The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 3, November, 1834Various
History
The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 3, November, 1834
Various
American literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals
But, alas, in the tide of men's affairs, there is an _ebb_ as well as
_flood_; and this the Kirkwood family now began to experience. The
elder Kirkwood had just begun to discover that his affairs were in some
confusion, when his wife was suddenly snatched away by death. It was a
heavy blow, and he felt it as such. But men seldom die of grief!
Millions have buried the wife of their youth, and been very comfortably
supported under the bereavement; and so was Mr. Kirkwood. Indeed he had
little time to spend in unavailing sorrow, or in brooding over the
memory of the departed one; for the clouds of adversity became more and
more dense about him, and he soon found that the combined energies of
himself and son, could not avert the storm. Poverty seemed coming upon
them "like an armed man." In the meantime, two of the blooming
grandsons were in quick succession conveyed to the tomb; and just as
the storm burst upon them in all its fury, the younger Kirkwood
followed his mother and his two children to the world of spirits. After
this tempest of adversity, Mr. Kirkwood stood like an oak, scathed by
the lightning,--its verdure blasted, and its branches scattered abroad.
He sunk, overwhelmed, and gave way to the most hopeless despondency.
There is a spirit in woman that will sustain her under circumstances
which will drive man to despair. And when that spirit is moulded,
guided, and strengthened by religion, it is invincible. Soft as the
harp-tones of the "sweet singer of Israel," did Mary's voice now
breathe on the ear of her disconsolate father.
"'Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive
evil,' my father? Let us endeavor to say, 'The Lord gave, and the Lord
hath taken away, and blessed be his name!' Arise, my father, and call
upon our God. He 'hears the young ravens when they cry,' and will he
not give his children food? He clothes the lilies of the field, and
will he not clothe us? He binds up the broken heart; will he not then
console ours?"
"Alas, my daughter," cried the old man, "He is thy God, but not mine.
In the hour of prosperity I forgat him; in the hour of adversity I dare
not approach him. May he, indeed, feed, and clothe, and console thee,
and thy remaining little ones. For me--his vengeance alone will pursue
me. Would I could hide me from his avenging hand, and lay my head in
the grave!"
The despondency of her father added not a little to the load of sorrow
that pressed on Mary's heart; but she had no time for idle lamentation.
She had duties to perform; duties to him, herself, and her children;
and laying herself low before the throne of mercy, she spread her
sorrows and her wants before her Father in Heaven, and taking fast hold
of Almighty strength, she went forward.
"My father," said Mary, "'Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and
scourgeth every son whom he receiveth;' and, 'like as a father pitieth
his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.'"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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