IN MEMORIAM.
11
The religious element in the character of Mrs. Rice was beautifully developed in her strong Christian faith. Her earlier and later reading, her silent meditations and fellowship with sacred books and church music were in complete harmony with the quiet and unobtrusive conduct of her daily life. In her domestic relations she was cheerful, hopeful, and of tender sympathies; as wife, mother, and friend, she was dutiful, affectionate, devoted, and kind. To the bereaved family her death came suddenly and without warning, but it was serene and tranquil. After a long, long night of suffering and pain, she quietly passed away,—
"Gentle as when morning stealeth
O'er the earth and sea and air."
O'er the earth and sea and air."
Boston Post.
A TRIBUTE.
Weave flowers, the snowiest that the seasons bear,
Sheltered in tropic heats from frost and wind,—
Sweet tuberoses and camellias cold,
To faith's pure emblems for her bier entwined;
All blossoms that she loved strew lightly there;
And let great lilies in their beakers hold
Fresh knots of violets, with dew-drops lined.
Sheltered in tropic heats from frost and wind,—
Sweet tuberoses and camellias cold,
To faith's pure emblems for her bier entwined;
All blossoms that she loved strew lightly there;
And let great lilies in their beakers hold
Fresh knots of violets, with dew-drops lined.
She worshipped beauty; make her own home fair,
Ere the dear mistress must for aye depart;
Garland the arches of the sacred dome,
And hang bright baskets, trembling in the start
Of organ-thunder, and the chanted prayer:
Thus will we bear her to her final home,
Smothered in flowers, as wished her poet-heart.
Ere the dear mistress must for aye depart;
Garland the arches of the sacred dome,
And hang bright baskets, trembling in the start
Of organ-thunder, and the chanted prayer:
Thus will we bear her to her final home,
Smothered in flowers, as wished her poet-heart.
Dust unto dust falls into cups of bloom
Heaped o'er her breast, as softly as our tears;
Cold is the sunshine as we homeward turn,
Heaped o'er her breast, as softly as our tears;
Cold is the sunshine as we homeward turn,
