Summary

Portrait of Marietta Holley Marietta Holley Sweet Cicely — or Josiah Allen as a Politician

Lift up your heavy eyes: the sun is even now rising, that shall gild the sky at last. The mornin' light is even now dawnin' in the east. It shall fall first upon your uplifted brows, your prayerful eyes. Most blessed of God, because you loved most, sorrowed most. To you shall it be given to behold first the tall, fair angel of Resurection and Redemption, standin' at the grave's mouth. Into your hands shall be put the key to unlock the heavy doors, where your loved has lain.
The dead shall rise. Temperance and Justice and Liberty shall rise. They shall go forth to bless our fair land.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Marietta Holley Marietta Holley Sweet Cicely — or Josiah Allen as a Politician

True love is not sought after, it comes; and when it comes, it stays. Talk about love gettin' old—love never grows old; talk about love goin'—love never goes: that which goes is not love, though it has been called so time and agin. Talk about love dyin'—why, it can't die, no more than the souls can, in which its sweet light is born. Why, it is a flame that God Himself kindles: it is a bit of His own brightness a shinin' down through the darkness of our earthly life, and is as immortal and indestructible as His own glory.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Marietta Holley Marietta Holley Sweet Cicely — or Josiah Allen as a Politician

How fathers weep for their children, dead to them, dead to honor, to shame, to humanity! How the cries of the mourners ascend to the sweet heavens!
And less peaceful than the graves of the departed, these tombs themselves are full of the hopeless cries of the entombed, praying for help, praying for some strong hand to reach down and lift them out of their reeking, polluted, living death.
The whole of our fair land is covered with jest such graves: its turf is tread down by the footprints of the mourners who go about the streets. They pray, they weep: the night is long, is long.
Source: Gutenberg

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