136
��Prospect.
��put forth his best endeavors to maintain the government, and when the call was made for troops, he was among the foremost to pledge himself and all that he had to sustain the imperilled cause of Liberty. He encouraged his sons to enlist in the army and two of them en- tered the military service of the country. Deacon David had seven children, of whom five attained majority and be- came heads of families \ three of this number are now living, two sons and a daughter ; and there are fifteen grand- children. He retired from active busi- ness in 1875, b^t interested himself in the affairs of the Church, and in the business of a son in Boston. But his health, never very robust, became im- paired with the advance in years, and he withdrew more and more from pub- lic notice. His wife and children were ■constant with their grateful ministrations, and, under the oversight of attentive physicians, his life was prolonged beyond ^expectation. He retained his mental
��powers in great activity until the end, his memory of recent, as well as re- mote occurrences, serving him with un- usual accuracy. He was seldom de- pressed, and had none of the " mel- ancholy damp of cold and dry," of which Milton speaks, to weigh his spir- its down. Being able to see friends, he conversed with the animation and intelligence of one in middle life.
The change came at length, and sus- tained by an unfaltering trust in the Lord Jesus, whom he had publicly con- fessed for nearly half a century, he fell asleep on the third of September, 1883. He had lived with his wife fifty-seven years, and in the same house for fifty- two years. Soon after his death, the Church adopted formal resolutions, setting forth the grounds of their grati- tude to God for his valuable life and services as an officer, and expressing the sincere affection with which they cher- ished his memory as a citizen and friend.
��PROSPECT.*
By Mary H. Wheeler.
��Where a cross-road, eastward wending. With the older range -road met.
On a farm to northward tending,
There my childhood's home was set.
And the guide-post was the bound
Of my sanctioned playing ground.
Toward the south, a ridge up-rounded Like a billow landward rolled ;
Broader spread the north view, bounded By the Gunstock Mountains bold ;
But to eastward, toward the sky,
Rose one mountain low and high ;
Broad at base, with fields inclining Gently upward, high and higher,
To the belt of forest shining In its evergreen attire :
Bald at summit, smooth and clear,
In contour without a peer.
��^yhen the morning ^un ascending Flooded all the east with light,
O'er the near horizon pending. Circled by its halo bright, —
Clearly outlined, dark and high.
Loomed the mountain top thereby.
And whene 'er the sun in splendor, Glided down the glowing west,
Then its long rays, warm and tender, On the hfted mountain's crest.
Lingered with a ruddy glow,
WhUe the darkness spread below.
But when storms began to gather At the east wind's signal call,
Heralding the changing weather. Ere the rain commenced to fall,
Wrapped in clouds of sombre hue.
All the mount was lost from view.
��* From the Bay State Monthly for June, 1885.
�� �
