to prepare a place  for you;
I will come again, and receive you unto myself, that where
I am there ye may be also."
  There is  an infinite  tenderness, appealing
to the very  depths  of the  Christian soul,  in
the discourse  of the Saviour, after the last
supper, commencing  at  this fourteenth  chap-
ter of John, and ending  with the prayer  of
the seventeenth.  The hour of separation  in
visible  presence from His disciples was just
at hand.   This was  the  last  time when on
earth they should  sit familiarly, and converse
with  unmterrupted  freedom  together.   Most
of us have  passed  through times which will
help  us in a measure to  enter into the feel- 
32
ings of that company, — times  when thought
is  quickened  to  unwonted energy,  and  the
deepest and  strongest feelings  of  the heart
are pressed to their  fullest utterance.  But
there was  something  grandly  unique  in this
occasion.   Never had earth seen before, and
never will  it  see  again, such a  company at
such  a crisis,  as  in  that " upper room " in
Jerusalem.
   To the  disciples, understanding  only that
their Lord was about to be removed, and not
apprehending  the  reasons nor the results, it
was  an hour of gloomy foreboding.  To Jesus,
who understood all  their  feelings, who  felt
the  deepest  compassion  for  their  sorrow, it
was  an hour  of the freest  expression of  all
that could enlighten  and  cheer them,  and
give them  courage  and  strength  for  their
future work.   To  accomplish this, He begins
His  discourse  by  soliciting  that perfect con-
fidence in Himself,  without which His words
would  be powerless to calm and assure them.
" Let  not your hearts  be troubled ;  ye be-
lieve in  God, believe  also  in Me."   Imme- 
33
diately  following  this  affectionate appeal  is
the text, assuring  them that though He goes
from them, it is by no  means to forget them,
but still to  be as tenderly mindful of  them
and  as  earnestly provident of  their  welfare
as before ; and with  the  desire  and purpose,
certainly  to be  accomplished,   of at length
returning and taking them to His own  heav-
enly home,  which  would  be  prepared  for
their welcome.
   And  with what  admirable skill and  tender-
ness does He commence His address!   What
delightful associations  does the  phrase,  " a
father's  house"   suggest  to   almost   every
mind !   The sweetest affections  and the  dear-
est joys and hopes of life cluster around that
familiar abode.  Together with  the venerated
father's form, there  rise up, as  we pronounce
the charmed words,  the  images  of  those
whom we have  loved  longest  and best, and
to whom we have been most indebted.   There
fife began, and there preeminently our friends
and kindred dwell.   When Jesus said,  " My
Father's house,"  they  would not forget how
                   3 
34
He had  associated them with Himself as their
loving elder brother,   saying,  " My  Father
and your Father; my  God  and your  God."
He quiets every apprehension  as  to  their wel-
come  reception and  delightful accommodation,
by the simple declaration of the ample room
for  all  His  disciples,  however  numerous, in
the "  many mansions " of His Father's  house.
There may be also an  intimation  to encourage
their  Christian  fidelity  and earnestness,  that
in these  "  many  mansions"  there  was  an
adaptation for the distinctive  reward of their
varied attainments in devotion to Him.   But
the assurances  that  He was  going  away  for
the purpose  of  preparing a place for  them,
and that having done  so,  He  would  come
again  to  take them home to abide with Him
forever,  must have been to them, and must
ever be   to all true disciples, full of the most
delightful promise.   That He who made Him-
self poor, that through His  poverty we  might
become  rich ; that lie  who gave Himself to a
cruel  and ignominious death,  that He  might
give unto us eternal life, having  thus  accom- 
35
plished our redemption, should return  again
to His  Father's  house  to  prepare  for  our
coming thither, and  this with  such expressions
of affectionate solicitude as  if His own  joy
could not be  complete  till He had welcomed
all  His followers  to a  home which  he  had
gloriously fitted up for their reception.  No
soul  that  loves Him, and  knows its  infinite
indebtedness  to Him, can fail  to be greatly
moved by  such unparalleled  kindness.
  Let us ponder  on the  meaning  of His  gra-
cious words, "I  go to  prepare  a place for
you."  Doubtless  there is meaning far beyond
all our  present power  of conception,  and yet
we  may  lay hold of some part of their high
significance, to fill us now with gratitude  and
blessed  hope, and urge us to prepare to meet
Him at His coming.
  And first,  His  going away in  the manner
of it, was  a great essential  necessity  in  pre-
paring an  heavenly place for us.  The  cor-
ner-stone of the mansion of our salvation must
be laid  in the  cement of His blood.   Bond-
slaves of  sin, and  doomed   to eternal perdi- 
36
 tion by the curse of God's violated law, only
 as  He in our stead took  upon Himself that
 curse by  the  cross and  bore  our sins in His
 own body on  the tree, could  Heaven  ever
 know us and welcome us  among its holy  hosts.
 The whole of our redemption hung upon what
 —- in that hour, in that  anxious group, catch-
 ing  in breathless attention His  every  word,
 concealing His  own approaching agony — He
 gently calls His " going away."   All that He
 intended,  they  thought not then, but in after
 hours,  when  they could  more calmly ponder
 upon them, these words should be  called up
 and their  dread meaning  appreciated with a
love and gratitude which should  give to that
sacrifice the control of their life, and prepare
for them  an  anthem which the  arches  of
heaven shall eternally echo, " Unto Him that
loved us  and washed  us  from  our sins in His
own blood, and hath made us kings and priests
unto God and His Father, to Him be  glory
and  dominion forever and  ever.  Amen! "
   Secondly, the  preparation  of  a  place for
us  must  necessarily  involve  the   assembling 
37
there  of  those  we love.  Holy and  satisfied
love is indispensable  to the  perfected  well-
being  of a soul.  The objects of our  devotion
and kindness must be  around  us  in blessed
communion  and perfect  joy, to realize all  for
which  our hearts  yearn.  And of  all objects
of love, what to the Christian soul would  be
transcendently and infinitely above  all others ?
What  but his great Redeemer, "who, unseen,
he  has loved, and  in whom,  though now  he
sees him not, yet  believing, he rejoices with
joy unspeakable and full of glory."  The God-
man,  who,  while  without  presumption   He
seats Himself upon His eternal throne, can
say  to man  as  a  brother,—
    " Oh heart I made — a heart beats  here!
     Face my hand fashioned, see it in myself."
   Surely  of Him, and  to Him, every  Chris-
tian heart  will say without hesitation,—
     " Where Thou art is home to me;
       And home without Thee cannot be !"
   To go, then, Himself  to His Father's house,
which  He would have the  final home of His 
38
people,  and  to  be ready to welcome  them
there to His presence  and joy,  was a  great
and  indispensable  part of the preparation He
would make.  With what  earnest  tenderness
does He look to this, and pour out His  heart
for  this  in  His  wonderful prayer:  " Father,
I will that they also  whom Thou hast  given
Me,  be  with Me where I am, that they may
see  My glory, — the  glory which I had with
Thee before  the  world was."   There  were
developments  of his  mediatorial  work  which
could not   be made  without  His  "  going
away;" and it  should  not fail  to  command
our gratitude and  love  to see how His  inter-
est  in those  developments  connects itself  in-
separably with His dear  people,  as if His
own glory  and  joy  could  not  be complete
without  their participation.  But  not alone by
His  own glorious and lovely presence will He
prepare the place, but  by the presence also
of all whom He  loves.  And the presence  of
all His  loved ones will be the joy of  each.
For  each of His disciples  He  is preparing a
heavenly home, by  all that He is doing to bring 
39
thither His redeemed ones from  every nation
and kindred and people and  tongue under the
whole  heaven.  What  He  is doing  for  the
accomplishment of this is the great work of
His  mediatorial reign, in which He is made
Head  over  all things  unto His  church.   For
this  is exalted a  Prince and a  Saviour, to
give repentance and remission of sins.  Every
soul that He  delivers from   the  slavery  and
corruption of sin, and translates into the  glo-
rious  liberty of the  sons  of God, will  add
new lustre  to  the Mediator's crown, and  new
fervor of joy  and praise to each  one of all
the  ransomed  spirits.   Every saved  soul, on
its translation  to its everlasting  home, will be,
as it  were, a  new monumental pillar there
set  up  to  the Redeemer's  honor, inscribed
with all  the story  of the marvellous  wisdom
and grace which  have made it meet for its
honorable place.   It  will not be  merely the
presence there of  the  dear  ones whom we
loved  on earth, nor that we should there see
the  prophets and the apostles  and the noble
 army  of the martyrs.   Our  study  of  the his- 
40
tory of the  Redeemer's  triumphs may begin
its vast cycle with those wThom earth's experi-
ences made us in some small part acquainted.
Some  of  those who were bound  to  us  by
dear ties  on  earth, and  who  left us  mourn-
ing,  may  be  the  first  to  welcome us  there,
and  to  set us out, and help us onward in the
heavenly life.  We know not  how this may
be.  Although recognition is certainly to be
expected,  and an interest  may  be  brought
from  a former  familiarity, yet we must not
believe  that  we shall carry into the presence
of our  Lord  anything of that  family parti-
ality  and  exclusive  fondness which,  in our
imperfect  earthly state, may have wrought for
us something of  good, though therewith also
much of evil.  Holy love will then be purged
from all selfishness, and  we  shall desire for
ourselves, and render  unto others only that
which perfect devotion to  Christ commands.

      " From Greenland's icy mountains,
         From India's coral strands,
        Where Afric's sunny fountains
         Roll down their golden sands;
        From many an ancient river,
         From many a palmy plain," 
41
they will  gather  there, all  glowing with  love
to their great Redeemer ; His  spirit and life
informing   them;  all  dear  to  Him and  all
dear  to  each  other, because  they see  each
other with eyes  and hearts which He  has
given, and hold dear all that He loves.   And
it will need  the  reward  of all that He has
done for each of that vast multitude in bring-
ing them from their deep ruin into glory, to
complete  the story  of  the  triumphs  of the
Redeemer's  wisdom,  power, and  love.   All
who are received  there  will  enter into His
joy;  and  His joy will be  accomplished  re-
demption  for all His people.
   Think,   then,  what  personal  interest   you
have, Christian  disciple, in every accession to
the  kingdom of  your Lord.   Every conver-
sion in  every nation of this wide  world is a
part of the  preparation which  Christ is  mak-
ing  of  a  place  for you.   And each of His
dear  ones whom  He  takes home  is another
addition to " the spirits of the  just made per-
fect," who are to welcome  and gladden your
coming thither.   What interest especially does 
42
 this throw  around  your personal  efforts  for
 the salvation of others !   How precious to you
 will be  the souls which you have  been  in-
 strumental in bringing  to Jesus !   When  for
 Christ's  sake you love  this work, and  freely
 give to  it time,  talents,  property,  and  life,
 you will find, as  surely as  your  Redeemer
 liveth, that you  have made to yourself friends
 who,   when  you  fail,  will receive  you  into
 everlasting habitations.  Oh ! were men wise
 to understand  this, they would think less of
 fitting  up and  garnishing the earthly abodes
 from which  they  must soon be  borne  away,
 and more of enriching  and  glorifying   their
 eternal home.   In  this their Lord will ac-
 knowledge them  as workers  together  with
 Him.   He  declares  that they who are wise
 shall shine as the brightness of the firmament,
 and they that turn many to righteousness, as
the stars forever and  forever.
   Let  us pass  now  to  the last clause of the
text.   "  And if I go and prepare a  place for
you, I  will come again and  take  you to my-
 self, that where I am  there ye  may be also." 
43
How entirely to the  believer does this change
the whole aspect  of death!  The dissolution
of " our  earthly  house of  this  tabernacle"
may be by methods  painful and  sad.  It may
be rent  by sudden  and  rude violence, or  it
may be  worn  and wasted  by the slow proc-
ess of decay.   But the eye of Christian faith
sees in  the process, however conducted, the
hand  of  a  pitying, loving  Redeemer.   How
vast  the difference between  viewing  these
pains  of dissolution  as  produced by a  sym-
pathizing friend  who  has  borne them  him-
self, —
       " And in His measure feels afresh
         What every member bears,"
or as  conducted by a blind  and senseless fate,
 or by  some malignant and ruthless enemy that
 gloats over  every  inflicted  pang.  And then
 what  a  relief does  faith bring to all the pain-
 fulness of the  process from  the end to which
 it is tending.  We can rejoice in the  probe
 and the  knife  of the  tender, skilful  surgeon,
 when  health  is to  be  the  issue.  And while
 we can feel that  our dear Redeemer is  "  tak- 
44
ing us to Himself," we  can trust  to His gen-
tle hand  every fibre and nerve of the dissolv-
ing body, even to the  loosing of the  silver
cord, and the  breaking  of the golden  bowl.
The observant mind  will  often be filled with
sacred awe and gratitude, to notice in  the
chamber of the dying  Christian, that,  while
to the eye of  sense are revealed but the mis-
erable sights of ghastly death, yet nothing of
all  this gloom  is seen by the departing;  but
instead thereof, the presence  of  Him who is
the  resurrection  and  the life, and  opening
visions of the  glory to be revealed.  At such
a time, and to such  a  heaven-taught  spirit,
there  is  no looking to  the  dark  horrors of
the  grave, but joy in a present Saviour,  and
a  blessed assurance of going  home with Him.
No  shrinking  horror at  sinking  into  the un-
consciousness   of  ages,  or falling  out of the
arms of Jesus  for a long dark night, "to he
in cold obstruction and  to rot," but a depart-
ure from all  the   sins  and  sorrows of  earth,
to  be  with Christ, — a  leaving  of the  dis-
solved earthly  tabernacle, to  enter the  house 
45
not made with  hands, eternal  in the heavens,
— a being this  day with the Lord in Paradise.
  Let us never, then,  think  that  the claim
of our Redeemer  for our grateful  love  had
filled its measure, when  He  bowed  His head
to die upon  the cross.   For each of His re-
deemed  ones, He  is now working with all His
wisdom,  power, and love, in making them meet
for His Father's house, in adding new beauty
and joy  to its welcoming aspect, and one after
another  translating  them  thither.    Seeing,
then, we believe  such  things, and  look for
such things, what manner of persons ought
we to be in all holy conversation  and godli-
ness ?  How unworthy for them to mourn as
if they had  no hope, whose  pious friend  their
Redeemer has taken to Himself, and  who is
expecting His  coming to consummate an  eter-
nal  reunion  in His Father's  house.
   The subject on which  we have been medi-
tating derives to us  a deeper interest,  from
the providence of God which has  assembled
us to-day.   This  is not the time nor the place
for  a  eulogy of  the venerable and beloved 
46
man whose funeral solemnities we  are called
to attend.  But respect for the memory  of a
life of distinguished usefulness and true worth,
and  the natural grief  of loving friends,  may
be indulged  in  their  simple utterance.  Dr.
Dana  has occupied  a  somewhat wide  sphere
of influence and usefulness in  his earthly life.
And  in all  the  places  which  he has been
called  to  fill, intelligence  and  integrity have
waited  upon him  and  guided  his  steps, and
esteem  and honor have  rewarded  him.  He
has ever been distinguished for  a true patriot-
ism,  a  generous and well-informed love of his
country, and  a  liberal  regard for  all institu-
tions and influences tending  to the  progress
and  highest  well-being  of society.   In the
legislature of this State  he has occasionally
held an honored place ; and in  those political
councils for which the  times passing over us
have  called,  his   accurate  intelligence  and
sound judgment  have often been  influential.
In his peculiar  profession,  he  has  ever held,
through a  long  life and  in  a  wide sphere, a
distinguished  position.  And I  know that  I 
47
shall speak the  sentiments  of  many families
in the  large field of his professional practice,
who hailed his  presence in the day of sick-
ness as inspiring  all  the  confidence  mere
human  skill can  give, when I apply  to  him
the description which Paul  gave to his com-
panion  and friend Luke,  and  say " The  be-
loved Physician."   Of  his more private and
personal relations, if propriety allowed, there
is no  necessity  that I  should here  largely
speak.   The affectionate husband, the  tender
and wise  father,  and the faithful friend,  has
his witnesses  around  his  coffin; and  we will
lay down  the  lifeless body in which  he  has
walked before  us in the  last  resting  place,
with only   those  silent  tokens  of  sympathy
with each  other's memories and griefs which
best become such an occasion.   But Dr. Dana
was, we rejoice  to believe,  that highest style
of  man, a Christian, — a  sinful man  hoping
for salvation through our Lord Jesus  Christ.
The evidences  of his adoption  into the fam-
ily of  Christ  have  had a  clear manifestation
in his  advancing  age. 
48
   Just before  entering upon the last year  of
his life, he  gave  expression to  the  devout
feelings of his heart  in  the following paper,
which  was  carefully folded with  others  and
placed in his private  secretary: —
   " Sunday,  December  30, 1860. — ' What
shall I render to  my God for  all  his  kind-
ness shown ? '  Through  His  mercy I  have
been spared  to enter  upon the  closing Sab-
bath of another year ; a  year distinguished
for its blessings to me and my family,  as  it
has been in  the   preservation of each  from
severe  sicknesses or  other  judgments.   With
feelings of gratitude  let  me exclaim,  ' What
shall I render  to my  God ?'
   " While  I  have  labored under a  serious
organic affection of the  heart for more  than
seven  years  past,  having  been  several times
prostrated to  apparent death, and constantly
admonished of  the peculiar frailty of my hold
upon life ;  still I am  now comparatively  com-
fortable, while attempting to record  this  hum-
ble, but I  trust sincere, expression  of  grati-
tude to the  Giver  of all good, for his  signal 
49
mercies through the past year to  me and  my
beloved wife and  our dear children."
  Amidst the deep sorrow of to-day,  this is
our most  precious  consolation, that while  the
places of earth which have known him  so well
will know him no more,  the  place which  our
dear  Lord has  prepared  for  him, and pre-
pared him for,  has welcomed him to go  no
more  out forever.
  Let us give  all diligence  to go and join
him there in  the  home of the Blessed.
4 
Gone  forever! days are passing
  Into weeks of lingering pain,
This sad truth still  deeper tracing
  In my heart, and on my  brain.

From our hearth and home  forever,
  Silent o'er the  threshold borne,
From the  ties so  hard to  sever,
  From each fond  endearment torn.


There's another home before me;
  Oft I seem to see thee  there,
With the  Saviour smiling  o'er thee,
  And my soul is hushed in prayer.

Then, my spirit bending lowly,
  Unto Him my  all doth  yield;
And the night, so calm and holy,
  Closes round me  like a shield. 
51
Slowly came the shadow o'er me,
  Darker, deeper,  day by day,
Till the wave  that upward bore thee,
  Rose and wrapped  us in dismay.

Heavenly peace  was on thy  pillow,
  Blessings from those pale lips fell,
Turning  back  from death's dark billow,
  With another  fond  farewell.

Then away I saw  thee drifting,
  Felt thee from my  side withdrawn,
Knew the scene from time was shifting
  In the darkness  ere the dawn.

Here how dark! but  day was breaking
  Over thee on  worlds of bliss;
When the  sleep  that  knows  no waking
  Closed thy weary eyes on  this.
Though we  fondly loved when starting
  Side by side through life to go,
Better love was  ours when parting
  Where the unfathomed waters flow. 
52
Dead, and there is no returning
  From that undiscovered main ;
Beacon lights our love is burning;
  Dost thou see them ?  Are  they vain V

Oh, how vain is all this anguish.
  Could I call  thee from the  skies ?
Could I bear to see thee languish,
  Or the  sadness in thine eyes?
To the  lowly bed they  made thee,
  Oft I go to soothe my grief;
But I look not where they laid thee,
  For the thoughts that bring relief.

In the dust that form will perish;
  But the spirit is not there.
And the love  for thee I cherish,
  Soars above — I  know not where —

Somewhere, in those realms of glory,
  Mortal eye hath  never seen;
Somewhere, dwelling on the story
  How  thy robes were  washed so clean. 
53
Thou  art done with sin and sorrow;
  It is mine to suffer on,—
Mine to hope  on some bright morrow
  I may wake where thou art  gone.

I'll  not think  it sad or lonely,
  With such blessedness in view,
If I may but  enter only
  Those bright gates  of glory,  too.

I and  mine, if we, forgiven,
  May but stand before  His face,
All the eternal years of heaven
  Seem too short for Jesus' praise.
Ere yon pale moon her crescent fills
  Again, I'll bid  my home adieu,
And that green grave among the hills,
  Where oft I wish I  slumbered too.

Oh, changing moon, thy beams  were bright
  With glancing  wings celestial blent,
When, on  that last sad farewell night,
  The angel watchers came and went. 
54
All darkly thou shalt wane again,
  All glorious yet ascend the skies;
How long, how  long to wax and wane,
  Ere  from the  dust that form shall rise.

I go, but  not as I have  been;
  I miss a hand that clasped my own;
A gulf divides the now and  then;
  Henceforth in crowds I go alone.

No, not alone; for those most dear,
  The  kindest, best, are with me still;
But oh! forgive, though  many a tear
  Should fall, ere love its law fulfil.
The autumn leaves  how fast they fall;
  The fitful winds are moaning low;
So fall the sere leaves of the soul,
  As  from my home  I sadly go.

Oh, mingled memories, dark and bright,
  Thick as the leaves in Otter's Vale,
Ye  cover  all things else  from sight,
  And turn these quivering lips so pale.

'Tis meet  I slowly should retrace
  The pathway where our lines were cast, 
55
As, hovering near thy resting-place,
  My spirit wanders through the past.

Through joy and sorrow, hopes and fears,
  And looks and tones that cannot die,
Fond memories of the  o'ershadowing years,
  So deep,  so deep they round me lie.

For  thee thy robes are stainless now,
  Trailing  no dead leaves of the past;
No aching  sorrow clouds thy brow;
  No grief comes sighing on the  blast.
" Good-by, old home ! " peace dwell with thee,
  And sunshine linger round thy walls;
May love thy guardian  spirit be,
  Till  in the dust thy ruin falls.

May the offerings on thine altar laid,
  Bring blessings ne'er  to  pass away,
On all beneath  thy  roof-trees  shade,
  Till  childhood's sunny locks are gray.

Farewell! with spring I may return,
  But  thou, alas, wilt come no more;
And come or go, my heart will yearn
  To see  thee in the open door. 
56
And oh! farewell that silent home
  Where thou wilt  sleep despite my  tears.
Sleep on, beloved,  till I come
  To rest with thee till  Christ appears.

And when that  glorious  morn shall break,
  May we, with all our  loved ones, rise
Forgiven, absolved  for Jesus' sake,
  Crowned, and immortal in  the skies.
A wintry robe  above thee gleams,
  Whiter than aught save His alone;
So pure, so softly shed, it seems
  Some shadow of the  Great White Throne.

Like brooding wings above the nest,
  His shadow shields thee night and day ;
Secure the precious  dust shall rest,
  While  the  long ages  pass away.

So calmly sleep beneath the sod,
  And thou,  blest spirit, wait on high.
This mortal too shall rise to God,
  And put on immortality. 
57
I knelt beside thy grave again;
  And though  my tears fell fast and free,
It soothed the  weary weight of pain
  That on my  heart  lay heavily.

I knew the flowers would  come and  go,
  Leaves o'er  thee fall, and dew-drops weep;
That summer's bloom and winter's snow
  Would ne'er disturb thy peaceful sleep.

But  the  solemn woods, the cloud, the stream,
  And all these scenes dear memories trace;
These grand old hills still dearer seem,
  For guarding thy last resting-place.
Poor human  love, what shrines  it rears,
  With fond memorials overspread;
While  hearts beat time to falling tears,—
  The measure  of life's solemn tread.

Yet, like the sunshine on  the hill,
  While shadows  in the valley lay,
Those  silent lips shall teach us  still,
  While groping darkly on our  way. 
58
And these are not the bitter tears
  That hopeless sorrow sheds in vain;
A few short  days, a few swift years
  Alone, and loved ones meet  again.

Such hopes shall  cheer the darkest tide
  That bears me on to that blest  shore.
Love that the grave hath sanctified,
  Grows brighter, purer  evermore.
With longings vain I stretch my view
  Through rifted cloud and stiller skies;
Above the purple and the blue
  The towers of those blest mansions rise.

Oh, land  of beauty! land of light!
  In rays of glory  veiled so deep,
No mortal eye can bear the sight,
  No mortal  power the vision keep.

And if one so unworthy may
  But hope at last  that land to  see,
Welcome  the trials of the way
  That leads  me  on to  Heaven  and thee. 
59
 The days return, the solemn days
   The last 'twas thine  on earth to see ;
 And now through sorrow's mist I gaze
   On all  they  wrought for thee and  me.

 In youth  they  saw us hand in hand
  Beside  the altar pledged for life;
 And there at last they saw me stand
  When thou wert done  with toil and strife.

 They witnessed many a smile and tear, —
  Life given and  life recalled again ;
 Along their pathway  trails the bier,
  But Hope smiled ever  on  the  train.

 One year ago, one little year,
  Together still we journeyed on;
 We  knew that all was  changing  here,
  But  not how near thy sands were  run.

I did not  see the  swelling flood,
  I did not hear its sullen roar,
Till on the very brink  we stood,—
  Alone, alone I left  the  shore. 
60
Oh how my heart longs to recall
  Each morn  and even as it passed,
While  darkness gathered like  a pall,
  And o'er my life its shadow cast.

Yet, all unseen by other eyes,
  The  sign, the  sorrow, it  was mine;
While  sunbeams from the upper skies
  Along thy pathway seemed to shine.

A holier light thine eye  revealed,—
  It hovered round on lip and brow,
As love's pure fountain,  all unsealed,
  Sent up  rich streams to  overflow.

Then came sublime that perfect peace, —
  Life's care dismissed, its  robes laid down, —
With parting breath thy blessings cease,
  Unfinished borne to Jesus' throne. 
61
Night unto  night, and day to day,
  Is numbered o'er since  thou wert here;
Oh, till thy smile  had passed  away,
  I never, never knew how dear.

As bright the sunlit mountain's brow,
  As  cool the shadows of the glen ;
Soft sunsets o'er the landscape flow
  In  blended beauty  now, as  then.

But the glory of the  morn is  gone,
  And crimsoned  eve comes mournfully;
A light is quenched that round me shone,—
  A heart lies cold, once all to me.

So, when the stately  mountain pine
  Lies low in dust before the blast,
The sun may rise and stars may shine
  On all  around as in the past.

But the  songs that through its branches rung
  No summer  splendor can recall,
And  the fragile vine that round  it clung,
  Lies torn and bleeding in its fall. 
62
 The  autumn crowns the year again,
   A golden haze spreads far and wide,
 Hovering o'er mountain, hill,  and glen,
   In solemn grandeur magnified.

 The summer's bloom alone is  gone,
   Deep,  full the green upon its  breast,—
 The richest raiment now put on,
   Ere lying down to final  rest.

 So, in the autumn  of thy days
   Didst thou in  manhood's noblest prime,
 On heights attained from whence to gaze
   O'er loftier hills  than those of time.

Life's journey o'er,  its work well done,
   Clasping beloved  ones to thy  breast,
Fold up  thy robes,  thy staff lay down,
   And, calm as  leaves fall, sink to rest.


A monument gleams in the sun,
   That speaks of worth, that tells of woe;
It points  to heaven, where thou art gone,
   But  the shadow falls where'er I go. 
63
And mine ere long with that will blend;
  A dark, cold river lies between.
But the stone still points where shadows end,
  In glory which no eye hath seen.
Come glorious  Hope, bid Faith arise,
  Till on  our path the day shall dawn
That lights the plains  of Paradise,
  Where  those we loved  and lost are gone.

Though visions sweet our souls surprise,
  We dare not look toward  yonder throne,
Where incense veils the dazzling skies
  Around the ever-blessed One;

But gaze  with  quickly beating heart
  Where  in  our  dreams the palm-trees rise,
And seem in some fair bower apart,
  To catch the gleam of loving eyes, —

Where haply stands, with clasped hands,
  Some angel  whispering, " Cease  to mourn.
The love  ye  lost, of priceless cost,
  A thousand-fold shall yet return." 
64
Love, Hope, and Faith, stronger than death,
  Help  us  to say Amen, Amen, —
To work and wait the voice  that saith,
  "Lo!  all is lost and found  again." 
 
 
 
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