"Earnest Willie," or, Echoes from a recluse : containing the letters, poems, addresses and sketches -- chiefly moral and religious -- with bits of laughing humor, smiling fancy and tender sentiment -- everywhere / the earnest heart-throbs of William D. Upshaw, during this more than sixteen years of invalid life -- (seven years spent on a bed).

  • Upshaw, Willie D. (William David), 1866-1952.
Date:
1903
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: "Earnest Willie," or, Echoes from a recluse : containing the letters, poems, addresses and sketches -- chiefly moral and religious -- with bits of laughing humor, smiling fancy and tender sentiment -- everywhere / the earnest heart-throbs of William D. Upshaw, during this more than sixteen years of invalid life -- (seven years spent on a bed). Source: Wellcome Collection.

Provider: This material has been provided by the Francis A. Countway Library of Medicine, through the Medical Heritage Library. The original may be consulted at the Francis A. Countway Library of Medicine, Harvard Medical School.

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    somehow it seemed that she was not there, and I did not want to go. It was just one year from that day that she was stricken down. I stood alone in the twilight that we, together, had loved so well. As I leaned on my cratches and looked down at her grave, thinking in silent sadness of the hopes, the life, the love—all so joyous and resplend- ent, that lay buried there, a wealth of tender, sacred memories and still sweeter hopes, like a legion of angels, came to minister to me. I walked over and stood for a while, musing in. loving thought at the grave of dear Beatrice, my brother's beautiful wife who went out of oui clinging hearts a year ago, then back to Tattle's grave. Philosophy said: Is this all? Nay I Faith lighted her way beyond the tomb. ^^Since Jesus had lain there she feared not its gloom. And in spirit, I heard the voice of her Saviour and mine, sweetly saying: I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth on me, though he were dead, yet shal] he live. The clouds were rifted, the gloom fled away; my tears were dried; the light of Heaven streamed through, and as my soul mounted high on wings of faith, I cried in joy: '* O Death ! where is thy sting ? O Grave! where is thy victory. The fresh evening breeze fanned my brow, and happi- ness came with the thought that the breezes of Beulah Land had kissed her pretty fevered forehead, and brought to her wan and wasted features that fadeless bloom of bright eternal youth. Just then, from over on the hill, the church bell rang out on the twilight stillness, calling me to the house of prayer—the same bell whose mellow tones had called her to that same house of God for the last time just a year before. My heart and eyes looked up, and it seemed that I could almost see, blending with the pure blue of the far-away skies, *' Tattle's sweet, happy face and hear the heavenly music of her tender voice, calling to me with beckoning hands : ''Brother Wil- lie, work for Jesus and poor lost souls, until he calls you *Home'—to Him and to me. Yes, Tattle, sweet sister, I am coming! And I am trying to gladden your dear heart and the heart of Jesus, too, by working every day to carry with me all I can, to jour Saviour, dear, and mine.