THE LITERATURE OF CHURCHYARDS.

Otago Witness, Issue 2510, 23 April 1902, Page 66

THE LITERATURE OF CHURCHYARDS.

MEDITATIONS IN VERSL". "When His children need repose, A Father's hand the curtain draw. — T. Hood. He giveth His beloved sleep. There the wicked cease fiom tioubhng, And theic the weary be at rest. —Job. Churches are commonly regarded as a chief source of spiritual life, but theie effices include also a preparation for death ; and clrirch and churchyard are closely associated both materially and mentally. Death and the grave are serious themes : their •suggestion casts a shade over the mind, and not seldom raises a sigh, oi even a tear. The reader, however, must not expect a homily ; the object of this essay is neither to console, to admonish, noi \o edify, but merely to gather together a miscellaneous collection of thoughts, facts, and observations about churchyards that will render an account of them as interesting and agreeable as the subject admits of, or, at least, as the writer can make it. Since death and the grave are inevitable, it is well, while we meet them with courage and a good conscience, not only to keep our graveyard's ir decent order, but to impart to them a tranquilly cheerful aspect, in accord with the hope of immortal happiness our burial service leads us to anticipate. Lofty trees, graceful shrubs., and .sweet flowers judiciously planted around and amidst the graves of a rural churchyard render it a site peculiaily favouiable to deep meditation, such as pervades the immortal "Elegy in a Country Churchyard. '" But extracts from that poem would miss the charm communicated by the pei feet unity, harmony, and exquisite beauty of its continuous strain ; nor aie they needed, the poem being almost universally known arid admiicd. Less so aio the summer evening meditations wiitten i the tiiui'h yaid of Gioat Bealmgs. Sufi"' . I • \ Bernaul Bailon, who. alter alluding in mliei beautiful scenes long retained by memory, proceeds to say : And thus it ousht to be, sjhould I sojourn far hence in disUut years, Thou lovely dwelling of the dead', with ihee; For there is> much about that endears Thy peaceful landscape much the heail reveres, Much that it lows, and all it could desir« In meditation's haunt, when hopes and fail" lla\e been too busy, aaid wo would retire E'en fiom om^elves awhile, yet of our=elvcs mquae. Tlfen ait then <-nc-h a K P°t as m.m might choo=e For »till communion , all arourd iy =\\ret And calm and soothing, when the light breeze w oos The loft) hme« that shadow- thy retreat, AVho s c interlacing branches, a^> they mi et, O'ertop and almost hide the edifice Thry beautify, no bound, o-ocpt the blrat Ol uinocnt laiubs, oi note which speak the bliss Of happy birds ur.=cen. AVlnt couM a hermit mi" ■' A mountain churchyaid described by Wordsworth is "-caicely le->- lnteic-ting because of its veiy simplicity and almost enure absence oi ;at and ornamentation save that which Natuie herself has supplied : Green is the churchyard, b»autilul and green, Ridge rising gently by the s>ide of ridge, A heaving burface. almost wholly free Fiom interruption of sepulchial stones, And mantled o'er with aboriginal tun Ar.d (.ver'a^Unn flowers There, fiom tune immemorial, su<<e«-Mve gene-atioiis of homely shepheuK aftei play ing then uneventful part 1 -, and lecuving the tribute of a few «igh>- and leai--. have parsed into oblivious sleep. Clare, a less- memoiable pj<it but one worthy of the name, has pleasantly disclosed to u« bis •Thought- jn a Chuithyaid.' saying : AY happy «pot, how "till it «e<-nis Where ciowds of tuned memorit- -leep ; How quiet Xature o'ei tiieiu dream*, 'Tis but om ticubltd thoughts that v ccp. Lif"'« brok Fimts hfie -it« pag^e i= 10-t With them, and all its busy claims. The pooi aie from, its memory crosl, The rich leave nothing but then uauic^. There lest the weary from then, toil, There he the troubled from then care ; "Who thiough the strife of life's turnaoil jioiifcjit. i£al*jn.d. oq!j is mid ii tkexo.

' Shelley could also draw inspiration from consecrated graves ; finding in the churchyard of Lechdale, a Gloucestershire village, where — I The dead were sleeping in their sepulchres, '■ soothed, we may suppose, by the fading light of a beautiful summer evening, and the peace and perfect stillness which brooded over earth and sky, that — Thus solemnised and softened, death is mild And terrorless as this serenest night ; Here could I hope, like some inquiring child Sporting on graves, that death did hide from human sight Sweet secrets, or beside its breathless sleep That loveliest dreams perpetual watch did keep. Similarly Collins regarded the grave as a seat of tranquil repose when, in his ode of 1746, he exclaimed : How sleep the brave -who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! But perhaps no one has better amplified the passage of the Psalmist which, referring to death and the beneficent Being by whom it is ordained, devoutly says : "He giveth his beloved sleep,"' than James Montgomery in the following lines : — There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found, They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground. The storm that wrecks the wintry sky No more disturbs their deep repose Than summer evening's latest sigh That shuts the rose. The desire to be remembered for at least a little while by surviving friend*, aucl more especially that of tho c c friends to honour the departed, leads to the very general erection of memorials more or less simple or costly, and not infrequently inscribed with an epitaph which includes an j eulogic, descriptive, or admonitory verse. The. graveyard seems a very inappropriate place for jesting and the tombstone for recording a jest ; yet a volume might readily be filled with ludicrous epitaphs, including not onty those which were intended to be droll, but also many which were quite seriously meant. Light-mindtd and irreverent wits, however, aie not the sole perpetrators of a joke, or at least a little pleasantry, on such a subject. It is quite in keeping _with the quaint and humorous, yet really serious, individuality of the worthy divine, Dr Thomas Fuller, that he is taid to have proposed as his own epitaph, "Fuller's earth,"' though it is equally probable that some congenial friend pioposed it for him ; and the giave philosopher Hobbes used to amuse himself by inducing his friends to compose his epitaph, the one which proved most acceptable to his mind being : "This is the true Philosopher s Stone."' More in harmony with the quietude and beauty of a country churchyard than even innocent play upon wojrds is the following epitaph for "an infant, by W. U. Bennett: — On this little grassy mound Never be the darnel found; Ne'er be venomed nettle seen On this little heap of green ; For this little lost ou2 heie Way too sweet fcr aujht of fear. Aught of harm to harbour 'ngh This green spot where she must he ; So be naught but sweetness found On this little grassy mouml.