Letter, from the Pen of My Husband, Now Deceased.
Mrs. M. M. Bucklin:
My daughter in affliction, I would that, like Paul on Mars Hill, I
could enter at once, with eloquence and persuasion, on a subject that
might have the influence of restoring or bringing back your natural
buoyancy and elasticity of spirit. I need not tell you that I feel
earnestly, sensibly and deeply for you; and any mortal effort or
sacrifice within my power should not be wanting to effect an object so
desirable by your friends. But Malvina, an arm of flesh is not to
be relied upon; no human ken can reach the mysterious windings and
wonderful intricacies of a mother's love for her offspring. That
is, as yet, the unrevealed handiwork of Omnipotence, who in wisdom
conceived the beautiful mechanism, and brought to perfection the
refinements of our nature; and to his almighty fiat are we indebted,
both for the boon of death and the glorious hope of the resurrection.
How peculiarly adapted to our consolation is the doctrine of the
resurrection. The angel of mercy has withdrawn from your boson a
beloved child. O, how sweet the consolation of hope through the very
life-giving words of Him who cannot lie, as so beautifully and so
tenderly expressed to Martha, "Thy brother shall rise again." And, my
daughter, be assured that your little Emma shall rise again, for said
the same Almighty Comforter, "of such is the Kingdom of Heaven."
Therefore it would be wise in us not to sorrow for her who is asleep.
I know you believe that Jesus died and rose again. And so, also, of
them who sleep in Jesus, will God bring with him.
The question by the afflicted man of Uz might once, with some degree
of propriety have been asked, "If a man die shall he live again?"
But we believe in the resurrection of the dead, because He who
has promised is able to perform, and no science however new, nor
speculation however magnificent, should be allowed to rob us of this
beautiful and life-giving hope. I know that it is hard for us to
concieve the mighty power of transformation or to demonstrate the
great principle of a spiritual ascension from our decayed bodies, of
those seraphic hosts, who are to stand as ministering angels around
the majesty of Heaven, through all the never ending cycles of
eternity, no matter what objections skepticism may urge of the
impossibility of conceiving how the dead can be raised up to a newness
of life. Our faith receives it as a revealed fact, and our hearts
rejoice in the glorious hope, because we know that our Redeemer
liveth, and that he will again stand upon this earth. And though these
our frail bodies may be destroyed by death, yet shall we see God.
Marvellous as may be the transition, at death and the resurrection,
we shall all preserve our own identity, and see and know the beloved
companions of our earthly pilgrimage.
Blessed be God for this sweet hope in the resurrection of the
dead, that so clothes the far off and unseen world with ecstatic
anticipations of the renewed presence of our friends, to whom, even
in their glorified appearance, we shall be no strangers. We must not
persuade ourselves that the preservation of little Emma's sacred dust
is a mere tribute of affection to her memory; but rather a prophecy of
that precious hope, that she shall awake from this sleep and meet
us again, and that we shall know her again, and that we shall be
together, and unitedly hear that voice, sublime and almighty, yet
tender and soothing, saying, "I am the resurrection and the life; he
that believeth in me though he were dead, yet shall he live."
The resurrection of the dead is the crowning act of the Redeemer's
power, and the consummation of his work. How beautiful to contemplate
the spiritual import and eternal grandeur of his mission:
"We may be blest, but Emma's glorious--
O'er all the stings of death victorious."
Dear M.M.:
"You feel like Eve, when Eden's gate
Had closed on her forevermore;--
You feel that life is desolate,
And Paradise is o'er.
No tears be yours, for tears are vain;
Your heart and not your robe is rent:
If God who gave did take again,
'Tis folly to lament.
Then drop the curtain, fold by fold,
O'er her consecrated bower;
And veil from curious eyes, and cold,
Your dead, yet living flower."
Affectionately, your
Father.
My daughter in affliction, I would that, like Paul on Mars Hill, I
could enter at once, with eloquence and persuasion, on a subject that
might have the influence of restoring or bringing back your natural
buoyancy and elasticity of spirit. I need not tell you that I feel
earnestly, sensibly and deeply for you; and any mortal effort or
sacrifice within my power should not be wanting to effect an object so
desirable by your friends. But Malvina, an arm of flesh is not to
be relied upon; no human ken can reach the mysterious windings and
wonderful intricacies of a mother's love for her offspring. That
is, as yet, the unrevealed handiwork of Omnipotence, who in wisdom
conceived the beautiful mechanism, and brought to perfection the
refinements of our nature; and to his almighty fiat are we indebted,
both for the boon of death and the glorious hope of the resurrection.
How peculiarly adapted to our consolation is the doctrine of the
resurrection. The angel of mercy has withdrawn from your boson a
beloved child. O, how sweet the consolation of hope through the very
life-giving words of Him who cannot lie, as so beautifully and so
tenderly expressed to Martha, "Thy brother shall rise again." And, my
daughter, be assured that your little Emma shall rise again, for said
the same Almighty Comforter, "of such is the Kingdom of Heaven."
Therefore it would be wise in us not to sorrow for her who is asleep.
I know you believe that Jesus died and rose again. And so, also, of
them who sleep in Jesus, will God bring with him.
The question by the afflicted man of Uz might once, with some degree
of propriety have been asked, "If a man die shall he live again?"
But we believe in the resurrection of the dead, because He who
has promised is able to perform, and no science however new, nor
speculation however magnificent, should be allowed to rob us of this
beautiful and life-giving hope. I know that it is hard for us to
concieve the mighty power of transformation or to demonstrate the
great principle of a spiritual ascension from our decayed bodies, of
those seraphic hosts, who are to stand as ministering angels around
the majesty of Heaven, through all the never ending cycles of
eternity, no matter what objections skepticism may urge of the
impossibility of conceiving how the dead can be raised up to a newness
of life. Our faith receives it as a revealed fact, and our hearts
rejoice in the glorious hope, because we know that our Redeemer
liveth, and that he will again stand upon this earth. And though these
our frail bodies may be destroyed by death, yet shall we see God.
Marvellous as may be the transition, at death and the resurrection,
we shall all preserve our own identity, and see and know the beloved
companions of our earthly pilgrimage.
Blessed be God for this sweet hope in the resurrection of the
dead, that so clothes the far off and unseen world with ecstatic
anticipations of the renewed presence of our friends, to whom, even
in their glorified appearance, we shall be no strangers. We must not
persuade ourselves that the preservation of little Emma's sacred dust
is a mere tribute of affection to her memory; but rather a prophecy of
that precious hope, that she shall awake from this sleep and meet
us again, and that we shall know her again, and that we shall be
together, and unitedly hear that voice, sublime and almighty, yet
tender and soothing, saying, "I am the resurrection and the life; he
that believeth in me though he were dead, yet shall he live."
The resurrection of the dead is the crowning act of the Redeemer's
power, and the consummation of his work. How beautiful to contemplate
the spiritual import and eternal grandeur of his mission:
"We may be blest, but Emma's glorious--
O'er all the stings of death victorious."
Dear M.M.:
"You feel like Eve, when Eden's gate
Had closed on her forevermore;--
You feel that life is desolate,
And Paradise is o'er.
No tears be yours, for tears are vain;
Your heart and not your robe is rent:
If God who gave did take again,
'Tis folly to lament.
Then drop the curtain, fold by fold,
O'er her consecrated bower;
And veil from curious eyes, and cold,
Your dead, yet living flower."
Affectionately, your
Father.
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