Arthur Hamilton, and His Dog - 22

I stood beside his dead body an hour after the spirit had left it. I had
never before, and have never since, seen one so beautiful in death. The
last rays of the setting sun streamed softly in at an open window, and
one sweet ray fell upon his head. It was a bright halo,--a glorious
crown, for that sleeping dust to wear. The fair, wide brow, the rich,
dark curls, the softly-closed eyelids, the beautiful mouth, had never
been so lovely.  All was life-like,--radiant. There was an expression of
heavenly joy I have never seen in a sleeper since. I had not seen him in
his mortal agony, and now it seemed impossible he could have ever
suffered. Can this be death, thought I?--Ah, there is a stillness too
deep for life! Those closed lips do not move; those eyes do not open;
there is no lingering breath, no beating heart! It is only dust. The
spirit _has_ fled! Beautiful sleeper! There shall be no waking of
thy precious dust till the resurrection morning!

Others came in, and I left the room, reluctantly, for it was pleasant to
me to be near one I had loved in life. I went into the sitting-room,
several neighbors were moving about, but the mother was not there. I
found her in the piazza; she was calm, but oh, who could fathom the
depths of her anguish?  Who but He who formed the soul with all its
mysterious capacities for suffering?

The red light lay on the western hills, and they were very beautiful in
their summer greenness, stretching along the horizon in wavy outlines;
the summer sky above was beautiful, and so were the quiet fields, and
the ancient trees standing breathlessly silent in that glorious
twilight. Rays of heaven were blending with all that was loveliest on
earth; but though the mother's eye was fixed upon the scene, it was
evident she did not see it, nor feel its healing power. What wonder? The
agony was too recent,--the  blighting of all her hopes too sudden for
resignation and peace to come into her soul at once. The heavy blow had
fallen, and her heart was crushed! No tear was in her eye, no trembling
in her voice, as she replied to questions; but a face more expressive of
utter woe I have seldom seen. What word of consolation could a mortal
speak at such an hour? "The heart knoweth its own bitterness," and a
stranger may not inter-meddle with its griefs. Let it be alone with God!